#I also bought a face mask there which burned my nose so I hope the duct tape was more sucessfull

[killersfool]

hii! not sure if you’re open to requests but i’m going to give u a few ideas! most of these are for elijah hewson😭

falling asleep on the couch, waking up to not only a blanket around them, but eli squeezed in behind them

being in the studio with the band and messing about?? making jokes and being silly!

kissing and dancing in the kitchen to an old singe they both like?

eli taking care of you when you’re sick and just being super soft and caring!

spending valentine’s day together!

something about the reader playing with eli’s fingers to calm them down?

softly smiling at each other from across the room and also reassuring touches!

telling each other how much they love them

them cuddling in bed and pulling eachother closer

hope these spark your writing :))))

Kiss It Better | ELIJAH HEWSON

here's a short little thing inspired by this request!

PAIRING: elijah hewson x f!reader

WORDS: 1.5k

SUMMARY: eli's girlfriend is ill, elijah comforts her.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: references to throwing up

I've never been so ill in my life. My nose is so runny. I've almost used every single packet of tissues in the kitchen cabinet right under the sink — which used to be a lot and now is very little. I've thrown up my insides into the loo way too many times to count on my fingers. Bent over the toilet, eyes pricking with tears, I've never felt so useless. At least the thought of my boyfriend getting back after his gig gives me something to look forward to. But it's far too late.

I'm staring at the TV screen. I hug my knees to my chest, attempting to generate some warmth. The blanket is upstairs — probably hiding in the space between the bed and the wall. Surely, if I attempt to stumble upstairs now, I'll just get stuck and end up falling asleep in the corridor.

I can't stop glancing at the door. I'm hoping for a doorknob twist, knock, ring of the doorbell, stamp of boots, low and raspy post-concert voice. But I'm just met with nothing. No signs of his arrival. He hasn't called me. He usually doesn't. He likes to surprise me. After having the worst migraine of my life, it would give me some comfort if he just gave me a hug. A warm Elijah Hewson hug would cleanse my mind.

Starting to realise that the TV is doing more harm than good, I switch it off. I'm beginning to see blurry triangular shapes and my eyes burn like they're on fire. The living room is pitch black. I'm freezing. I'm tired. I take two paracetamol tablets and chug some water. Curling up on my side, legs on the armrest, I close my eyes.

-

I wake up. Sunlight gleams through the gaps in the white curtains. My body is wrapped in a duvet, soft and warm. Skin is against mine. Arms are around my body, squeezing me tightly. He's shirtless. I can tell by the tufts of chest hair flicking at my shoulder. His head is on my back, curls all over my skin, lips between my shoulderblades. I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. He's asleep. Gentle snores, deep breaths, in and out.

I must've fallen into a deep sleep because I have no recollection of his arrival or him ever taking me upstairs. I'm usually a light sleeper. This migraine fully knocked me out. That's the best nights sleep I've had in a while. I'm especially thankful I managed to escape from work for the rest of the week.

Elijah's normally the little spoon when we hug like this. It's funny how the tables have turned. I think I prefer this though. But lying awake and tracing the muscles in his back always seems to calm me down.

I want to ask him how the show went and the reason for his tardiness. He had been playing in Glasgow, thankfully only a few miles away from me and had bought me tissues, chocolate and gave me an endless supply of kisses before he had to run down to meet the band.

Opening my eyes fully, I take a peek over at the bedside table. He's brought me more tissues, face masks, more chocolate and a box of sleep teabags.

I realise Elijah's awake when his fingers start to walk along my bare stomach and his mouth is at the juncture between my back and shoulder. He pulls my hair to the side, presses his wet mouth to my neck. He smells clean. I'm sure he's showered. His hair feels a little damp.

He keeps pulling me closer. Arms tightening like he's a boa constrictor. Cool rings on my stomach, large hands tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

"You feeling better?" He asks, between kisses, tongue tracing my jugular vein. It's unsettlingly nice. His words are always gruff the morning after the show. All the singing takes a toll. Makes him sound more mellow. Sometimes I worry for his vocal cords.

"Not really." I groan. A mind-numbing headache is still prodding at my brain and the brightness of the sun makes my eyes burn. He's got a hand on my forehead, cool fingers against fiery skin — checking the temperature.

"God, you're pale. And you're burning up. I should get the thermometer." He gets out of bed. The loss of weight of his body makes the mattress shift. I glance over at him. His hair has stuck up at the top, his bare back glows under the sunlight. He stands up. Sweatpants cling loosely to his hips, revealing the muscles of his abdomen and a chain circles around his neck. He leaves the room — not even giving me time to utter a word of annoyance at the sudden lack of touch.

Then he's back. He crawls into bed. The thermometer is between his index finger and thumb. I look at the cross tattoo on his palm, see the concentration on his face as he plays around with the buttons.

"It's just a migraine," I say but he's already turning it on and pointing at my mouth. I roll my eyes and separate my lips. He gives me a sly smirk, just making me sit like that for a moment. Then he puts the device beneath my tongue and waits patiently. I'm trying not to laugh at how awkward this is. I close my eyes to evade his gaze but I can still feel the force of his stare.

"You've got a fever." Dr Hewson alerts me with his expert diagnosis although the furrow of his brows makes him seem unsure. He looks down at the numbers displayed, rubbing his face with worry. "A really bad one." He's now searching up on his phone what it means.

"Should I go to the doctors?" I shuffle away from him. I don't want him to catch what I have. He has gigs all week, I don't want to ruin anything for him.

He notices my movement. Shaking his head, he drags me back towards him, making me nestle into his chest. His eyes are still darting along a website.

"I think you just need to rest. I'll make you breakfast." Elijah kisses my nose before running downstairs with his mind set solely on making some decent food.

Through the corridor, into the kitchen. He's forgotten where half the things are in the room. Opening cabinets, searching through the fridge, putting water into the kettle. Most of the time he'll get his breakfast on the way to a show. Maybe a café, maybe he'll steal some food from Ryan. Today, however, he's lucky enough to not have a gig and actually have time to look after his girlfriend. Although he's definitely going to make a mess of the place.

His final decision is to make omelettes. Oil on the frying pan, ham—leaving it to heat up until it's a little crispy. Two eggs, cracked and swirled in a glass. Cheese on top, grated with masterful excellence—at least that's what he believes. Folds it over to make it fill half of the pan. Let's it continue to fry. Then he's running over to make a cup of tea. He uses one of the sleep teabags he bought. He's just about to plate up when footsteps echo behind him.

I have to stop for a second when I walk into the kitchen. It's a rarity to see Elijah here, cooking for me. We started dating at the beginning of the tour which unluckily means that he's hardly ever home. He has to leave early in the morning and gets back really late. Whenever he has days off, he takes me on dates and walks, or we just laze around at home, basking in eachother's presence. There's times when he brings me along to the recording studio so that I can reprimand all the band members or give an outside opinion of their new songs.

Elijah seems so focused on getting this omelette perfect. He's running around the place. He grabs two pieces of bread to turn his dish into an omelette-sandwich. I stand in the doorway for a while, just watching him. But, I can't stop myself from nearing him. As he cuts an apple into a slices, I slide my arms around his stomach, pressing my head to his shoulder. He sighs quietly. I breathe in his scent, his comfort.

"You should be in bed," he whispers, although he doesn't seem to want me to let go. I shake my head as he looks at me.

There's music playing on the radio. I turn it up. It's a song by The Smiths. I'm swaying to the beat, moving Elijah along with me. He's still carefully chopping fruit into perfect pieces. Watermelon, strawberries, mango. My mouth is watering just looking at the vast array of flavours.

Elijah drops his knife, turns around to face me. His hands find my waist, his lips find my neck, his head burrows into my chest like he's a mole hiding under soil. We dance along to the crackle of music, feeling the melodies trickle into our bones. Just his presence makes me feel better, every kiss turns my negative thoughts to mush.

#elijah hewson #elijah hewson oneshot #elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson imagine #eli hewson #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #inhaler dublin #fanfiction #inhaler fanfiction #robert keating #bobby skeetz #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #inhaler #inhaler fanfic #inhaler imagine

[calmcoldevening]

Your boys

TW: well, there's no them

Characters: Vincent Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt (polyamory)

Ps: Well, I made that for my ex-girlfriend in the past, but I through it is cute for reading :) I hope you enjoy it ♡

You lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city. It was akin to a warm mansion next to a shallow river, surrounded by dense thickets for miles around. There was a grassy clearing in front of the house, always dotted with large daisies in summer; a paved gray path led to the entrance; the porch was covered with dark ivy. The front of the makeshift garden was filled with many flowering bushes of red geranium and white scabious.

Today was a very busy and tiring day, so you were very tired and irritable. Recently, your damn director has behaved extremely openly and promiscuously towards you, what's more, he hung extra work on you in order to cross paths with you once again. It made me very angry. So the only thing you wanted right now was to come home and go to bed.

You forcefully pulled the door handle, then pulling the keys out of the keyhole. With one awkward jerk, entering the house, you closed the front door and threw your keys and bag on the floor. Also quickly taking off your shoes, you exhaled heavily and went to your bedroom, plopping down on the bed. I wanted to lose myself in this cool bedspread and a large pillow with a pleasant lilac scent from the new fabric softener.

It was getting overcast outside the window, the clouds were gradually thickening, covering the shining sun, a real downpour was about to begin. The wind was getting stronger, and now it penetrated into the room, enveloping your body, from which the skin was covered with goosebumps. Your face was burning from the still present tension after a working day. The caressing evening air was relaxing. Especially now, here in the forest, when everything around has acquired the smell of damp earth and damp trees.

You squeeze the blue bedspread with your fist, burying your nose more into the pillow. After a moment, the mattress next to you will crumple under a heavy weight, and you feel a big hand on your hip. The palm is large and rough even through the thickness of jeans, but the movements are rhythmic and soft. Your shoulders involuntarily lower, relaxing. You squirm a little, and the movements on your leg stop.

"Hi, Tommy," you whisper, lifting your face from the pillow, leaning on your elbows.

The man nods briefly and looks at you with excitement. You slowly sit down, not taking your eyes off the man. His hair is disheveled in the usual way for him, falling over his broad shoulders, curls curl into small curls. Big blue eyes move over your body with obvious anxiety and fear, noticing every tense movement of your body. Now he was wearing the clothes you bought, and there was no mask on his face, revealing a slightly rotting skin and a missing nose.

Thomas looks at you, scrutinizing your awkward gaze and drooping shoulders, when he finally clumsily signs: "Are you okay?". His sign language wasn't as good as yours yet, he started learning it quite recently, but he was already making decent progress, so it turned out to be quite easy to understand simple phrases on his part.

"It's okay, Tommy. It's okay," you awkwardly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "I'm just tired. My boss is not very good, so..."

You were interrupted by the feeling of a warm palm on your cheek. Thick fingers gently rubbed against your soft skin; eyes the color of forget-me-nots looked at your face with awe and pity. Thomas could not always convey his thoughts in words, he liked to show his feelings. And now the man was trying to calm you down and show that everything that a bad person has done to you is not important, because Hewitt is next to you, here and now, and he will protect you from all the nightmares in the world.

Sitting on his lap was the best thing to do after a hard day's work. Over time, the man got used to your excessive tactility, especially in stressful situations, and began to perceive it as a good sign, an excuse to show his love. Because now he was gently pressing you to him, putting his head on top of your head. He was mumbling incoherently, I think it was a lullaby about a mockingbird, which his mother sang to him in early childhood. You cooed softly, pressing your cheek against his broad and large body. The noise in your head slowly subsided, and you hardly remained on the verge of vivacity and sleep.

When you were embraced by another pair of hands, more neat and skillful, you sighed in relaxation, lowering tense eyebrows. Vincent was very quiet, you didn't notice him coming over. The man stroked your hair, running his artistic fingers through the pliable strands, like ribbons flowing over his skin. The palms are rough due to constant work and in places excessively smooth and warm, like wax. The man was whispering something softly, resting his head on Thomas' shoulder, the second only chuckled smugly.

A quiet voice moved to your ear, gently scorching your skin; you felt Vincent's breath on your neck and cheeks, and then he gently touched your lips, giving a weightless kiss.

"Want to eat?" Vincent signs when you open one eye; you nod. Thomas gets out of bed, still holding you in his arms, and gently pushes the artist next to him behind his back, smiling.

Spending time with them like this, the three of them, seemed like a real fairy tale. You don't remember when this strange relationship started, and when the boys agreed to it, but it didn't matter. Hewitt and Sinclair loved you the most in their lives, gradually they got used to the mutual presence, perhaps some strange friendship formed between them, you don't know. But they are crazy about you and will do everything in their power to make you happy.

#slashers x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #just comfort #drabble #♡

[glitteredrry]

one last time

summary: Harry always knew that this day would come. He loves Y/N, but things weren’t meant to be.

warnings: angst, smut, angst!

wc: 3.3K

the prequel! the sequel!

“Harry? What are you doing here?” 

When she heard the harsh knocks on her door, she instantly hoped it was her secret lover. No matter what time it was, she knew she would always answer for him. She immediately put down her book and trotted to the door. Without even looking, she pulled back the door which wasn’t exactly the right thing to do at 2 in the morning. 

Just as her heart knew, her lover was the one behind the door. If she was in her right mind, she would have noticed the tiredness in his eyes; Or maybe she would have noticed his green eyes having a red tint shading them. As if he had been crying his eyes out. All that was blinded from her. 

The last time she laid eyes on him was nearly a month ago. Instead of noticing a ruined man in front of her, imaginary rose-colored glasses were placed at the tip of her nose only seeing the beauty in him.

His chocolate locks were slightly dampened and over his face. She noticed the dimple forming on his cheek as he passed her a kind smile. She was so entranced with his beauty that is all she noticed. 

“Needed to see you, may I?” He asked as he nodded his head to signal that he wanted to come inside. She stepped to the side allowing him entry.

Harry removed his shoes by the mat he had bought her after six months of her complaining to get one. He looked around the apartment taking in all the small memories, he would have continued if he didn’t feel the soft touch of her fingers on his neck. 

“Harry, my love. What is wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, one to her that seemed normal but to him was painful. Trying to find the best way to mask what he was going through he turned to face her. “I’ve missed you. I’ve tried to come- trust me I have. Between work and everything else, it’s so hard.” Too hard. She knew his wife was also in the mix of that but he would never mention her existence infront of her. 

“No, I understand you know I always do.” This isn’t the first time I’ve come second place.

“I love you, I’m so sorry. So sorry.” He whispered out to her and he went to press soft kisses to her jaw. Y/N melted under his touch. It was something that was simply so addicting. This touch, this intimacy was something that kept their affair active. They both never intended it to go on for over a year. Their addiction to one another was too powerful.

They have both tried quitting each other but always found their way back. Taking her hands she slips her hand through his curls leaning into his kiss. She took his word and ingrained them into her heart each time he said he loved her. This love that they shared was enough for her to accept being in second place. 

“Harry-” she moaned out after his kisses started to burn against her hot skin. Without a word, everything escalated, Harry began to walk backward knowing her apartment knowing the layout like the back of his hand.

Slipping her robe off, he found that she was bare underneath. He let the robe hit the floor as he admired her body. This beautiful body that he got to know for the past year. He studied her body and found out to loved every part of her, even the parts that she couldn’t find to like. “What were you doing in here before I arrived?” He whispered in her ear as his hands found their way to her back. 

“Thinking of you, always you.” He wanted to whimper at her words of ecstasy but he was sad. He loved her this he knew. 

“I’m here now. I’m here.” Not for long. 

Y/N’s lips found his mouth taking him in. She felt a shift in the way that he kissed her. There was a certain fire behind his actions.

An urgency that scared her to ask about, she feared that the time between them was going to be cut. Which isn’t something she ever liked to know. Instead of commenting on it, she pushed him down to the couch straddling his lap.

The soft lights from her room filled the living room creating just enough light for them to see each other’s faces. Harry could see the brightness behind her eyes which only added to his guilt.

Fuck he hated himself.

Her bare cunt sat on top of his lap as his hands roamed her naked body. Y/N kept her fingers settled on his face feeling the slight stubble that was usually there. A feeling so familiar it felt like home. 

“Make love to me. Please, I need to feel you. I love you.” Her words came out rushed. She didn’t want the foreplay right now. She didn’t want him to take his time with her. She just wanted him. Her cunt had been dampening since she laid eyes on him at the door. She finally had her man back in her arms and all she craved was him. Harry was willing to do anything for her. 

Harry agreed easily, as soon as the small yes slipped out of his mouth; Y/N’s hands only became more desperate to feel his skin. Trying their best to keep their mouths on each other, Harry’s shirt was ripped off of his body and tossed to the corner of the room. Y/N broke away for a moment to look at his body. The tattooed skin that she missed so desperately. 

Harry watched her as her eyes traveled up and down his skin, all the way until they found their way to the necklace that she had gotten him for his birthday; A small banana for him to wear to remind him of their time together on a weekend vacation they had together. 

“You still wear this?” She asked. 

“Always will.” 

With that said, Y/N pressed a kiss to his mouth once more before she slid off of him to lay against the armrest awaiting him. Harry rose up and hovered above her as he unbuckled his pants. Kicking them to the side, his eyes trailed on the body underneath him. Looking at how she parted her legs. They kept their eyes on each other as pure lust lingered in the air. Harry quickly undressed them and moved back down towering over her body. 

He felt himself hardening ad he felt the touch of her fingertips dancing down his torso. Capturing her lips with a kiss, Harry moved to place himself right infront of her entrance. Harry broke the tender kiss and looked down into her eyes for an okay. “Please,” she whispered. Harry nodded his head taking his hand on the armrest for balance. 

Harry pushed inside her feeling her walls immediately clenching around him. Weeks without having each other made this all the more special. “H-Harry,” she let out a soft moan feeling overwhelmed by the size of her. After all this time she couldn’t figure out how she wasn't used to him. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered out over her lips. His hips steadily moved to a slow rhythm taking in each stroke.

 Her nails dug harder into his skin and usually, he would have commented on it. Please be careful, no marks. Tonight, he wouldn’t. He wanted any marks that she would give him. Even a scar to feel the trance of her for days to come. “You feel so good,” she moaned out. Both of them were always more vocal in bed. Loving to hear each others pleading and moaning. Harry lowered his head to nip on her neck just to be able to taste her skin. 

Y/N took her hands to tug at the roots of his hair. “I’ve missed you and this cunt. For me always, just for me.” She moaned out at his word saving them for when she was all alone. He would tell her these things and she would hold on to them until the next time that they would meet. She needed him to fill her cup up again. “Always for you, only you.” Y/N knew in her heart that Harry was one of her. The only one forever. She knew there would be challenges to getting it but she would by any means. 

Harry’s tongue dug into her mouth wanting to taste her. They swallowed each other’s moans as Harry thrust inside of her. Feeling each other this bare was something that was special to them. Harry promised her this was for them only and that with his wife he wore a condom. Her nails created reddened lines across his tattooed skin. Why isn’t he saying anything?

She noticed that this was the first time he didn’t mention not marking him. He always said that he never knew how he would explain it. Pushing it aside she stayed in the moment as Harry brought his forehead down to hers wanting to feel this closeness. Harry dipped his body lower pressing against her chest feeling the peeks of her nipples against his chest. Y/N knew that she was close to her end. “I’m about to-” she was at a loss for words because of how good he felt inside of her. 

“Shhh, I know. I know.” He whispered cooing at her. 

Y/N brought her legs up clamping onto his back and locking him in, Harry felt himself having a slight tingle in his spine beginning to rise up. 

“Give it to me,” Y/N was pushed over the edge clamping down on him. 

“Harry,” she whispered. 

Harry spilled inside of her immediately after, aftershocks came to him feeling overjoyed. He stayed in the moment but it passed quickly. The gloom came back over his head as he looked down at his lover. When he saw that happy glaze in her eyes he was quickly feeling suffocated from knowing what he was about to do. Slipping out of her, Y/N was immediately confused. It was like an instant disconnect.

“Are you staying for the night?” She asked as she saw him going to find his boxers. His chiseled back was turned to her so she couldn’t see his emotions. All that she did notice was his tense posture. 

“Harry?”

 She called feeling a bit uncomfortable being this exposed now for some reason. Moving quickly off the couch as Harry began to put on his pants; She reached for the robe on the floor. Tightening it around her waist she went to go touch his shoulder and he flinched away from her touch. He has never done that before.

 “What’s going on?”

 “We-we can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this.” He cut her off quickly.  She let out a small laugh not comprehending that he was being serious. “Harry, seriously? Stop joking, come to bed I’m tired.”

“I’m not,” he turned around quickly facing her, and for the first time tonight, she could see his emotions clearly. His face was twisted in pain. 

“W-what are you talking about? You-you just made love to me.” Harry could see her face heading in a panicked state. He knew that this moment was coming for months but for her, she was completely blindsided by this. “There will never be any good that comes out of this. I can’t do this to my family anymore.” Harry moved closer to her just wanting to feel her touch for one more time but she moved away quickly refusing to give him the satisfaction.

 “So, this is what you do? You leave your family in the middle of the night to make love to me one last time and drop this on me. Toss me to the side like your morning newspaper? That’s unfair. You’re- you’re…” She felt herself hyperventilating. Tears began to fall down her face rapidly. 

“You’re a liar that’s all you are.” 

Harry wouldn’t even try to deny what she said because anything that she would possibly say he has already called himself worse. He was a liar, scum, and a fraud. “I’m sorry, this…between us… I never expected it to go this long.” Each word that he was saying to her felt like a knife in the chest. 

“Everything you’ve ever said to me has been a lie. What was this a fun game for you? When you would tell me at night after fucking me that we would have a future that was all a lie? If-if this is about your daughter, I’m sure that there’s something you can do. I would accept her, there has to be something.” She was grasping at straws here she didn’t want to let him go.

“It’s not just my daughter. My wife, she doesn’t deserve this. She’s pregnant, Y/N.”

As soon as the word pregnant came out of his mouth she felt her heart sink. Her breath became shortened and it felt as if her lungs had just stopped functioning in her body. Harry buckled his pants quickly going over to his lover who moved away from him. “Please, say something. I’m sorry. You have to know that I’m sorry.” His hand went to go grab her arm but she yanked him away. 

“I was never going to be worth it. Never worth the kids, the house, or the ring. All your promises to me were broken. Now she’s pregnant? Leave. Just get out.” She didn’t want to hear any more of it. It was heartbreak after another. Harry had spent the last year whispering to her about their future together. How much he couldn’t wait to leave his wife. How one day they would have each other forever with no problems. 

“Don’t let this be the last time I see you like this. Please, don’t do this to us.” He pleaded selfishly. He knew that he was asking for too much. How could he expect her to just take this news and kiss him a goodbye one last time? She looked at him as if she was disgusted. The man she had spent building a vision of was never how she imagined. She felt foolish for ever believing the words out of his mouth. 

“How far along?” “W-what?”

“How far along is your wife?” She asked. She turned away from his face not wanting to see it when he told her the months. 

“She’s six months.”A sob left her mouth immediately. Six months of lying to her face. When she started to put the time together in her head, she turned to face him feeling even more disgusted by this revelation. 

“Six months ago we went on a trip together. Y-you knew then. On that trip, you said you wanted to start a family with me. Our trip to Rome. Our trip was nothing but a lie. You were building your family while trying to build an imaginary one with me.” Her stomach twisted and turned as Harry put his head down in shame. How could he explain to her that his words were true to him? He never intended for his wife to get pregnant. Hell, the doctors even said that this was a miracle. One of the main issues was her infertility causing a strain in their marriage. 

“I meant every word-” 

“Get out! Get out, now.” She didn’t even want to look at his face. 

“I’m being transferred to the New York office. Please, don’t let this end like this.” Harry said that not even thinking clearly. Once again tonight another this was being dropped on her. He has never mentioned a move. He had always planned to leave her in the dust.

She felt a laugh escape her, a genuine one. “You’re disgusting. I was only good to you for one thing. I want you gone.” Moving through her house behind her couch she snatched his shirt and went to go get his shoes.

She needed him gone.

She knew a complete breakdown was coming. Harry knew it too, and he couldn’t be the person that would give her that comfort. He was the cause of her pain. 

“I love-”

“Stop saying this. You never loved me. You can’t even love your family doing something like this. You only love yourself. The only person who is ruined is me. I’m left to myself while you go back to your family. You’ll put me behind you one day as a bad judgment. I’ll be ruined. You’ve ruined me.” Harry felt offended. Did she think this was easy for him? 

“You’re wrong. If anything this hurts me just as much as it does you. I’ve been avoiding this for weeks now. I’ve loved you for a year, I’m going to always have some of my heart devoted to only you.” She cried more at his words. She could only hear the things that his mind wanted her to hear. Some. She would never have his full heart. 

“I don’t ever want to see you again. Please leave.”

“My love, just know-”

“Leave!” She slammed his stuff in his arms. All she felt was Harry’s grasp on her arms. “I want you gone,” she said weakly. She couldn’t help that his touch calmed her for a few moments as she let him pull her in. 

“I know you do,” Harry said to her finding a way to make her stay like this for a bit longer. His comfort quickly felt like a burn. It wasn’t even something she could enjoy anymore. Pushing him away she cried out, “get out. Go. I hate you. I hate what you did to me. I’ll always hate you.” That word was the one thing that he had dreaded to hear. 

Hate.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Leave. Leave. Leave.” She screamed out slamming against his chest. She wasn’t trying to fight him she just wanted him out of her sight so she could properly break down. Harry wasn’t moving. If this was the last way he could feel her touch, he would let it be like this. 

“I fucking hate you.” She screamed out. She looked defeated. Her push against his chest slowed down as she fell to the couch. Harry was at a loss for words he had never seen her like this before. He wanted to say more but he knew that he should have started heading home by now. Picking up his things that fell to the floor, he watched his ex-lover break down. She was trying to console herself, but he felt as if he couldn’t leave without saying something. 

“The love we had was real, know that,” Harry whispered to her before finding his way out of the door. 

Y/N cried, even more, when the door was slammed. She didn’t even know that it was possible for a human to cry this much. When he spoke of their love in the past tense right infront of her it made her sick. It made her break mentally. She doesn’t know what came over her. Was it rage? Was it a sense of revenge that began to brew inside of her? She didn’t know. 

What she did know is that she refused to be the only one left scorned. Wiping her eyes, something switched in her. She truthfully blacked out as she went to go find her phone. She knew that Harry’s wife had an email on her social media.

Y/N would at times find herself lingering around on her page being jealous that she got to post Harry so publicly. She was always envious of her. If Y/N couldn’t have Harry, why did Harry’s wife deserve to be happy with him without knowing what he has done?

Now, if she was in the right state of mind, she would have thought twice about sending Harry’s wife a long detailed email with evidence. She would have thought about more people other than her feelings. She would have thought about the innocent women who didn’t deserve to find out this horrible way. She didn’t think of Harry’s daughter and how this might hurt her.

She was a woman who was scorned, and everyone had to pay for her pain.

#harry styles fic rec #harry styles #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

#harry potter #happy valentines day everybody!! how are you! :) #friends I finally finished my masters theisis this thrusday now I dont have to worry about finishing anymore (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ #now I can finally worry about if I passed or not #bringing the whole thing to the post office was very dramatic because the envelope would not close and I did not have any glue on me #and because of corona all glue related stores in Germany are closed #but I was lucky and found some duct tape in a drug store #I also bought a face mask there which burned my nose so I hope the duct tape was more sucessfull #I always felt a little sorry for the basilisk #I think he didn't have a very fun life in those toilet pipes #and after he died Dumbledore didn't even bother to clean up his dead body #Dumbledore probably thought 'Ah yes the dead snake I'll clean it up on the weekend" and then forgot #and when McGonagall asked Albus have you cleaned up that dead snake he got embaressed and just lied and kept pushing it off until he died #I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do with this sudden free time now #I do want to draw a lot of comics and also cut my hair a little but last time I tried the hair thing it was very terrible #I wanted to give myself new layers so I cut off 10cm off one strand and then cried #maybe I should also clean out my closet because every time I look into it I only find about 50 undershirts and no pants #I'm pretty sure I had pants #I hope you're having a wonderful valentine's day today!! #please treat yourself well （*´▽｀*） #see you soon! (｡’▽’｡)♡ #no more theisis writing whohoo!

[3desiderium3]

For your love

chapter three - Rotten Wine

[ series masterlist ]

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings : reader x damiano david

story summary : damiano and reader are in very loving relationship that sometimes almost too quickly becomes too toxic for anyone likings

chapter warning (s) : yelling , angst , manipulation , guilt tripping , mind games , toxic behavior , manipulative behavior , strong language

Saturday morning. Special saturday morning.

Today marks exactly a whole week of Y/N and Damiano not fighting. No yelling , no crying , no sleepless nights , no pushing out of the doorway , no drinking to wash away the sins , no mental damage , no nothing.

Instead of all that , they went on a museum date on Friday , they had a picnic day on Wednesday , Y/N bought him the pearly earrings he has been eyeing on for a while , Damiano made breakfast every day for them , Y/N went out in town to frame some of their pictures they took on their previous vacations . They had a few pamper nights in a row , painting each others nails , putting on face and hair masks and even those weird feet one ! Drinking wine and dancing slowly with some slow music. Damiano singing to Y/N more than 2 times a day.

They made love every night.

It was a dream.

Both of them secretly hoping that this dream won't turn into a nightmare.

Y/N was in kitchen cutting some strawberries for the cake she planned on bringing on tonight's gathering at Victoria's house. Ethan and Thomas where coming as well.

Damiano was still sleeping. Y/N was glowing from happiness and joy. She was so in love with him. She had a smile on her bright shiny face for 7 days in a row , her eyes seemed warmer and more calm , her posture was less tensed and she even smoked less.

While she was busy chopping the reddish fruit under her delicate fingers , the room suddenly felt warmer and creamy cinnamon smell filled it.

Damiano had this weird thing about him that often put Y/Ns mind on wander. It was the way his scent and his aura color changed during his mood swings.

Even if it was not visible to human eye , Y/N swore she could see that dim cloud surrounding his body and changing color in some situations.

His scent was natural , depending on the occasion it was sometimes too strong or it could barely be felt.

When he was happy he was shining deep orange tone with the scent of light cinnamon and lemon ice cream.

When he was sad his color was indigo and he left a strong scent of mint and lime.

When he was angry which is often , he gave of wine crimson vibrations and poisnosly sharp smell of rotten wine.

As for the matter of speaking , when lust would take over him and his senses he smelled sweet like rotting roses and he was gleaming in deep burgundy color.

Just like now he was filling the room with the smell of lemon ice cream and cinnamon.

A pair of slender , sun kissed arms wrapped themselves firmly around Y/N's shoulders and chest .

Damiano's warm , naked chest pressed against Y/N's back pushed her slightly to the edge of the kitchen counter. Closing the gap between her and that cold marble.

His lips found their was to gently kiss the lovely delicate neck of hers. Cracking a sly smile upon seeing some of the soft bruises he left on her neck previous night.

"Morning mio amore." Y/N's lover whispered in her ear. His voice was low , golden , filled with care and adoration.

A huge grin appeared on Y/N's face , turning her head to her left side to kiss Damiano's temple.

"Morning love. It was about time you wake. " His raspy chuckles sent shivers down her spine. " It was , but you have no idea how sad it made me to realize I woke up without you by my side. "

Oh what a sweet talker he was..

"Why don't we go back to bed hmm amore? We have a whole day ahead for us." Damiano nuzzled his face into her neck giving it multiple pecks.

" I need to finish this cake first , after it we can do whatever." " You plan on bringing the strawberry cake tonight?" " Yes.. Why?"

Y/N frowned , she turned around slowly hoping that her boyfriend was playing jokes with her. But he had the same confused expression on his morning face.

" Well... My mom is allergic to strawberries I thought you knew that already?" " Why would your mom be there??"

Damiano stepped back a bit clearly confused.

" Why would she be in her own house? I don't know she is living there I suppose."

Y/N blinked. More than once. Is there some sort of a plan she forgot about? Her mind racing now already , trying to remember all of his family members birthdays and important anniversaries .

" Did you forget the plans we arranged for tonight Y/N?" Damiano asked , now with much more serious tone , his face was not so relaxed and it seemed like the air got thicker and it was harder do breath. The look he gave her was chilling.

' Oh not this shit again.. Are we really going to fight now?? And for what?? '

"I understood that we are going to stay in tonight with Vic and the boys at her place?"

" No. We promised my parents we are going to dine out with them. Did you seriously forgot?!"

He half shouted leaving poor Y/N confused and in slight shock. Why was he getting mad at her for such nonsense? Was he waiting for the right timing just to start an argument?

" I am sorry but I do not remember , you ever telling me that we are seeing your folks. "

" Cause you never fucking listen to me maybe."

He walked over the small coffee table in living room to grab his pack of cigarettes' and a lighter. Taking one in his fingers and placing it between his lips lighting it and taking one long drag. The slow smoke coming out of his nose and hardly parted lips.

" Not just that you never fucking listen but you also never fucking care to remember the important stuff I have! "

Okay what the actual fuck.

Y/N though while her eyes went wide from shock under the furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw.

This was some sort of a set up. She clearly remember that he never mentioned that to her before.

And both of them knew very fucking well that she would never in her life forget something that's important to him.

" You are obviously pissed at me right now for whatever reason that you have so I will let you be. When you get your shit together you can talk to me. " Y/N said with her head held high.

She was not gonna let him ruin this day. Instead she continued to make her cake. She needed to focus on something else than his deep dark eyes filled with fire from the thrones of hell burning inside of them.

The room smelled like rotten wine.

" What's the problem Damiano. Are you mad at me for not remembering something you never told me?"

He huffed , aggressively shaking ashes off his cig into the ashtray on the coffee table.

" And don't even try ruining my mood , I was perfectly fine before you woke up , I had a wonderful morning thanks for asking. "

" Are you seriously gonna jump on my nerves with that attitude Y/N? "

" That's what you are asking me to do. If you just admit that you forgot to tell me about plans with your parents we are gonna end the day in peace. "

" You are beyond fucking sweet and so beyond fucking dumb if you expect me to stay calm and be in peace with you. You are so ungrateful and so disrespectful towards me . "

Y/N felt like crying , her hands slightly shaking while wiping the fruits into cream . Why now? Why today? Why did he decided to start all this now?

" I am not believing my eyes now , instead of showing me that I am wrong and that you are not ungrateful , you are standing right here and not even bothering to listen what I have to say! "

" I don't wanna hear your crap Damiano! I am trying to maintain the fucking peace in this relationship while you are constantly the one to break it! "

Damiano also felt like crying. Cause Y/N was right. He did forgot to tell her they where invited to go out with their parents , he was in fact mainly responsible for each of their fights. But was he ever going to admit that he is wrong? No.

Instead of trying to process something she is saying to him right now , or trying to apologize , he stood up from the chair he was sitting on , his mouth placed in a smirk , his gaze piercingly cold despite his hot temper.

Damiano walked up to her standing beside her like an annoying child blocking her movements.

" I am sensing slight disobedience in your tone amore.. Now I think we should start again. You are gonna apolo - " " I will certainly not fucking apologize for anything ! Especially not dealing up with your egoistic ass Damiano!"

Y/N was yelling at him. Not able to handle this pressure of rotten wine.

She was tired again. Everything was pale and grey again. She swore that even the sun outside stopped shining. She was tired again from having to deal with a fucking brick wall.

He was just torturing her. For what? His ego.

He was watching her from above , still smirking with his arms crossed . He adored seeing her shake from rage. She was so obedient and so desperate for home peace that she tried doing everything she could to hold herself back.

" You know what Y/N , if you just once , just for once stopped playing a fucking victim then ma- "

" I AM NOT. PLAYING THE FUCKING. VICTIM!"

She screamed. Y/N Y/LN fucking screamed at Damiano David with all the fore she had in her lungs. Inside her ears it was ringing and she didn't realize that she dropped one bowl at the counter , which just provided clacking noises.

Silence.

Complete silence that smelled like rotten wine.

Damiano took whatever he could feel under his fingers which was on Y/N's unfortune a bowl filled with cake whipping cream . He gripped it firmly before smashing it in one stir way right beside her.

Y/N was standing paralyzed her eyes watering and palms visibly shaking. She was watching Damiano straight into his deep dark eyes which showed no emotion.

" Once you accept your place and know your role and once you admit you are fucking wrong ,we can talk properly. " That was all he said as that sly half smile never left the corner of his lips.

He passed her by walking to their bedroom.

No other sounds or words left.

Y/N grabbed the edge of the counter , holding herself steady so she wouldn't fall. Her mind racing. Legs shaking. Heart beating mad.

'So this is the man I wanna marry? The man I want to have family with?'

The one who just throw an heavy object right beside her head?

The one who attacks her for his mistakes?

Her legs finally gave her away. She couldn't stand straight , crying all the tears she never knew she had. Y/N hugged her knees and placed her head temple on them. What a lovely Saturday morning.

She stayed there on the floor crying for at least thirty minutes. With running nose and sobs that turned into whimpers and hiccups.

She regretted ever talking back to him . She should've simply agree that she forgot what she didn't even knew. A few times thinking and trying to remember if by any chance she did forgot about that plan.

But no. She couldn't remember. She lost all hope she had.

When she felt like she could stand again she stood up not quit bothering to clean up the white and beige mess on the floor. She skipped it skillfully directing herself to their bedroom.

'Think about all the times this has happened before , think about all other times when he was guilt tripping you and using you to water up his garden of ego. '

Y/N entered their shared room where her lover was in. Laying on his back on a bed surrounded by soft cloudy cotton sheets. His arms and hands behind his head . His eyes looking her up and down with a cold expression while behind them a fire from the throne of hell was burning.

The room stopped smelling like rotten wine.

It was smelling very little like the mint and lime.

Slow raindrops hitting the huge windows gently , the sky changed from golden to silver.

" I-I am sorry.. Plea-ase don't be m-mad at me.. " She managed to choke out this apology.

Wishing that she was the one hearing it.

Wishing she didn't have to pray away his sins.

He tapped the place for her to lay beside him.

He made her a bed of thorns. In which this gentle rose was supposed to blossom.

" Ti amo amore mio . "

Oh that silly word she always get instead of apology. Like it would fix something.

She laid down beside him , placing her head on his chest , her left leg in between his and her left arm around his torso.

One of his hands playing with her hair while the other caressed her arm.

His eyes becoming glassy as bitter drops of shame and regret left them.

Both of these lovers crying in each others arms purposely. Eager to be taken care of.

And not being able to stay on the calm shore cause the violence is the only way they know how to love.

#damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin #eurovision #eurosong #eurovison 2021 #eurovision italy #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #thomas raggi #relationship #toxic #toxic behavior #toxic relationship #fanfic #romance #slight angst #zitti e buoni #love

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra. 

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too. 

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined. 

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation. 

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. 

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact. 

But I know those words were written for him all the same. 

Notes: 

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles​

#ezra #ezra prospect #Prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ezra's journal #prospect fanfiction #ezra fanfic #my fic #my writing #pedrostories

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Shooting Stars (Childe x Fem!Reader)

note: honestly, no one asked for this. this is obviously self-indulgent, but god FUCK do i love that ginger fatui man so much.

word count: 2.6k

"Careful now."

Childe's voice was calming, much like the gust of wind that blew past your hair. You saw his hand in front of you and you gladly grasped it, heart racing at the idea of falling to your death. The wind was calm and the air was refreshing, but there was nothing light about the pit in your stomach screaming at you to just carefully glide back down to the foot of the mountain you two were climbing.

"You aren't going to die, dear." He laughed, amused at the sight of your face.

"And what if I do? Childe, this isn't funny!" Your knees were planted firmly on one of the floating rocks just above Qingyun Peak. You grimaced at how the moss scraped against your bare knees, but you felt paralyzed with fear at the thought of falling because you knew better than to trust your clumsy nature.

"I'm not letting you fall. Trust me!" The genuine concern and reassurance in his voice was masked with his charming playfulness, and you couldn't help but sigh and stand up to follow him up to the floating island up ahead.

Childe requested to occupy your entire day earlier that morning, saying something about him showing you a beautiful sight that's sure to take your breath away. You agreed, entertaining his idea of a beautiful sight. After sparring with him in the golden house, eating a sumptuous lunch at Wanmin Restaurant, then sparring with him again, you two headed over to Qingyun Peak. The sun was about to set, and your eyes were mesmerized by how the purple hues above your head covered the entirety of Liyue.

The golden hour was nearly over, and here you were, scared out of your mind, with Childe leading you up a path of floating rock chunks that you were sure would collapse if two of you stepped on one at the same time. However, much to your surprise, they didn't.

"I've got you, okay?" Your companion's voice rang in your ears, and you didn't notice that he stepped down from his current platform to take his rightful place beside you. His right hand was still holding yours, and he used his free hand to rub gentle circles on your lower back to comfort you. You breathed in his scent- a mix of dried sweat and blood with a hint of his perfume clinging to the fabric of his collar. It was a familiar scent, something that soothed you despite being thousands of feet in the air with no stable architecture to calm your nerves. You just had to trust that the Adepti architectures knew what they were doing when they built this pavilion.

"Okay," You whispered to him.

Surprisingly, the climb was easier than you initially expected. It did help that Childe was almost carrying you the rest of the way, but leaning into him was inevitable and unavoidable. It wasn't because you wanted to be buried deeper into his chest while he held you close to the point that the exposed skin on your lower back was starting to burn because his clothed fingers were just lingering there. No, definitely not that. You were simply prioritizing your safety.

"See? It wasn't that hard, right?"

"You could have told me that we'd be heading to the pavilion. I could have mentally prepared myself for the climb."

"Mentally prepare? I'm quite sure that clinging onto me the whole time put you at ease, hm?" You wanted to wipe the smug grin off his pretty face.

"Shut up before I make you, fatui."

He let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back and clutching his sides.

"You're honestly too adorable for your own good." He stepped closer and moved the hair out of your face as you felt another strong breeze blow by.

"I said shut it!" You felt a rush of heat spread across your cheeks as his eyes scanned your flustered figure.

"Here, take a seat." He motioned to the stone seat facing the sunset. "I did tell you that I'd show you a beautiful sight tonight."

"I trust your taste, so it better be worth it."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

You shot him a look. As you were about to open your mouth to speak, he quickly interjected with a defeated sigh.

"Don't even answer that." You could only chuckle as he sat down beside you, inching closer and closer until your shoulders were brushing against each other. This wasn't really the first time that you and him have been this close with each other.

You and Childe have a... complex relationship, simply put. It's not like you were dating, but the way he treated you- with respect, with care, with love; You wanted to melt in his arms as easily as you could fight him with your sword. You weren't really sure if Childe had romantic feelings for you because he never really talked about it, but you could only go off on his actions, and they directed to the one conclusion that he did have feelings for you.

However, as your former partner in research, Albedo, once said, "Do not assume unless stated otherwise. Logic and officiality back facts as much as they debunk assumptions." In reality, it was so easy to understand. Theoretically, it was easier. However, now that you were there in that position where all signs pointed to Childe having romantic feelings for you, you didn't know what to believe in.

Did you want to trust your gut instinct, or did you want to wait until Childe made it official and clear? It was a mindboggling situation for you because you also found yourself enamored by him.

Why... Why were you even enamored in the first place?

Maybe it was because you adored how he talked about his family. You could just listen to him for hours on end as he fondly tells you the tales of his adventures with Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer. It was the way that his deep cerulean eyes lit up whenever you asked about short anecdotes about his family that he could comfortably share with you. He adored his family so much that it made you feel... jealous. Aether was your only family, and you were still on the pursuit to finding him, so you were envious of how Childe could still visit his family back in Snezhnaya if he wanted to. You? You weren't even sure if your brother was still in Teyvat.

Maybe it was how he always tended to your wounds after each time you sparred. Although Childe claims that he's nothing more than a bloodthirsty hound who wishes for nothing but power and glory, he really can't stand seeing you with an open wound or a bleeding nose. While Childe is primarily the reason behind your injuries, he'd also be the first to bring you gauzes, band-aids, and medicine from Bubu Pharmacy. You'd always be touched since he tends to you first before he paid any mind to the bruises and cuts that adorned his skin.

"Your health is my priority, comrade. After all. who else could match my skills in combat if not you? That's why you better take care of yourself, or better yet, allow me to take care of you instead." His words echoed in your head, and you blushed, realizing the possible implications of his statement.

Maybe it was his surprisingly sharp memory. Though Childe could never compare to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's Consultant, Zhongli, he would often shock you at how he remembered things so well- especially when it came to you. One time, for your birthday, he bought you a necklace with your birthstone as the main gem adorning the fabric. You only ever mentioned your birthday once, and it was at an awkward moment during Hu Tao's birthday celebration, that's why you didn't think Childe would remember it at all.

"I pay attention to you more than you think, dear. I also happen to store things in my memory bank if they're that important to me." You remembered how he laughed as he insisted on putting the necklace on for you. Your hand instinctively latched on to the beautiful gem resting on your chest.

Maybe it was the way he called for your name. Whether he said your name in a battle cry, as a greeting, or in the middle of him teasing you, you were absolutely intoxicated with the way that your name rolled off his tongue. The way the syllables just always seemed so right when it was Childe who spoke them. Often, he would call you comrade, dear, or another endearing nickname he managed to create on the fly. However, when he spoke your name, it was always magical for you.

"Happy birthday, dear _____. I hope you enjoy this present!"

"It seems as though you've defeated me today. No matter, _____. I'm sure I'll triumph over you tomorrow."

"You look lovely as always, _____. Want to spar with me?"

"_____."

"_____."

"_____."

You were snapped out of your little daze. Your name being called over and over again wasn't just a hallucination caused by your infatuation with the eleventh harbinger. He was actually calling for you.

"Hey, _____? Are you feeling okay?" You blinked a few times before you realized that his blue eyes were practically puncturing your own. They were glazed over with concern, a sign that he had been calling you for a while now.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry!" You jolted, straightening your posture. "I was just fascinated by the sky, is all. I didn't mean to startle you."

"The sky, you say? Were you really thinking of the sky? Perhaps you were thinking about me instead?" His tone was teasing, a little more relaxed now that he knew you weren't feeling ill.

"The sunset was lovely. Although I see it everyday in Liyue Harbor, viewing it from up here in the pavilion is truly sensational. Thank you, Childe." You spoke, ignoring his attempt at riling you up. Of course, you were also ignoring the fact that he hit the nail right on the head with his guess.

"You didn't deny it, girlie." His voice was like a melody in your ears, a sweet harmony that made you feel elated. Anyway, why would you deny it? You were a woman of principle, which means you detested lying. It doesn't count as lying if you neither confirmed nor denied his guess, right? Right, keep telling yourself that.

"Don't flatter yourself." Your curt reply was met by another laugh.

"It should be anytime now," His words met the wind and your unknowing ears.

"What is?"

"Let's just wait for a few moments. I took you up here to see something more than just the sunset, after all." He gave you a wink, to which you just huffed and turned your crimson face.

A few moments passed, and Childe was already bouncing his leg up and down; Something you knew he only did when he was anxious or frustrated about something.

"Is something the matter?" You asked, watching his face grimace.

"Ah, perhaps my predictions were wrong." He stood up to stretch. "We were supposed to see something more than just the sunset, but perhaps Celestia just didn't want our little date to go as smoothly as I initially planned."

Hang on.

Date?

This was a date?

Your heart was racing and your mind began to fill itself with unanswered questions, but Childe knew better than to keep you waiting more than you already were.

"Hey, darling?" Your stomach dropped at the use of this nickname. "Do me a favor. Focus on the sky and don't look away until I say so."

You gave him a nod, unable to form the words that would suffice as a comprehensible sentence. He had you tongue-tied with just a simple nickname.

He walked away from where you were seated, just a few paces to your right and a couple of steps back. He was far enough to the point where you couldn't see him in your peripheral, but close enough for you to hear the jiggling of the adornments and chains on his clothes. You knew that sound even if it came from a mile away. You had it memorized by heart because of how many times you heard it before your sparring sessions began.

He took out his bow and was aiming to shoot an arrow.

Admittedly, there was a little voice at the back of your mind warning you about the potential danger just a couple of feet away from you. However, you decided to fight against it, knowing that the "potential danger" was just Childe. He'd never hurt you, right?

Despite the trust that you put in the ginger, you still closed your eyes as you heard him release the string of his bow. The quiet whizz of the arrow flew by your head, and when you realized that he wasn't shooting at you, you carefully opened your eyes to see a bright blue arrow shooting across the sky.

Your mouth went agape at the consecutive hydro-infused arrows flying across the velvet sky bedazzled with stars. The moon's glow illuminated the scenery, which made the setting all the more romantic and intimate. The vibrant hues of green and blue mixed with each other in the sky, creating an aurora borealis.

You were marveling at the number of arrows crossing the sky.

They were like shooting stars, except... they reminded you of Childe.

Though you knew they were only faux shooting stars, you closed your eyes.

"Archons, if you could be so kind, please allow me to be with him." You whispered to yourself.

You then opened your eyes to see the last arrow slowly fading away from your vision, and the hydro vision holder you loved so much sheepishly standing in front of you.

"I thought that the shooting stars would be visible tonight, that's why I asked you to come with me up here. Turns out my predictions were wrong. Maybe Scaramouche was right about the stars being a lie." He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You giggled and looked at him, signaling to continue what he had to say.

"Although they were fake, I hope you liked them. I brought you here so that we could wish on the shooting stars together." His face was growing red, and you wanted to run up and hug him, if only your pride would stop getting the best of you.

"I loved them, Childe. Thank you for asking me out here today." You stood up and gave his hair a light ruffle, laughing at how he mocked you for doing so.

"So, what did you wish for?" He asked, taking a few steps closer to you.

"W-Well, uh," You began to stumble on your words, which caused you to involuntarily take a step back. With each step you took, Childe did too.

"Hmm?"

He managed to back you up against the pillar in the middle of the pavilion, and was enjoying the face you made as he trapped you between his arms.

"F-For good health! Yes, good health!" Yes, lying was against your principles, but you couldn't just say straight to his face that you wished for a relationship with him now, could you?

"Good for you then. You wanna know what I wished for?" His face came extremely close to yours, and you could feel his breath on your cheek.

"Wh-What is it?"

"You."

Your eyes once again met his deep blue orbs and they softened when he was staring straight into your soul.

"Can I kiss you?"

You gave a light nod, and he finally closed the gap between your lips.

Albedo was wrong.

You can definitely believe an assumption if the signs were obvious enough.

Omake;

"You totally wished for us to be together right?!"

"Oh, for the love of the Tsaritsa, please shut up!"

"You totally did!"

"I am seriously going to push you off."

"You're so mean, girlie!"

In the name of Kimura Ryohei being the VA of Childe and Kise from Kuroko no Basket

#genshin #genshin impact #gi #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi x reader #genshin fanfic #ajax #childe #tartaglia #ajax x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin ajax #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #i love u ginger man #why is he so fucking CUTE

[ssscentral]

One More Time

Summary: Your touch was addictive, your scent intoxicating. He wants that back so badly, but he needs another chance. Just one more time.

pairing: Seokjin x female reader

rating: GA

genre: angst, mild fluff

warnings: pining, heartbreak, only mentions of sex, but everything very sfw

wc: 3k

member: Rid || @taegularities​

a/n: Hello! Back with the second fic in the Bouquet Collab series. Each one of us chose a flower and wrote a fanfic around the meaning of it! These were just 2 out of 6, so please look forward to many more awesome stories! I also want to thank my amazing betas @biaswreckme and @missgeniality, and further @birbdae for this wonderful banner!!!! 💕 And now let’s dive into the angst!

A single ray of sunshine illuminates the room.

Conveniently, it shines directly onto that one particular plant that stands in this whole apartment, still healthy and green as it refuses to die. Seokjin is fond of it, given the fact that it was you who had gifted him it many weeks ago.

You always used to say that his place is gloomy, grey, in urgent need of redecoration, so he could actually invite someone over and make them feel somewhat homely. After he’d declined all your offers due to laziness, you’d given up - except for the little present that you’d brought him that one significant day.

He remembers it so vividly, the memory still so painfully clear.

At that time, spring was just approaching, birds returning and beautiful flowers blooming. You were a sucker for nature and all its aspects - which was probably the exact reason for the distaste that you felt whenever you entered your friend’s apartment. His way of handling his place was dull, tasteless.

So, when you decided to surprise him with the odd choice of giving him an aloe plant as decoration and present, you weren’t expecting more than a pleasant evening that you’d spend together.

What you didn’t know was that he’d been a nervous wreck for days now, ripping out several strands of his hair before he’d finally decided to tell you the truth about what he caged in his mind. But when he saw you that day, wearing this beautiful sunflower dress, your hair in a bun with only two strands framing your angelic face, words failed him immediately.

Instead, he froze, eyebrows furrowing in fear of what you’d say or do if he confessed to you. And it didn’t take a lot from your side, no - one brush of your finger along his arm, an intense and loving gaze addressing only him, and a beautiful, mesmerizing smile were enough for him to snap before he pulled you in.

When you first felt his full lips on yours, you stared at the way his eyes closed, relishing in and welcoming the moment right away. You needed a second to comprehend what was happening, but once you understood, you felt yourself give in fast, the world becoming blurred and silent.

All you heard were the sweet words he uttered, all you saw was his glistening skin, and all you knew was that you wanted to bathe in this euphoria forever without ever having to let go.

But when you both found yourselves in each other’s arms, covered by nothing but his blanket, you still hadn’t addressed why this had happened and what it meant for you now.

Seokjin didn’t regret this - how could he, if it was with you? But the same old insecurity that plagued his heart and made his chest burn had eventually come back now. Despite having no real evidence or reason, he assumed that you didn’t want what he wanted - you’d never see him as more than a friend that you’d slept with in the heat of the moment.

In that sense, you’d woken up to a pressing awkwardness, him offering breakfast and coffee, but portraying distant nonchalance otherwise. And when you felt like none of this was going to go anywhere, you told him you had to go, finding some kind of excuse to leave.

Since then, an uncomfortable radio silence had found its way between you, and the only thing he had these days to remember you was the pink-orange flower that slowly bloomed on top of his desk.

Lying across the bed, Seokjin opens his eyes with a smile on his face, remembering how he’d looked at you in confusion when he’d first seen you standing at the threshold of his entry, smiling wide with Ally in your hands. Yes, you’d named the plant Ally - always one to give non-living things names.

Wrong.

Ally is very much alive. You’d made that clear that day. Plants take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen - yes, that’s what you’d lectured him with when he’d joked around. His apartment needs some freshness, you’d told him.

Now that he’s inhaling the air around him, it almost feels like he can smell Ally, which is total nonsense of course. He has honestly grown to love this small, spiky thing, especially after finding out the meaning behind it.

Affection.

Something he has felt for a long time now. Affection for the way you scrunch up your nose when you’re annoyed. Affection for the concentrated gaze you adopt when you’re reading a good book. Affection for your words, for the sound of your voice; he loves the sweet, honey-coated, soft tone that he swims in every time you speak.

Seokjin gets up, stretching his limbs and getting dressed when he looks at the clock, noticing that it’s time to go. There’s this boring gathering this evening, organized by some of your colleagues who thought it might be a good idea to come together and strengthen your bond as a student body or whatever.

The only reason he’s going is because he knows you’ll be there. He doesn’t care about getting himself drunk or talking about philosophical theories today - all he wants is to make right what he ruined back then. He just needs to tell you what words float inside his heart, hoping for you to reciprocate his feelings the way you’d responded to his kiss that night.

Gathering all this ardor for you, with only your name on his tongue, he closes his door behind him, summoning all the energy his body can deliver.

You’re easy to find in the small crowd. The room isn’t too filled, the atmosphere peaceful and pleasant when he steps in, running his hand through his soft, brown hair when he sees you. Breathing in and out in a steady rhythm, he approaches you, trying to mask his eagerness, hands pocketed to exude a relaxed demeanor.

When you finally notice the tall figure come closer, recognizing him as none other than the man you’re so in love with, your heart beats just a little faster and you tilt your head in wonder. After barely sparing you a glance in your classes, he has apparently finally decided to give you some attention.

Memories come crashing back; images of your last encounter flooding your mind as you press your tinted lips together, still feeling the phantom touch of his mouth on yours. He still looks the same, but his hair has gotten a little longer, almost covering his eyes entirely before he brushes the bangs away.

“Hey,” he greets, breathing in deep as he sits down in front of you, “long time no talk.”

You nearly counter with a sarcastic remark, but then contain yourself, only shooting him a breathtaking smile. “You’re right. Busy lives. How have you been doing, Jin?”

“Good!” he answers way too fast, clearing his voice before he continues. “I’m doing good. And you?”

“All good. Been writing some more lately.”

Seokjin nods as his eyes widen and his mouth forms an ‘O’, glad to hear that you’ve picked up your hobby of creating beautiful poetry again. He’s even read some of your poems, and you’re truly talented, working around words so easily as if they were his own heart.

“Oh, wow! I- um… I took care of Ally. Do you remember her?” he stumbles over his words, ears growing increasingly red. He’s such a dork and you can’t help but smile a little.

“That’s nice to hear. I bought one of these myself a few days ago. Reminded me of you.”

“That’s great! T-that’s…” What is he trying to say? There must be something that he had prepared, but for the life of his, he can’t remember anymore. All he knows at the sight of you is that he wants to grab you by your waist again, pull you in to press you against him. He wants to feel your lips, move against them in soft, then needy motions.

He just wants you as a whole, if not forever, then once.

Just one more time.

And when he sees you wait for him to speak, fumbling with your fingers with your eyes far away from his, he whispers the word “courage” to himself once before his hand reaches out to grab yours and settle on your palm.

Your gaze shifts to him immediately, his abrupt action causing confusion in you as your heart rate spikes up. But when you see the expression on his face, you feel like you know.

“Y/N, I- we… we need to talk,” he finally declares, his thumb gently ghosting over the skin of your hand, such a simple gesture sending shivers down your spine.

Yes, he doesn’t have to say much. You know what he wants to talk about; after all, there aren’t that many possibilities of what he could want at your first encounter after being somewhat estranged all this time.

“I’m not sure I want-”

“No, please,” he interrupts, squeezing your hand tighter in his. A few weeks ago, his warmth would’ve felt like a safe haven for you, pulling you out from the dark grounds of an ocean if it needed to - but right now, you feel like you’re drowning, like you’re sinking instead of swimming up. “There’s so much I’ve been wanting to tell you and there were so little opportunities to do so.”

Half-fearing, half-anticipating what he’s going to say, you search for the walls you’ve managed to pull up, accepting that Seokjin will never want you in that way. You think you’ve moved on, but now that he’s so close, on the brink of either confessing or rejecting you, you feel tense - and both options aren’t ideal for you right now.

You wait until he’s ready to talk, watch his chest rise and then fall, his eyes meeting yours, but looking like they’d rather not before-

“I’m in love with you,” he finally breathes - and as he mutters his last word, the air around you becomes suffocating, the sounds muffled and his touch heavy.

Is that better than being rejected? You don’t know. You really do not know; and the shake of your head and furrow of your eyebrows show him that something is plaguing you that he might not want to hear.

“Y/N.” His tone is calm, steady, different from your hazardous heart that’s breaking right in front of him, and he doesn’t even see it.

“Why did you not tell me that back then, Jin?” you inquire, pulling your hand away and settling it on your lap. “We slept together. Why did you let me go?”

This… this is awkward. It’s ridiculous. Seokjin shouldn’t have decided to talk about this in a crowd, surrounded by people who know nothing about what’s going on between you two. But now that he did, his heart sinks, his mind in a painful fog, and he puffs out some air, calming himself.

“Let’s leave,” he suddenly suggests, and you think you can see the faintest glint of panic in his dark eyes, “clear it out somewhere else. At my place?”

Again, you shake your head, chuckling lightly but not decently. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. There’s someone…”

Jin is quick to cut you once again, his breathing suddenly erratic. He’s been in love with you for years - no, he can’t take the thought of you having a boyfriend now, choosing someone over him. “Someone else? This fast? Y/N, why did I never-”

He stops mid-sentence, and it happens just timely as you were going to hold out a hand to silence him anyway.

“Jin. Listen,” you start, leaning in closer, “there’s someone who offered to guide me through a scholarship. Not here - in a different city. And as much as I’ve always wanted you, I can’t do long-distance relationships.”

Your words ease the pain inside him, his mind suddenly relaxing as he takes in your confession. You want him. You’ve always wanted him. Is all of this real?

“Where- where are you going?”

“It’s too far away. I wouldn’t see you more than a handful of times a year. I can’t do this,” you admit, your eyes stinging as you swallow the lump in your throat.

You see him tilt his head with a sigh, and you’re on the verge of breaking when you see his mouth twitch, that familiar movement that mostly means despair. This always happens when his grades are worse than he expects. It happens when he talks to his little brother who lives miles away. Mostly, you see it when you watch - or used to watch - movies together, especially Pixar and Ghibli ones tearing him up in no time.

And now, it’s happening because of you.

“Is there no way for you to stay?”

You bite your lip, chewing on it until you taste your lipstick. “I don’t think so. And it’s… a big chance for me.”

Seokjin’s jaw clenches and he nods, relief turning into sorrow as his expression shows understanding on the surface while his blood is boiling with pain on the inside. He’s angry with himself - he truly is. But he’s also sad about the fact that you never approached him.

And while waiting for the other in silence, phones in your hands, but the courage to message each other so far away, you missed it. You both missed it and he hates it.

“Then I hope you’ll get everything you want, Y/N,” he finally says, standing up as he grabs his thin jacket. It’s probably not that fresh outside yet, he can carry it - maybe hide his fumbling hands that clearly show his nervosity and distaste to this whole situation.

All he can think of is to get away before he breaks.

Yet, he comes closer to you, hovering above you before he leans down. Not caring about your surroundings, only seeing you, his heart only beating for you, he presses his lips onto your forehead first, wanders to your nose, both your cheeks and your earlobes as he says in between each kiss, “whenever… you decide… to come back… I’ll be here…”

Then, he cups your face, looking at your beautiful, full lips, missing how they feel on his before he kisses you gently. His mouth moves delicately, sweetly against yours, bittersweet memories and feelings streaming back as you internally forbid yourself to cry.

“Waiting for you,” he finally whispers, lips brushing yours, and every fiber in you tries hard to hold back. To not pull him into another room, kiss him more fiercely and bring back the fervent heat that you’d indulged in the last time.

His thumb brushes your cheeks softly, his eyes registering you gulping hard as he says his goodbyes, so he can leave. There’s just no way he can stay here any longer. “Don’t cry. I’ll be here, sweetheart.”

And then, his warmth is gone.

Fighting the urge to follow him, you watch him walk away, mind going crazy as you see him face the ground. You can’t falter. You need to focus on your studies before anything else - you don’t want to regret your choices; and if what he says holds true, you might just be able to wrap him into you forever when you come back in a year or two.

Maybe it’s not over yet.

The sun has set by the time Seokjin arrives home. All the sunshine from today morning has vanished, warming someone else, somewhere else now, leaving him in the dark as he lets himself fall on his bed.

An absolute disaster, all of this. And what an idiot he is. Why did he not insist on inviting you over? Ask you if there was any way you’d spend this one last night with him? The lingering feelings of your soft lips strengthen his despair tenfold, and he hates himself for not fighting for a night or a day with you. After all, you’re not going away just yet.

But deep down he knows why he did what he did: being together again would just hurt you both further, the small flame that both of your pain is becoming a searing wildfire. At least he knows for sure that this is what would happen to him. He knows it’d be near impossible to let you go if he woke up beside you.

What if Seokjin searches for scholarships, too? Your grades are similar - if you can get one, why not him? The picture of having you around, falling asleep next to you, studying together and bantering over food and movies - it’s so intriguing that he knows what he’ll search up tomorrow. 

Then again, you have your people; he doesn’t know anyone who can guide him through this, give him a fast opportunity to study somewhere else, be near you.

He doesn’t know. Not how to get you back, not how to feel you again; his brain comes up with nothing helpful, no plan he can actually execute successfully.

Slipping out of his pants, he lingers at the corner of the bed, his arms leaning on his thighs as his fingers tangle between them. Seokjin shakes his head as he physically feels his heart break, each broken piece fighting the other and torturing him, no matter how much he tells them to calm down.

And despite not knowing what to do, what to feel, how to erase the image of you and your face from his mind for the time being, he remembers something else.

When he’d looked for the meaning of the aloe plant, he had found many sources, some beautiful descriptions, and some poetic definitions that connected it to an emotional feeling. While the flower holds the meaning of affection, the memory of another word comes flooding in, ironic to the fact that aloe is supposed to heal, used to mend injuries and pain.

And thinking of this particular word, all he does know at this agonizing moment is that he identifies with your plant’s meaning.

He knows that all he feels is grief.

If you enjoyed the fic, consider liking, reblogging or sending an ask! We love to hear from you! 💕

#seokjin angst #bts fanfics #bts fic #bts imagine #seokjin #kim seokjin #jin #jin x reader #seokjin fanfiction #bts angst #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner #thebtswritersclub #blackswannet #ssscentral #taegularities #bouquetcollab #seokjin fanfic

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Part Three) || Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Sleepovers are supposed to be fun, but perhaps not when they include your fake boyfriend. 

Word count ↠ 4.5k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, some bad language, Tom’s shirtless? And also a lil bit jealous

A/N ↠ I decided that Y/N is in Stranger Things because... Joe Keery. You’re welcome. This was a fun part to write! Thank you so much to everyone that’s been loving on this series - makes my heart very very happy to know it’s being read and enjoyed :’) Please let me know what you think of this part! (This picks up directly after part two just with a pov shift)

Series masterpost

THREE: What’s Mine Is Yours (Y)

The studio lights burn your eyes painfully, and your throat has been stinging distantly of tequila ever since you took the first shot. 

Jimmy’s been sending you question after question, analysing and picking apart every aspect of your ‘relationship’ with Tom for the past five minutes. So far, you and Tom have answered with your stories aligned, and you thank yourself for having the stroke of genius to go over some essential details with him before the show. If you’d just come out here and winged it, as he had foolishly suggested, you know you would’ve tripped up by now. 

It’s all going as expected, until near the end of the interview when Tom’s words split through the air and shock you completely:

“Well, chemistry is a very important part of any relationship, Jimmy, and you know what they say: enemies make the best lovers.”

Enemies make the best lovers..?

Even as the conversation moves on, you feel the words lingering in your mind. Tom’s been playing the role of your doting boyfriend very well all evening, but there has been something a little too earnest about his eyes and his remarks, and it’s left you feeling… odd. Exposed, perhaps. He’s out here claiming that enemies make the perfect foundation to a loving relationship, and though you’re almost certain it was a throwaway comment, you can’t stop yourself from over-analysing it.

“Well, thank you to both of you for joining us tonight,” Jimmy says finally, dragging you from your stupor. “It’s been a pleasure, as always. I wish the happy couple all the best!” 

You’re nestled up very close to Tom on the sofa. His hand is on your knee, and you’ve got your arm wrapped around his side. You hadn’t discussed any of this beforehand, but you’d followed his lead when he’d first stretched out his palm. Casual displays of intimacy, according to your PR team, are everything, and it’s been almost nice to have his fingers resting on your leg, acting as a grounding presence. Any time you said something a little risky, he’d squeeze your knee - and you likewise would use your hand on his side to pinch him gently, like a reminder to stop talking whenever he came close to slipping up. 

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Tom says. He looks around to face you, his brown eyes warm and round. “We’ve had a great time.”

You nod along and pull your hand away from Tom’s side as you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, it’s been amazing.”

Jimmy throws out a few final farewells, and the audience descends into applause. As the bright sign that reads LIVE flickers out, the cameras stop rolling. Almost immediately, you feel lighter. With a loud groan, you stretch your arms out behind your head and collapse back into the sofa, your posture sagging. Besides you, Tom mirrors you, his legs spreading and his knee knocking against yours as you glance over and share a cautious smile.

“That went well, didn’t it?” You ask quietly. Jimmy’s wandered off, and around you, people are rolling up cables and wires. You can feel the eyes of some of the audience on you, so you reach down to play with his hand. Tom lets you fiddle with his fingers, and you gulp as you draw your fingertips across his soft skin.

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks at you curiously. “What was the question you answered with Harrison?” 

You scoff. “That’s a secret.”

You’d almost died when you’d read the card. As much as you’d disliked the prospect of doing a shot, the question had read ‘Which of Tom’s friends would you consider dating?’. Though you feel no romantic attraction towards Harrison, he’s the only one of Tom’s friends you know. You couldn’t admit it to Tom live, because PR would have had your head, but you don’t particularly want to fess up now, either. 

Tom’s always been a bit weird about your friendship with Harrison, and you don’t want to add more strain to your relationship. Maybe a month ago you would’ve loved to have another thing to rub in Tom’s face, but now things are changing. Your relationship is beyond twisted as it is, and much to your surprise, you no longer feel the burning need to exacerbate that - not now you know you’ll be tied to his side for the next five months. For all you thrive off Tom’s discomfort, it’s starting to take a toll. 

Tom pouts, but there’s an intense heat to it. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes. “What was your first question?” You return. “The one that you replied to by saying I’m stubborn?”

Tom groans, and the illusion of him being a doting, sweet boyfriend shatters. A part of you is relieved he’s back to normal as he glares at you. Tom has been too nice to you this evening, and it was becoming a little unsettling.

“I won’t tell you mine unless you tell me yours,” he barters. Tom looks down at your joined hands and loops your fingers together, leaning in closer on the sofa so he can drop his voice. The strong waves of his cologne drift out over you, causing your mind to spin. “Oh, come on, girlfriend, we were getting on so well, just tell me? Please?” He even flutters his eyelashes.

You chuckle in the face of his charm. “No way.”

Tom pulls away, his jaw flexing. He drops your fingers dramatically. “Fine. Be like that.” He stands up quickly, but then he pauses and begrudgingly offers you a hand, his eyes skimming the busy room. He, like you, seems to recognise there is a time and place for your petty bickering. “Let me escort you backstage,” he says, voice dry and monotonous. 

You sigh heavily. “You’re so annoying,” you tell him, accepting his hand. He helps you up with a strong grip, your fingers tangling together easily. “I almost bought the act that you were actually a decent guy tonight, y’know?”

Tom keeps your hands together as you slowly walk backstage. “I almost bought yours,” he returns, his voice quiet. “I suppose we’re both good actors, aren’t we?”

You set your mouth in a firm line. “I suppose we are.”

You don’t see him for a while, and for that, you’re very grateful. For a few weeks, it seems PR are satisfied with a few teasing tweets here and there, and you enjoy the freedom of living Tom-free again. It really is quite disruptive, having to parade around with him, and lie when your friends and family question you about him. It’s quick to grow tiresome as you have to explain, over and over, that, no, you don’t hate him - love just happened!! Yeah, he’s great! Oh, you always thought there was something going on between us? Haha. Hah. That’s so funny. 

It’d be so much easier, you think, if you and Tom got along better. But you know the only way that’ll happen is if one of you apologies to the other, and you’re still too fucking angry about everything to let your walls come down. Your history spans three poisonous years, and you aren’t willing to start lowering your defences for fear of him using that against you. You’d rather suffer through several more months of torture with Tom than show any sort of regret or remorse. You will not be the first to place your cards on the table, which lands you in a difficult position because you know he isn’t the type to concede either. You’re so similar it almost hurts. 

About a month after the show, you’re on set when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pick up the small device to see Rebecca’s name flashing over the screen. With a sigh, you quickly answer. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi Y/N, it’s Rebecca. I hope you’re doing well.” There’s a brief pause, then, “So, we need you to do something for us tonight.”

You reach up to pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Always straight to the point, aren’t you?” 

Your PR manager laughs. “Time is precious,” she reasons. “Anyway, we’ve been monitoring your socials. People find it odd that you’ve not posted anything with Tom, and we’ve realised that there is a shortage of photos of you both together.”

You hum. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve ever had a photo together where it looks like we actually like one another.”

“Exactly. That’s a problem.”

“Great.”

“We’ve been in contact with Tom. He’s going to pick you up once you’re done on set, and then come and stay the night with you. You’ll be spotted entering your apartment together, and he’ll be seen leaving in the morning. Whilst you’re together, if you can try and take some photos, that’d be great. Try to build up a backlog of different shots, so you have some in reserves for the future.”

You throw your head back, biting back a dramatic groan. “He’s coming over tonight?” You clarify.

Rebecca sighs. “Yes, Y/N. Is that okay?” 

“I suppose.” 

“Perfect. He’ll pick you up from set at 5.”

The line disconnects and you put your phone away, trying not to think about how easily your quiet evening plans have been whipped away. You’re called back to set almost immediately, and that provides you with a perfect distraction. You slip on your mask, sinking into a different character, and you let all your worries and irritations fade away.

When Tom rocks up to set, you’re still filming. You catch him from the corner of your eye as you act opposite your co-star Joe Keery, carrying your banter perfectly. You love Joe - love the fact that both of you are wearing matching sailor costumes and somehow manage to rock them, and that your scenes always flow together very nicely. You’re having a great time together, and you feel sad when the director calls out a final Cut! and the cameras stop.

“Great scene, Y/N,” Joe compliments, reaching out to pat your shoulder. 

You smile back at him, nodding lightly. “You too!” You say. “I’m going to miss filming with you.”

Joe nods, whipping the sailor hat from his head and running a hand through his long hair. “Me too,” he agrees, mouth curving into a frown, “Who else would dress up in these stupid costumes with me and not make fun of me?”

You laugh, but before you can form a full reply, you feel a figure lingering behind you. You tilt your head and see Tom there, and then feel his warm hands slip around your waist. It all happens so quickly - one moment he’s whispering hi, the next his fingers are wrapped around you and yours are on his shoulders, then he’s kissing you quickly. It’s just a peck, but it completely blindsides you, and you’re still recovering when he pulls back and looks at Joe.

“Hi, mate, I’m Tom,” he greets, his voice artificial and loud. “Y/N’s boyfriend.”

You look between them, your heart hammering in your chest as you retract your hands and let them fall to your side. Tom immediately links your fingers together.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Joe replies, eyeing you sceptically. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he accepts Tom’s free hand, and they shake slowly.

“All good things, I hope, eh?” Tom replies, glancing over to you. You raise your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he’s doing, but he just grins slyly in response.

“Eh, sure,” Joe says. Your friend rocks back on his feet, and you’re briefly reminded of the many, many occasions where you’d stormed onto set and ran your mouth about Tom. “Well, I’m gonna go now. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He raises a hand.

“Bye, Joe. Have a nice night.” 

As soon as Joe’s slipped out of sight, you turn your attention to Tom.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, voice higher and quieter than usual. You pull your hand from his grasp, and it drifts up to your mouth, to where your lips are still feeling the aftershocks of the kiss. You stare at him through wide eyes. He’s in a lovely blue denim jacket today, and it contrasts brightly against his short styled hair and his deep brown eyes.

“Greeting my girlfriend?” Tom replies. He looks a little bashful as he folds his arms across his chest. “Is that a problem?”

Fuck, you hadn’t missed him at all.

“You kissed me,” you state. 

“Briefly,” he agrees, “We’re in public, Y/N. It would’ve been weird if I hadn’t done anything. Plus…”

“Plus?”

Tom grimaces. “It felt a bit odd to see you so close to him.” He pauses, his face the picture of discomfort. “I didn’t like it.”

“You have got to be kidding, Tom,” you mutter, eyes widening. “Are you seriously being like this because I touched his arm? He’s my friend, dickhead.” You scrunch up your nose, eyeing him sourly. “You don’t have any right to act territorially, Tom. We aren’t actually dating.” 

“Right.” Tom tentatively reaches up, and you let him place his hand on your cheek. It feels almost like an apology, and you find the lines of irritation melting from your face. As his fingertips gently trail across your cheekbone, your lips pull into a small smile. “I’m sorry if I took you off-guard,” he says, surprising you completely. You’d never thought you’d see the day he owned up to one of his actions. “I won’t kiss you again unless we talk about it first.”

You swallow drily, trying not to enjoy the way it feels to have his touch skating over your face so smoothly. 

“Good,” you agree. You rock back on your feet and sigh defeatedly. “We should go.”

It’s a little after 7pm by the time you get home. You make light, superficial conversation with Tom in the car as you put up with his chiding remarks about your driving, and by the time you walk through your front door, you feel frazzled.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” you mutter as you walk into your living room and take a view of the mess. 

“It’s fine.” Tom places his bag down on the sofa and looks around, greedy eyes taking in the details of your apartment. “It’s nice here.”

“Thanks.” You look around at your apartment, smiling quietly to yourself. The building is in downtown LA, right in the centre of things, and it wasn’t at all cheap, but over the years you’ve spent hidden away within the walls, you’ve made it feel like home. You’ve added character by tacking up a variety of posters, plants, and other fun keepsakes. “Do you want to order food? I don’t really want to cook.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom pulls out his phone and glances up at you, face illuminated by the screen. “What do you want?”

“Thai?”

He pulls a face. “How about Chinese?”

You scrunch your nose up. “Thai?” You try again.

Tom bites his lower lip, his fingers moving over the screen. “Is it nice?” He asks you. 

“You’ve never had Thai before?”

He looks up at you, shrugging haplessly. “Nope.”

“Yes, it’s nice.” 

Tom surprises you by holding out his phone. “Pick something for me?” He asks. “Something good, though.”

You chuckle softly, accepting the phone and scrolling through the app. “I can’t promise you’ll like it, but I think you should.” You add a few things to the order before tossing it back. You dig your hands into your jean pockets and hesitate. “I’m gonna take a shower. Do you want me to show you the guest room?” You ask, eyeing up the hefty bag Tom had brought with him. 

“That would be nice.”

You’re quick to show Tom his room, and then you’re off through the shower. You’d been called to set for 7am, and the hot, pulsing water soothes away the tired ache in your muscles. The scent of fresh lavender clings to your skin as you dry yourself off and then collapse into a loose pair of leggings and a nice hoodie. You feel more like yourself as you stare into your reflection in the mirror now. You love acting, and you love being someone else, but you feel safest as you are right now: bare, authentic, yourself.

You’re so relaxed that you almost forget Tom’s staying over until you walk into the living room and see him sprawled out on one of your sofas, phone in hand. He cranes his face back to look at you as he hears you, his eyes drifting lazily over your figure.

“Food will be an hour,” he tells you sadly. 

“Great,” you grumble. You walk into your kitchen, looking over at him from across the open counter. “Do you want any wine?”

“Fuck yeah.” 

You snicker as you start to pour out two glasses of rosé. “So how do you want to go about taking these photos?” You ask tentatively. 

“Well, they made me bring a few different outfit changes,” Tom starts, speaking slowly, “So I guess we should just… Move about a bit and take some pictures together.”

It’s awkward as you walk back into the living room and hand him his wine glass. “Cheers,” you mutter, tipping the rim of the glass against his. A piercing ring fades across the room, and you share a despondent look with Tom.

“Cheers indeed, love.”

It’s uncomfortable until the wine kicks in, at which point the staged photographs come together a lot easier. 

You start off with a few simple candids around your apartment. You take some of Tom pretending to make some tea, and then of him standing out on your balcony overlooking the city. He changes out his shirts and hoodies every few shots, as instructed by PR, so you’ll have a more comprehensive selection of photos to post in the future. It grows quite amusing after a while as you both try to out-Vogue the another, and once the air is full of your endless laughter, you find yourself relaxing. 

When he’s satisfied with the number of candids he’s got of you, Tom suggests you get a little closer and try to get some more intimate, couple-y pics, “‘for the ‘gram, yeah?” This is when you run into a problem.

“I haven’t done this in so long,” you find yourself admitting as you sit beside Tom in your bed. You’ve slipped into a pyjama shirt, and Tom’s settled beside you. 

“Had an incredibly handsome actor in bed with you?” He returns, eyes sparkling mischievously. This evening he’s been very cheeky with you, and you have to admit you’re warming up to it. 

“Haha,” you say drily, rolling your eyes. You puff up your pillows and settle against the headboard. “Taken any photos with a romantic interest,” you clarify.

Tom pulls off his shirt easily, balling it up and throwing it across the room. You startle at this sudden action, your eyes drifting down to the defined lines of his abs. Tom is stacked. His lips curve into a smirk.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” he teases, causing you to scoff. He opens up his arms, and you settle into them gently, aiming for a sleepy, lazy, we-woke-up-like-this vibe. Your head finds his chest, and your cheek presses against his warm skin comfortably. “Smile.”

He takes a few photos of you together, posing as a lovestruck couple, and as the seconds pass by, you melt further into him. You hadn’t realised how cold you were until Tom opened his arms and let you in, but now it’s as if you were freezing before the first touch. He’s got his hand resting on your side, and you feel his mouth linger above your forehead, hesitating. 

“Can I kiss your face?” He mumbles softly, “Might make it look more realistic.”

You hum quietly, closing your eyes as you wrap yourself further around his torso. “Sure. Can I kiss your chest?” You ask boldly, spurred on a little by the woozy heat that smothers your mind.

You hear Tom’s breath hitch, and find yourself holding yours until he mutters, quietly, “Yeah.”

You let him have his fun first, and try to remain as nonchalant as possible as you feel his lips fluttering out across your forehead. He leaves a delicate trail of kisses from temple to temple, caressing your skin slowly, softly, with his warm mouth. You realise with a soft epiphany that you don’t mind being in this position: Tom’s peppering your face in gentle kisses, holding you close in his bare arms - and it’s quite nice. And maybe… Maybe he’s quite nice, too. Sometimes.

Tom’s hand smoothes over your hair, and you tilt your head until you’re able to scatter a few short kisses across his chest. You can hear the small clicks coming from his phone, and you really drag it out, enjoying the press of his supple pale skin against your mouth. It warms you up, sets a tingle flaming through your lips. 

“There,” you say, finally dragging yourself away from him. “Do you think we’ve done enough?” 

Tom hums, watching you closely as you sit up from his chest. His arm retracts from your side, and the air between you clears. “Yeah. I’ll send them to PR and see what they say.” He messes around on his phone for a few minutes, but you stay exactly where you are - shrouded in duvet and blankets and lingering near his body heat. Your eyelids flutter shut as you relax, your peace lasting until he asks, slowly, “When was the last time you dated anyone?”

You pry open an eye, looking at him curiously. “Eh, it’s been a while. Almost a year since there was anyone serious.” You look up at him, your head resting easily on the pillow. “Why?”

“Just realised I don’t know that much about you, really,” Tom replies. He slips down the bed until he’s lying beside you, and both of you move onto your sides to face one another. He looks quiet and unassuming like this - tufts of brown hair pushed messily around his forehead, with a warm expression hanging from his lips. It’s an odd look to be directed towards you. 

“Yeah,” you hum. You let a small smile find your lips. “I don’t know much about you either.”

The sheets rustle as Tom moves a little closer. “Do you… want to know more about me?” He asks gently.

You swallow. You can taste the wine on your tongue, and you wonder why you can only seem to get along with him when you’re tipsy. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe it’d be easier to do this if we weren’t always so…”

“Horrible?”

You bite your lip as you nod. “Yeah. We can be pretty mean.”

“Why do we do that?” Tom muses, his cheeks nice and flushed.

“I don’t know.”

Tom reaches out beneath the covers, and his hand finds yours softly. He links your fingers together, and you look into his eyes intently. You find only warmth and sincerity staring back at you. 

“Maybe we should try to be less hostile to each other,” he suggests. 

Briefly, your mind rewinds to that day at the park, all those weeks ago, and how Tom had dramatically announced that the thought of being your friend repulsed him. It surprises you to hear this change of heart, but you realise you’re in the same boat. A lot has changed since then. 

“Okay,” you find yourself agreeing. “I’d be down to try that.”

“Okay.”

You share a small smile, and it seems to last a lifetime. For a while, it’s just you and Tom, buried in your bed together, hands clasped, breathing in sync, and it’s nice.

Eventually, food comes, and you convince Tom to watch one of your favourite films in your living room. You settle on separate sofas, but you’re able to make some light-hearted conversation. He even jokes around with you. It feels nice - but also too good to be true. 

As you sober up, you find yourself looking at him sceptically. No matter how welcome the thought that things between you are slowly mending might be, you don’t trust Tom, and that’s not about the change overnight. He’s an actor, and you wouldn’t put it past him to be pulling your leg - drawing you into this rouse, only later to turn around and pull the rug from beneath you, and laugh at you for believing that he’d want to be your friend. Your perception of him has been skewed so negatively for so long that it’s hard to believe he’s actually being nice - even if on your end, the softening is genuine. 

But you let yourself believe it, just for the night. You throw popcorn at him, and laugh together, and finish the bottle of wine over dinner. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom calls out, resting up against the door of the spare room. He’s caught you coming from the bathroom. He’s shirtless again, grey sweats hanging low from his hips, and you can’t stop your eyes from shamelessly tracing the curve of his v-line. “Not going to give your boyfriend a goodnight kiss?”

You roll your eyes, but you find yourself walking over to him. “You’re so fucking cheeky, Tom,” you mutter, amused. You press your hand to his shoulder and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight,” you say, eyeing him firmly.

Tom’s eyes dance with a thousand different emotions, and he dives in to kiss your cheek in return. “Night, love.”

You raise a hand in farewell and turn away before he can see the huge, embarrassing grin on your face. 

When you wake up, it’s to silence and a slightly sore head. Your clock reads 8.22 AM, and you amble towards the kitchen. 

You decide to extend towards Tom an olive branch - a cup of tea - to solidify your newfound… friendship? Amicable arrangement? You don’t know how to label it other than a loosening of your mutual disdain, but you know that whatever the dynamic was last night, it’d been nice. The idea that there’s more to him than the cocky, fronting mask he sometimes wears is pleasant. 

So you make him a cup of tea, and then tentatively walk across to your spare room. You knock quietly, hear nothing, and then gently push your way inside.

The room is empty. Tom is gone. He’s left the bed unmade.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, scrunching your eyebrows together. You glance around and notice he’s taken all of his things, and then walk back into your room to check your phone - no new messages from him.

You sit down on the edge of your bed and sip at the tea you’d painstakingly poured for him. 

Maybe it was too good to be true, and you’d just been stupid to think one tipsy evening together was the start of something new. He’s clearly undergone no change of heart if he’s managed to waltz out without as much as a text goodbye. You feel stupid and angry, but above all disappointed. 

Because for a moment - a brief, hopeful moment - you’d imagined being Tom’s friend, and the prospect had made you feel happy.

↠ NEXT PART

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[monsoonblooms12]

Bittersweet (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Summary: OH Book 1 Chapter 4 written from Dolores Hudson's POV

A/N: I really wanted to do this because Dolores is such an amazing person and this chapter is one of my favourites in the entire OH series. This picks up from the office fire and ends at Dolores's death.

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤍

Characters: Dolores Hudson, Ethan Ramsey, f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Pooja Sharma (f!MC)

Word Count: around 2.8 K

Rating: General

Category: Fluff then Angst

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters and some of the dialogues. I only own my MC.

Triggers: Complications in pregnancy, Few Curse Words, Character Death

Prompts: @choicesaprilchallenge2021 Day 23: Classic/Classical

Other Works

Clickety-clack!

Dolores's fingers danced on the keyboards in a swift motion as she strived to complete this last email and get home and have a sleep that she missed yesterday due to late-night cravings.

Around her, a chaos of whispers spread as her colleagues engaged in mindless chitter-chatter of the last hour before the end of the office day.

A few nudges of Hey, Dolores! and its variants reached her, but she steered past them, focusing completely on her work.

Just one more line anndd,

Done!

She hit the send and the ping of the 'sent' notification calmed her overworked nerves.

Come on, Lil tadpole, let's file these papers, get ice cream and go home.

She fondly rubbed her belly. 26 weeks in and yet the fact that she was going to become Mamma Froggy was overwhelming and exciting.

She got the prints and in a hurry, nearly got a paper cut.

Careful there! She cajoled herself and started filing those messy sheets of her hard work of the day.

She was almost done just as-

Waaahhh!

The blazing sound, very much like a siren's, reached all of them, leading to the eruption of panicked commotion between all of them.

They had been run through the fire drill so many times that they didn't need to be told that it was a fire alarm.

Dolores left all her possessions, carrying only her bag with the stuffed froggy she had bought for her baby and tried to run.

But being pregnant doesn't make it very easy. Even more, if there was a fucking fire at the place.

People went haywire. Very few cared about the fact that she was carrying a baby, and they should have the minimum decency to help. Most would selfishly try to save themselves, not giving a damn about anyone.

Dolores tried to pave a way for reaching the elevator. It was nearly impossible for her to get down the stairwell in time to save herself from the hazardous situation. She could see that most of the people had already evacuated.

Why was the fire department not here yet?

The fire was ablaze, surroundings hot, and amidst all, Dolores walked slowly, worried only about her little tadpole and not herself.

She pressed the buttons of the elevator. Waited. But nothing budged.

Fuck it!

Smoke engulfed her and she felt suffocated. All through the light-headedness, she could faintly hear, the siren of the ambulance. She hoped someone would save her from this fiery hell.

But there was no one to help her. No one around. The building burnt and if she did not think of something quickly, she would burn with it as well.

Not viewing any other options, she screamed with as much strength she could garner. Once, Twice, Thrice.

The next actions happened quicker than the blink of an eye. She saw a handsome EMT rush towards her. Even though she was already in a blazing environment, she couldn't stop the he's hot reflex of her brain cells. He came to her and reassured her that he would be able to save her and her baby, picked her up, and slowly, yet swiftly, got out of there.

Just like a superhero.

She thought of telling this story of Super-Man coming to save him and his Mama to her baby and the thought made her giggle.

Her head was light, and she felt choked, but her mind would keep going to the little angel of her womb, worrying only for him.

The last she remembers was reaching the ambulance and coughing vigorously. She couldn't breathe normally. She tried and failed miserably. A slow sensation of blacking out and after that, everything blank.

After who knows how long, Dolores feels the glare of white lights around her giving her eyes a painful competition to open up. She squints, tiredness spreading through her body. From office work or the life-threatening experience? She does not know.

She slowly, very slowly, tries to sit up, her hand on her belly, tenderly stroking it, as if to let the child know that his Mamma would not let any harm come to him. Nurses check in on her, one of them replacing the oxygen mask with a nose tube, and she felt a bit more relaxed.

As she was taking in the surroundings, she realized,

Edenbrook!

Coming back here after so many years brought back many memories. The first time she came here. Oh, how panicked she was! She was getting jitters but that calm and brilliant doctor took care of her, not only inside the hospital but also outside it.

Dr Ethan Ramsey.

He still worked here, he had told her in his last email. I need to meet him! She thought.

When was the last time they had met? In that coffee shop last year, right? It had been long.

She traced the name she had thought for her tadpole over and over again on her belly as if to make him memorize it before coming here to her, and looked around.

There was a minimum difference between the room she had been kept in the first time and the one in which she was now, but the time gap made her feel everything was new.

All of a sudden the door swayed, letting in a young doctor and,

Ethan!

She was genuinely excited about seeing him. Of all the possibilities, she hadn't really considered the fact that he would be coming to treat her. He has important cases to take care of than petty smoke inhalation, right?

A frown appears on his forehead. "What did you get yourself into this time, Dolores?"

His stern tone is the tough layer of a walnut, which hid his soft corner, the concerned heart. She smiled at the realization.

She quickly filled him in with all the details. The fire. The hot superman. The baby. Everything.

She finds the young doctor's surprise about Ethan having friends amusing. The look of surprise she had on her face was priceless.

But when the doctor asked her,

"Was Dr Ramsey always so mean?" she guards her mouth using her hand, "And so handsome?"

It was Dolores's turn to be shocked. She knew just how much Ethan hated interns. He used to whine about how stupid they were all the time to her, online & offline. And here was this intern, having enough courage to ask her such a question in front of him.

Impressive!

"This man's definitely got grouchier than before, but even then he had an edge"

"And as for handsome, I think he has aged like a fine wine" Dolores winked and Ethan fumbled for words.

When he got his tone back, it was strict.

No matter what anyone else thought, Dolores knew the real Ethan. The one without his rough and tough exterior and mean demeanour.

And that Ethan, if he ever came out, would make everyone fall in love with him.

As the doctors mumbled between themselves, she looked around, searching for something.

Umm Hmm. She couldn't see it.

"Excuse me Doctor Sharma" Both of them turned to look at her. "I remember having my bad when the hunk brought me out. Did they bring it here?" She asks, anxiety on its borderline, ready to burst out.

She needed it. Very Much.

Dr Sharma looks around for a bit, carefully conscious eyes trained to spot abnormalities. Her eyes, soon enough, fall on the side table of the bed and she picks the purse up and hands it over to Dolores.

Another frantic search follows. She turns all the contents up and down, her happy demeanour replaced with a visible frown.

It's not here, she says, evidently panicked.

A sadness spreads on her face.

"I must have dropped it in the office" She is on the verge of crying.

Dr Sharma places a kind hand on her shoulder. What Happened? Her questioning eyes wordlessly ask.

Dolores sighs, "It probably sounds stupid but I saw this adorable little frog on my lunch break and had to get it for my little tadpole."

"My parents are gone and the father's not in the picture." She adoringly places a hand on her swollen belly, "I just want everything to be perfect for him."

Dr Sharma gives her shoulder a gentle push of reassurance, and adds, "It's not stupid Dolores, absolutely not. I feel like you're going to be a great mom."

Her words make Dolores smile despite the upsetting circumstances, "Thank You. I- I just wished I hadn't lost it."

She stays lost in the thoughts and daydreams of her little tadpole playing with his first gift, growing ever more upset with every passing second.

"I and Dr Ramsey will find it for you!" Dr Sharma's excited tone jolts her out of her thoughts.

She is surprised first and slowly a smile appears, "Really Ethan? You would do that for me?"

He hesitates.

"Erm- Yes, sure." He fumbles.

"Dr Sharma, let's get this urine sample to the lab first. I will meet you in the lot in ten minutes."

Relieved and Happy, Dolores exclaims, "I am 26 weeks pregnant, Ethan. Not gonna take 10 minutes to make me pee!"

And in 15 minutes, they take her urine sample away and bid adieu with a promise of bringing her token of love for her tadpole back.

She was extremely grateful for Dr Sharma. She doubted if Ethan had given in the first time if it had not been her taking initiative.

Wait a Minute.

Ethan Ramsey listened to an intern? That too, in the first time itself? The observation blew her mind.

She recounted the time he had called her to his home to give a dinner treat. Lovely memories of a different face of the man came to her mind like the waves reaching the shore, one after the other.

"Mmm... Ethan, this is delicious!" Dolores found herself falling deeply in love with this masterpiece of Georgian stuffed chicken.

"Thank You, but it wouldn't have got done without your help" Ethan was never the type to take credit. Boast, Huh? What's that?

That's what she liked the most about him. A fine, handsome man, talented without bounds, a successful doctor having shitloads of money and a chef. He was a complete package and yet seemed to be subtly unaware of it.

They chatted about everything from opera to music to their first meet. It was a jolly time.

That is, until, the conversation landed on romance.

"So, seeing anyone?"

"No, not currently." He blushes a bit.

"Imagine" Dolores leans back on her chair, stretching her legs, "if, I said if, you fell in love with," she pauses to look at his curious face, "an intern?"

"Impossible."

It came even before she had finished the word. Dolores was amused.

"Just imagine!"

"I don't want to waste time imagining something as implausible as that. Can we talk about something else please?"

And here he was today, listening to an intern, a different demeanour than usual. Not that it was love, yet, but there was something.

Was he impressed by her?

He talked differently, listened patiently to the young doctor. That Ethan Ramsey who would not stand with an intern for 5 minutes, listened to one?

Anyone who knew him would laugh off the fact and say it was a joke.

Dolores made sure that if it happens, the falling in love with an intern, she will not let Ethan see the end of it. Teasing him to annoyance, yes that's what she would do.

She turned on some soft classical music on her phone, spreading an instant calm and dozed off for a while...

She gets up with a start on the sound of the door opening. She rubs her eyes to get a better view of the people in front of her.

It was Ethan and Dr Sharma!

She looked at them and yes! there it was, her tadpole's froggy.

She was overjoyed.

"You got it!" Dolores breaks into a grin as the sterilized frog is given to her.

"Happy now?" Ethan asks, the faintest glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

"Yes, very, very, much! Thank you so much, Ethan."

She pulls Dr Sharma into a small hug, "You too Dr Sharma, thank you!"

"Of course, Dolores." The young woman's beautiful face gleams at her, "and you can call me Pooja."

After few minutes of chit chat, Pooja leaves to get Dolores's reports.

"Switch on the TV Ethan, it's boring to sit here and do nothing."

"You know you can do better things than watching stupid TV shows?"

"I am doing it because I want to. The least who can do is help me." She shrugs.

"Fine, fine."

After going on a roundabout tour of the various broadcasted shows, they settled to watch a comedy.

Soon Ethan's stoicism got lost in the wilds and he started laughing along with her.

All the while Dolores held the Froggy affectionately to her tummy, to her little tadpole, as if to show it to him and ask if he likes it.

Amidst all the laughs, the medical reports are completely forgotten until there's a soft knock on the door and Ethan looks at someone from the corner of his eye and go out to meet them.

Still, she remains blissfully unaware of her health conditions and basks in the moments of delight she gets alone with her tadpole.

Her eyes remain glued to the TV screen until the doctors come in and from the morbid faces they wore, she knew that the reports were anything but good.

She switches off the TV.

"What is it? Ethan?"

Pooja steps forward, "I want you not to worry, Dolores."

She feels a mild panic attack bursting inside her, "T-That's what people say when there is something to be worried about. Is my tadpole okay?"

Pooja sighs, "Have you heard of preeclampsia? It's a disease affecting one out of ten pregnant women. In most cases, it is manageable, if monitored properly. But in your case-"

She pauses. And Dolores knows that whatever's coming will not be hopeful.

"It's serious."

Dolores quickly asks, "How serious?"

Not too much. Not too much. Please, god, not too much. She crosses her fingers.

"The blood flow to the placenta is slowing. It could deprive your baby of vital nutrients and oxygen."

With his morbid mask matching his melancholy tone, Ethan says, "Your baby is at risk."

Shit.

"B-But I can still feel the baby kicking!" She urges them to come and feel for themselves.

"Dolores it just means the delivery needs to be done early."

"Impossible." Dolores remarks with a deadly determination. "It's too soon."

"Babies delivered at 26 weeks have a good chance of survival." Dr Sharma tries to convince her.

"A-A chance?"

She is not going to play a game of chances with her beloved tadpole, her little jewel.

They keep convincing her.

"Yes he'll have to spend some time in the N.I.C.U and there are chances of post-birth complications-"

"And some don't make it at all. Is my baby is in danger now?" She asks with a motherly force.

"No, not immediately. But-" Ethan is on his tracks to convince her again.

"Then my little tadpole is staying put."

"Dolores—"

"No, Ethan! Just...give me some time! As long as you can give me. Please" It is a request from her heart, and she is on the verge of tears.

"I give you tonight. To come back to your senses."

When they leave, Dolores cries, caressing her belly, her little tadpole in there. She cannot take a risk with his goddamn life, never ever.

Tears roll down her cheeks and she holds the stuffed frog even tighter to herself, praying to god for his magical abilities and to save her baby.

Please.

She fell asleep while crying. When she wakes up, she finds a few unknown nurses and doctors standing there.

She tries to speak but cannot form words. Her head feels light, just like it did in the office building. She could not sense anything, swallowing was trouble.

She makes random sounds and the people come rushing to her, just as her body breaks into violent convulsions.

"We need to take her to the surgery, QUICK!"

They call for a code blue and everything that happens following that is a haze to her.

They are rushing her to the surgery. Her body shakes vigorously, and she can feel that she doesn't have much time left.

She holds the doctor's hand who was rushing her to the O.R.

"N-nam-me him-m E-Ethan."

And with that, she slowly spirals down the realm of unconsciousness, the last thought to ever strike her mind was,

Little tadpole, mamma loves you. You will be okay. Mamma will always be there with you, for you.

And with that her breath leaves her body, the last tear dropping on the O.R. bed.

As Ethan Hudson sees the light of his new life, Dolores passes away into the darkness.

I love you little tadpole.

PS: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day ahead! Love, Manamee🤍.

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[0risha]

“AWAKE.”

» PAIRING : atsumu x fem!reader

» SUMMARY : atsumu, who’s nothing like his chef brother fails at making yakitori. 

» TAGS : fluff, reader has box braids....

NOTES : this has been marinating in my drafts for weeks now but yeah... here ya go. hope you enjoy!

When your eyelids tense and the rays of the sun peek out from the blinds of your bedroom, the indulging scent of yakitori causes a surge of happiness to shoot through your veins. A dopey smile is plastered on your face as you remove your bonnet from your head, braids sitting messily atop your shoulders. 

Who wouldn't like to wake up to grilled chicken? 

Unfortunately, your indulgence is short-lived because a thought hits you square in the chest.

Atsumu can't cook.

And as soon as your thoughts transition so does the scent of chicken. Your nose scrunches up from the faint, acrid smell of burning meat.

“Atsumu freaking Miya!” You shout, hastily pulling the sheet from your body and springing up from the soft mattress. Your bare feet pad urgently along with the cool tile of the hallway. You get no answer but you enter the kitchen to find a complete, utter mess.

The gallon of soy sauce you had recently bought was less than half empty. You weren’t an expert at cooking yakitori but you didn’t need that much? Your eyes widen after catching sight of the empty bottle of your very expensive mirin sweet rice wine. Hands twitching by your sides as you follow a trail of what seems to be brown sugar to the sliding patio door that leads to your backyard. 

Out of anger, you slide the door open, voice readied to yell at Atsumu till your throat was hoarse, and send him on a shopping spree to the farthest and most expensive food market. But you’re instead met with a head of bright orange. All the anger dissipates from your body as it’s displaced with confusion. 

“Eh, who are you?” You study his wide-eyed expression which looks equally as confused as yours. 

“Oh, hello. I’m Shoyo!” He smiles and your tempted to shield your eyes in term of how bright it is. Familiar name, familiar face...

“Y-y/n!” You swivel to see Atsumu standing in front of a smoking grill. Your eyes flit from his to see two other figures also surrounding the grill. 

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” you ask, stepping away from Shoyo. The burning smell getting stronger and stronger.

"Making yakitori!" he says enthusiastically. Trying his best to coax you out of anger. He had good intentions, wanting to surprise you with one of your favorite foods on a day that you decided to sleep in. You had been working really hard lately but he had let it slip while on the phone with Bokuto —he had an annoying habit in which he talked about you at the most unreasonable times— and so, Bokuto had mistaken him for a good cook just because his brother was.

"Putting that aside." You grit, giving him a glare that sends a shiver down his spine. "Who are they?" you whisper, trying to be considerate but you fail miserably because you're one hundred percent sure that they all had heard you.

"My teammates," he deadpans. You pout and turn bashfully. In all honesty, you never really paid attention to the rest of the Jackals, only him.

"I uh- I knew they looked familiar," you humph and Atsumu raises an eyebrow in skepticism.

"Whatever," you turn the situation around. "Thought we promised that you wouldn't try to cook. " You move to the grill to see more than a dozen charred pieces of meat.

Your eye twitches in frustration. "Were you all standing in front of the grill the entire time?" you question and they all innocently nod. "Then how the...?" You squint, rubbing the middle of your forehead as you feel the approaching signs of a headache.

"Well, in all honesty, I tried to tell him it was on the verge of burning but he didn’t listen.” You turn to the sound of a muffled voice.

Okay, you recognized him. Atsumu had mentioned a curly-haired spiker that wore masks ninety percent of the time and hated uncleanliness. 

“You’re not serious,” you grunt. Grabbing the pair of tongs from Atsumu’s hand and moving the charred meat to a paper plate. “Where are the scallions?”

“I’m not supposed to put it on after?”

“Y—” you try. “You don’t read recipes?” You grab a bowl of uncooked chicken from the backyard table. “You don’t have a chef brother?” 

“Didn’t wanna ask him,” Atsumu whines, towering over your figure as he watches you put the chicken on a skewer.

“So instead of making a simple phone call, you decided to waste all of my food?” 

“Not a waste, It’s simple trial and error.” You whip around to stare at him with a bewildered look. 

“Don’t look at me like that! I’ll learn eventually.”

“This was your first and last chance,” You declare.

“Hey.. uh—Shoyo?” A head of orange turns to you. “Can you get me eight scallions, they’re in the basket on the kitchen counter.”

“Okay!” He dashes to the patio door.

“And...” 

“Sakusa.”

“Sakusa, can you grab the jar of ginger and garlic paste in the right upper cupboard?”

“Why?”

“It’s your fault for letting him burn the chicken,” you chide. His eyebrows furrow at that. 

"It's not, but fine.” When he walks away you hear something alongside the words, I hope your kitchen is clean.

“Wait! Wait! What about me?” You turn to a figure with silver spiky hair, his large yellow eyes peering at you. He’s adorable.

“Just uh... you see that table.” You point. “Just set them up for me.” He immediately scrambles to do just that.

“So...” Atsumu looks down at you, his dirty blonde hair shadowing his forehead. “Do you not love me anymore?”

“Who said that?” you whisper. 

“I know that look,” he says with a humph. 

“What look?” You furrow your eyebrows. “That look you get when you see something adorable.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You maneuver your way around him to grab the scallions Shoyo brings to you, giving him a smile in thanks. From the corner of your eye, you see Atsumu clutch his chest, feigning hurt. You roll your eyes at his antics. 

“I’ll love you even more if you go make drinks.” 

“Of course! Anything for my—” He stops when he sees your attention is no longer on him. Only focused on the jar of paste Sakusa hands to you. His lip downturns as he walks towards the patio door and closes it as he enters. 

“Is he okay?” Sakusa asks, brows furrowed as he stares, dumbfounded. 

“Is who ok—” Your voice trails off as you see Atsumu, his head leaning against the patio door as he shakes his head with a somber expression. 

You cover your mouth with your hand as you try your best to stifle your laughter. Atsumu turns to you, shakes his head once more, and walks away from view. 

“Sakusa.” You turn. “Do you know how to make yakitori?” He nods with a slight scowl. Though, you’re sure it’s just how his face normally is. 

“Can you, you know….” You trail off, waving to the skewered chicken. “I already did everything you just have to grill them.” He nods again and takes his place in front of the grill.

“Thank you!” You wave. Turning to walk towards the patio door, and enter the kitchen. You see Atsumu perk up while he scrummages through the refrigerator. But he doesn’t say a thing. 

“What are you making?” You take a seat on the cool counter. 

“Lemonade,” he grumbles, a pout on his lips as he places a lemon in a lemon juicer. Your eyes zoom in on his arms. Catching on, he turns away from you. 

“Wha—are you mad at me?” You huff, arms crossed. A beat of silence passes by. “I’ll help you if you talk to me.” Another beat of silence. 

“You don’t want my help?” You sniffle, a cloud of gloom clouding you. 

“W-wait I never said that.” Atsumu scrambles towards you to grasp your shoulders in consolation. “I-’m sorry, I just—" He blinks when he sees you stifling a giggle. 

“Now, that I finally have your attention.” He turns away from you but you wrap your arms around his neck. “I apologize for being mean to you this morning.” He hums with a nod.

“Although, you kinda deserved it.” You detach yourself from his embrace. But before you can back away, Atsumu grabs your jaw to pull you into a kiss. 

“Wait!” You back away. “I didn’t even brush my teeth!” You sputter out, his offended expression turning into one with understanding. 

“Oh, yeah. Go do that.” You roll your eyes and punch him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Don’t think you're off the hook, we’re going to the food market today.” You trudge up the stairs.

“The close one, right?”

“No.”

“Wait why— that cashier lady always looks at me like she’s in love with me!” He runs after you. 

You turn towards him. “It’s your fault for being so hot, you know.” You pat his head. Though, you regret it when his brown eyes shimmer. “Do you really mean that?” He rubs the back of his neck and shuffles back and forth. “Well, if you put it like that, I’ll go everywhere you go.” He confesses, bashfully. 

With a sigh, you close the bathroom door on his face.

back to m.list

#atsumu x you #atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x black reader #atsumu x poc reader #haikyuu x black reader #atsumu x reader

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine Part 7

Thank you, thank you for all the kind words, clever tags…I hope this ending is a good one for all of you. <3

Summary: We end where we begin…at a party. Will the Thief get everything he came for?

Warnings: Making out…I don’t know why, the man exudes pure sex, but I couldn’t fit the smut in. Stealing things. The reader is female, blank canvass, no y/n.

I stared at the card.  All that blackmail, clever managing to break into a warehouse, avoiding getting killed…and all I had to show for it was an empty chair and a card.

A King of Spades. What the hell did that even mean?  It’s been a few days, and I had no idea where he was, if he was alright, anything.

But I did have a bit of luck.  I learned that there was to be a ball…and it was tonight. The Heart of the Rhine would be on delicious display, around the neck of a lady who claimed to be one of the “Last Habsburg Princesses” — though people made fun of her for her grandiose claims.  But still.  She was going to the ball, wearing the Heart, and I was going to steal it.

I had a glass fake.  It wasn’t a very good glass fake, but it would do with the time I had.  I also had a beautiful dress, a soft, filmy green that clung where it should and sparkled like a thousand diamonds had been sewn into it.

I then tried to treat myself to dinner, but the card was declined…finally, my father had cut me off.  I laughed…I had bought everything from the skin out for the ball, made sure I was the most beautiful and elegant I could be, and it was the MCDonald’s cheeseburger that got declined.

I told myself I was dressing for the part, not for the man.  I hadn’t picked out the most beautiful lingerie to wear under the dress that I could just in case he would get to see it.

I’d give my soul to know his name, and it scared me, how far I’d gone.

How much I wanted him.

So, there I was.  At the entryway to the Great Ballroom (which I’d cleaned yesterday, and helped set up this morning before collecting my paycheck and canning my maid outfit and wig for good, thank you very much) I paused.  It was going to end the way it began.

I told myself I was ready.

“I thought you’d be in the corner, singing to yourself, angel.”  His voice was like a heavy velvet wrap around my heart.  I was suddenly so very aware.  Aware of the warmth of his body near my back, the feel of his hand as he moved to take mine, bending low and kissing the knuckles, the dark pools of his eyes never leaving mine.

“It’s not a masquerade, this time.”  I was proud that I almost sounded unaffected.  Almost.  He was wearing a jacket of silvery grey, it shimmered a little in the light.  “All masks are off.”

“Are they?”  He presented me with a little pouch.  Smiled down into my eyes, his eyes so deep and dark — but warm, like summer shadows.

“What’s this?”  I took it gently.

“A thank you present, for later…hide it in one of the pockets you had sewn into your gown.”  He caressed my cheek gently.  “Thank you for rescuing me.”

I tried to feel it through the velvet of the pouch as I stowed it…paper?  Around something hard?  His caress distracted me.  “I can’t believe you got caught.”

“Perhaps it is time for me to retire.”  He held out a hand.  “Shall we?  We did not get to dance properly last time, and tonight, we have time to kill.”

I let him lead me out on the floor.  His hand on the bare skin of my back was warm, intimate.  He’s held me close before but this is different…my breath still came faster, heat still pooled in my belly at his touch, feeling his body move against mine, but it felt like home just as much as it felt like lust.  Would he move this smoothly, if we were alone in his bed?  Would be be this gentle, but this firm as he lead me?

“How…”. I shut myself off.  I had been about to say, “How do you fall in love with a Thief?”

“How do I plan to take it?”  He tapped his forehead to mine gently.  “You know better than to ask.”

“Well.  She has four guards around her everywhere she goes.  She’s never alone — someone is always talking to her, always saying something.”

He turned me gently in his arms, and now I was back to his front, as they continued dancing to the music.  His cheek was pressed against mine, and I felt the bristle of his beard.  “They’re all men.”  I said softly.

“Good.  Good.  And see how much she drinks?”

I spin away, his hand gently guides me back and we are face to face again.  “That can’t be it.  That’s too easy.”

“Sometimes it is.”  His nose brushed mine.  “Enough talking.”  He kissed me.  I stopped right in the middle of the dance floor.  The world was spinning, but I was still, tucked up against him, his mouth exploring mine, his hands pulling me close.  When I opened my eyes I realized he’d guided us off to the side, in a shadow created by one of the pillars that lined either side of teh room.  He looked down at me, as if trying to say something, then sighed, closed his eyes and placed his forehead to mine, cupping my face with both of his hands.

“Will you ever tell me your name?”  I whispered.

He pressed his face against my neck, I felt him smile.  “Maybe,” he said softly.  “Or perhaps you should make one for me.”

“I’d rather know yours.”  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he started kissing my throat.  I was pretending to keep my eye on the mark, but failing.  “Stop distracting me…anyway…I am tired of calling you The Thief in my head all the time.”

He looked up.  “Really?  Is that all you call me?”

“Yes.”  I drew it out.

“Liar.”  He said, and kissed me on the nose.

“This is not what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?”

“Well.”  I played with the satin lapel of his jacket.  “I thought you’d drag me off to some quiet corner and have your way with me.”

His hands closed in on my waist, and squeezed.  “Is that you want, my darling?  To hide somewhere and taken so passionately that I need to keep my hand over your mouth to stifle your moans?”

I looked up at him.  “Sounds lovely.”

His mouth twisted into an oddly alluring smirk.  “Well.”  He said softly, leaning closer.  His eyes dashed a quick glance over my shoulder, and his frame sank.

“Is she heading for the restroom?  Already?”

He nodded.

I held up a finger.  “Hold that thought.”  I moved through the crowd, muttering about woman and their humming bird sized bladders.

I went in.  There was an attendant, the black cloth of the uniform shirt a little too snug around her arms and shoulders.  She was built like an amazon, and I thought, That is not coincidence.  I used the restroom, washed up, and was checking my makeup as my mark approached mirror.

My body was between the attendant and the mark.  Could I do it?  Dared I?  “Excuse me…the clasp of your necklace looks undone…”. I reached over to fix it, thankful that she had worn her hair upswept.  The fake was palmed in my hand.

“I’ll see to that,” the attendant said, pushing me aside gently.  “It looks alright.”  Her tone was less gentle this time, and she frowned at me.  The Hapsburgh Princess — the papers said her friends called her Norri — gave me a glare in the mirror, then kept fixing her face.

“Must have been a trick of the light.  I’d hate for you to lose your necklace, it’s really pretty!”  I backed to the door.  “See you around!”

He was leaning against the wall next to the door.  “Attendant?”

“How’d you know?”

He put an arm around my waist.  “You need work on your poker face, my love.  Which is a shame, because our next shot at the jewel is during the poker gamethey have set up for later.”

I let him lead me away.  “What?  You think to get her to add it to the pot?”

He shrugged elegantly.

“Oh, come on.  Tell me.”  He lead me to a balcony, overlooking the city.

“I have a plan.  You know how to play, right?”

“I do…I am adequate, but…”

He handed me a card.  “This is so you can join the game.  The chips have been purchased.  Just collect at the end and cash them in.”

“What happens if they figure out that I’m your accomplice?”

He reached over and tucked some hair behind my ear.  He looked very sad, in the golden light.  “They won’t.”

I cupped his face in my hands.  “Why are you so sad?  What are you going to do?”

He shook himself and gave me a blinding smile.  “Nothing!  Everything will go according to plan.  Now…”. He sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the balcony.  “Come, let me hold you for awhile.”  He unbuttoned his coat with careless flicks of his fingers, then looked up at me, held out a hand.

“Well.  We do have to kill an hour…” I sat down carefully.

“Shhh.  Give me your whole weight, my dove.  None of this awkward half sitting, eh?”  I shifted as his arm closed around me, and he traced my jaw with his knuckles, and kissed me.  His mouth was hotter and sweeter than sin, I shifted to get closer, pressing my chest to his.  I ached to be touched, as those soft lips met the skin of my neck, nipped and licked, burning a path that made me moan softly.

“That’s it, my beautiful girl.”  He whispers in my ear.

“What do I have to do to get you to tell me your name?  Just the first.  Lie.  It’s fine.  Just tell me…”

He’s playing with the strap of my gown, he’d been in the process of pushing it aside.  “I will not lie, not to you, not about that.  But I have promised myself — I will only tell my name to the woman I love.  The woman I want to…”. He cut himself off and looked at me.

“Alright,” I gave him a brave smile, trying to cover the hurt.  “Tell me something else.  Anything.”

He ran his hands up my arms.  “That you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

I let him pull me back, kissed him.  “I love you, but I know nothing about you, and I hate myself for it.”  I whispered in his ear.  His hands stilled and I slipped off his lap, made a point of looking through the glass door.  “Ah.  It looks like they are opening the poker tables.  See you there?”

The angle I was at, I couldn’t see his face.  I kissed the top of his head, enjoying the feel of his soft curls.  “It’s OK.  It really is.”

And I went inside.  I heard him follow, but like Orpheus, I did not dare look back for fear of losing everything.

In this case, everything was my sanity, my will not to start crying, not to berate myself…You know, no-strings screwing could be a ton of fun.  I felt a bit like Anne Boleyn, leading Henry the 8th of a merry dance to get what I wanted…knowing full well he could kill me if he felt like it.

I knew he wouldn’t kill me.  But I knew he’d probably leave me.  Maybe that was why he looked so sad.  Could the world’s greatest thief feel regret?

He across from me at the table.  There was another guest, then Norri, the mossy green diamond glowing.  I felt an unreasonable hatred for it, for her, for the whole place.  For diamonds worth millions but still not as unattainable as one Thief.  Hell, the moon would be easier to get.

Another man, me, the dealer.  I ran my hand over the tray that held my chips, the rough edges cool against my palm.  If I walked out with this tray I could get home.

We started playing.  I was surprised.  I expected silence, quiet desperation…but no.

The table wanted to talk about love.  LOVE.  I threw in some chips.

“I have been in love exactly three times in my life.”  The Thief said idly, accepting new cards and inspecting his hand.  The pile of chips in front of him was respectable, but not gross.  He was winning just a little more than he was losing.  Me?  I was annoyed and out for blood.  “The first one poisoned me.”

“Really?” Norri was fascinated.  So, of course, was I.  “Why?”

He nodded and threw some chips in.  “Difference in opinion about how to run the family business.”

“The second?”  I asked, despite myself.

His eyes flickered down to his cards.  “I made her sad.  She could not bear me, the way I am.”  He gave me the sweetest of smiles.  “It happens.”

“I’m calling.”  Norrie says.  “And you must tell me the third?”

We paused to show our cards, or not.  I had a full house, and won, scooping my chips in.

“She is the one I love most.”  The dealer was dealing cards again.  “I did not know how much I loved her, when I first met her I saw a beautiful woman, inside and out, underappreciated, stuck in a cage when she would be so much more.  I thought, I could give her a way out.”  He grinned.  “Vanity is one of my many, many vices.”

Everyone laughed.  Except me.  He reached over and took the cards from the dealer, despite the man’s protests.

“I wish I could start over,” he says, shuffling the cards.  He looked into my eyes.  “But it is almost midnight, Cinderella, and the fairy tale is over.”  I realized the backs of the cards were different…when had he changed them?  “I am so sorry,” he said, and raised his hands, and rained the cards over us.  The power went out, and the cards, as they flew into the air hissed and spat, flaring with fire for a second before becoming sparks and ash.  Norrie screamed next to me.  I felt a touch as light as feathers for the briefest of seconds.  A kiss on my temple.

And then the lights came up again, and the greatest thief was gone again.

I was searched…we all were.  The fake necklace was gone, but this time it was me who hid it in a small panel I’d found while cleaning.  The going away present he’d left me, the little pouch, was well hidden in my dress, so I was snot surprised that they did not find it. They also did not find the playing card.  I found it later, where the first card was.

The Queen of Hearts.  I never knew that looking at a playing card could feel like a kiss and a slap at the same time.

I traded in my chips.  I took my money.  I walked out the door, and thought, I am done with all of this.

There were no more diamonds.  No more clues to follow.  A black car was waiting outside.  I quickened my steps, wondering, hoping.  The door opened, and all hopes were dashed.  My brother came up to me, looking…relieved.

“Are you alright?”

“I am.  I failed.  So maybe not for long,” I joked.

“It’s time for you to come home.”  He looked so serious.  “No one’s mad…we just miss you, and this was good…you had fun, we tried to get the diamond back, but…enough is enough.”

“I hate to give up now…”

“It’s OK.  Just come back.”  He gave me a tentative smile.  “Where else are you going to go?  It’s your home.”

“I have options.”  I said.  I hugged him…it was as stiff and welcoming as I expected it to be, so it was short.  “I think…I think I’ll take a rain check.”

“Dad’s frozen your cards…”

“I know!”  I said cheerfully.

“What are you going to do?  I don’t understand…I…”

This time, I petted him, and my “I know” was far more serious.  I could never make him understand.  He was as much a prisoner as I was, but no one saw enough in him to show him a way out.  I started walking.

“Did he seduce you?  Is that what this is?”

“Sadly, no.”  I said over my shoulder.

As I walked, I took the pouch out.  Under a street lamp I looked at it.  A signet ring.  Heavy.  Old gold.  I held it up to the light, and etched in the blood red ruby was a little devil’s head.

I knew where he was.

And I knew his name.  I’d seen it — and the little sigil from the ring — enough times, researching the Midas’s Rainbow.

There is, if you know where to find it, a castle.  It overlooks a formidable bay that had been the bane of many a ship, in the old days.

It looks abandoned.  The land for a good distance around it is private, and it is very hard to get to.  People at the closest town will tell you it is haunted by a man who sold his soul to the devil, and that he has lived there for hundreds of years.  That his castle has a vault full of cursed treasure.

There are people there who will tell you the story with an almost mocking twist.  And you — and I — both know that these are the people who have been paid, and paid well.  To spread the legend.  To bring in supplies.  To try and dissuade lone women from walking the long, rutted path into the woods, to climb past rocks to the lonely castle over the ocean.  To approach it, the red painted drawbridge bound in black iron.

There’s a door, set in the drawbridge.  The knocker looks like the heraldic devil’s head in the ring I wear on a chain around my neck.  No one answers my knock.

It does look abandoned.  Quiet.  But I hear a song, sung softly, and I walk around until I am in a garden.

I call his name, and when he turns, he laughs, a sound of relief as much as pleasure.

I drop my bag, my purse, and throw my arms around him.  He crushes me to him, and I can barely whisper his name, over and over, and that I love him, I love him.

“Welcome to your home, my love,” he says, in a pause between kisses, “Thank you for coming to find me.”

The End.

(Unless the actual commercial gives me thots)

With extra, most loving thanks to the people who have been following this and loving it:

Thank you to you lovely people for being on my tag list, if you want added or dropped just let me know.  <3

@grogusmum @mishasminion360 @hnt-escape @littlemisspascal @pedro4ever @writteninthestars18 @fromthedeskoftheraven @sharkbait77

@quica-quica-quica @eri16 @the-blind-assassin @ayoungpascallover-readings @songsformonkeys

#casillero diablo wine commercial #The Thief #pedro pascal #all my love and thanks to you.

[oohnoniall]

The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter Two (Kaz)

Warnings: cursing

Chapter One

        He never made mistakes. Never went into a situation that he wasn't fully aware of. Yet, somehow, he had managed to fuck this up before it had even begun. Inej would never let him hear the end of it should she find out. He didn't plan to have anyone ever find out that he had messed this up.

        How in the hell was he supposed to have researched the royal family's voices? He hadn't thought they'd come in any sort of contact with any of them. Everyone knew the youngest son had been shipped out, running from the rumors of being a bastard. Not much was known about the princess beyond her golden hair and the engagement. The engagement that no one thought would work. 

        It was lucky that Kaz had known that much.

        She hadn't seemed upset about his mistake. It would probably not stand out in her mind for long. Or perhaps it would. The second this job was over, she would know exactly who had done it. Well, she would know a false name and a false accent. He had never been an actor, had never thought of it. But he had put on an accent that held no trace of Ketterdam, the city had morphed him all those years ago and hadn't released its hold since.

        Well, Pekka hadn't.

        He scowled to himself for thinking about any of this. It was not the time nor the place to worry about this. If he worried about nearly getting caught for a split-second delay, he would never get through the rest of the plan.

        Kaz schooled his face into neutrality, not quite calm but not quite any other emotion. A perfect mask to wear in order to blend into his surroundings and the people that wanted to be seen. The people who cared nothing for the second army but for the king and his approval.

        Saints it was annoying to be around these types of people. They were worse than the lowlife thugs he had made into his weapons. These people knew that their money, their influence allowed them power over people. A power that did not get punished.

        He didn't care about them, didn't care that they ruined everything for the people who had not been born into that privilege. His focus was on something else entirely. Making damn sure every rat in the Barrel knew just who he was and just what he was going to do to all of them.

        He walked into two men, causing one to spill wine on him.

        "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The one who had spilled his wine yelled at him. His eyes were bloodshot, enough to let Kaz know that he had already helped himself to several cups. Just as he had hoped.

        "My apologies," Kaz allowed his face to burn, hating every second when he acted like a fool. "I was just-"

        "Just acting a fool." The other stated with a slight smirk. 

        "You can't be here in that," the first told him with a snarl. "Go down to the laundry and get a fresh uniform." He motioned to a corridor just to the left, which would lead down to the barracks and just where he needed to be. 

        Kaz nodded quickly, turning on his heel and marching down the corridor as though he were an embarrassed soldier. Besides running into the princess, it seemed as though everything were going according to plan.

        Just as it always did.

        Kaz Brekker had made a living on making plans, on being one step ahead of everyone and everything. He would not be caught unawares by anything. Not if he could help it. He would have to get smarter while he was in this damned palace. While there were unknown variables.

        Normally the unknown did not bother him. But that princess had left him unnerved. What in the hell had she meant when she had said she'd see him on the training field? That didn't sit right with him.

        Why would a princess be around a training field? Or guards besides the obvious reasons? Yet, she seemed shocked that she hadn't known him. That could lead to danger. Perhaps he would have to find her again, lie again. Although that also seemed to be a mistake.

        Focus, he heard Jordie's voice in his head, in the depths of his very soul. Don't worry about her, worry about the job.

        He didn't know if it was what his brother would have actually said. Part of him knew there would have been laughter, teasing. His brother would have been so glad that Kaz had gotten spooked by something, something that was not a magic trick or a mechanical dog. That or he would be told off for thinking about anything other than their business, that daydreaming had gotten them into enough trouble.

        Trouble always seemed to follow Kaz Brekker. A dark cloud hanging over an even darker boy.

        He shoved his thoughts, his hopes, and his fears as far down as he possibly could. Past the knots in his stomach and the thought that they wouldn't get away with this. That they would never get away with this. He shoved that down as he stepped into the laundry room.

        It was empty. Everyone at the winter fete or taking the opportunity to just go off and do whatever they pleased for once. Everywhere was like the Barrel if one looked hard enough. People just seemed more inclined to wait until dark in places that were not Ketterdam.

        He grabbed two more sets of uniforms, one that would be big enough for Inej and another for the Conductor. He knew that Jesper would be well on his way to getting their ride out of there.

        At least he hoped so. Jesper had a tendency to do whatever he wished. There was nothing reliable about him. Nothing that they could do to keep him from being reckless, to keep him from doing anything to still his hands.

        It was enough to make Kaz sick to his stomach. And yet, there was no better shot in Kerch. Perhaps not in any of the known lands. For that reason alone, he could not be allowed to leave Kaz's side. Even if he could be the most annoying person that he had ever had the pleasure, or displeasure at times, of meeting.

        He tried not to think of this, instead focusing on keeping himself silent. It wasn't as hard as one would assume. He'd always had a way of stepping quietly, even in his boots. He knew the value of being silent.         

        Even if he'd never be as good as his wraith.

        As he headed back up the steps, he found himself missing his cane. It was a luxury that he sometimes could not afford to have. He hated that he had any sort of weakness. It was something that others could use against him. He had once worried how he would spin it to his advantage. He had worried for about thirty seconds before realizing what a good mask it was. No one expected much from the boy with a cane.

        It had helped him rise so quickly. Helped him gain the title of Dirty Hands. It was better that way. To be feared. No one would ever be able to take that away from him.

        Unless he kept making these stupid mistakes.

        "Is it my size?" Inej whispered to him as she slipped over to his hiding spot, quiet as the wraith she had been named for.

        "Of course it's your size," he stated as he shoved the uniform into her hands. "I know your size. I wouldn't make that mistake."

        "I can't be sure of that. Not after last time," her eyes sparkled with mirth as she spoke. He had to try very hard not to roll his eyes.

        "Yes, well," he grumbled once before she was off without another word. He didn't want to know just how she did that. Sneaking up on him once had been enough for him.

        Kaz didn't like to be taken by surprise. He didn't like it when people got the best of him. It reminded him too much of Jordie, of what Pekka had done to the two of them. He had no chance in hell to keep himself sane if those memories kept resurfacing. Even if they did fuel the rage that burned inside of his heart.

        That rage kept him alive, kept him building and building his empire. He would run the Barrel. He'd run Ketterdam. It was only a matter of time. Then he would take his revenge and make Pekka Rollins regret the day he had ever crossed him. The day he had taken Jordie.

        He shoved it down, shoved that fire as far down as he possibly could as he handed off the other uniform. He didn't care about what the Conductor wanted during all this. He already knew that the man could not be trusted. It was a good thing that he didn't trust anybody.

        Not even the Crows that he had brought with him. Anyone could be bought, anyone could be holding secrets.

        He certainly was.

        Kaz headed back up the steps, the warm light washing over his features and causing them to appear less striking. His cheekbones were not as sharp in this lighting, softer and more innocent. It was almost humorous how much a simple light could turn him from a monster into who he truly was.

        A seventeen-year-old boy who had lost all his hope.

        He did not contemplate the ways the light lit his face as he moved to blend in with the other guards. He hung back, in a long hallway where people were milling about and laughing over stupid jokes as they watched either the Grisha or the few couples that had braved the dance floor.

        She was on the dance floor, her arm draped around a man who looked a few years older than her. The coloring of his hair and the way he was murmuring words that made her nose scrunch almost imperceptibly made it obvious who he was. His theory was only proven once they turned. The medals pinned to his chest and the nose that matched hers were stronger hints to who he was.

        Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov.

        He was far too close to Kaz for any sort of comfort but he couldn't leave. He was supposed to be a guard. Someone who was supposed to keep the royal family safe. If he dared turn his back on the two in his eyesight, it would have looked rather strange.

        But that didn't mean he couldn't spy on them. Maybe there would be something of use in their dance floor conversations.

        Slowly, he made his way just outside of the doorway. He would have gone in had Inej not been lingering on the other side. Presumably listening as well, or just waiting to see the woman who had been proclaimed a miracle.

        He didn't understand how she could believe in her Saints. How she could believe that anyone had ever cared about them. They had been dealt a hand that was beyond anything one of the Saints could have salvaged. It was a wonder they had managed to live this long. Yet, she still believed. He heard her whisper prayers as she touched her knives, each named for one of the Saints. He didn't say anything. As long as she did what she needed to.

        "Really, Annie," the nickname suited her although it was obvious by the very slight twitch of her left eyebrow that she didn't enjoy it. "I gave you clear instructions."

        "I wanted to dance," he could barely hear her words, spoken so softly that they floated in the rosemary-scented air. "Nikki wouldn't have minded."

        "Nikolai," the venom in his voice could not be hidden by the soft tone, "wasn't instructed to watch over you."

        "No, he did it because he wished to."

        "Annie, please," his eyes had softened. Kaz wondered how often they had this conversation. There was tension among the royal family. Tension that seemed no one in the world could see. They weren't watching close enough.

        "Don't patronize me, Vassy," she looked him in the eyes. Something that he doubted many did to the would-be-king. It was something that he did not think many could get away from it. "I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."

        "You shouldn't be able to. Nikolai never should have allowed you to learn any of it."

        "It is not his fault." The way she spoke cemented the idea in Kaz's mind that Nikolai Lantsov was the greatest of the three siblings. A sister would not look at her eldest brother with fire in her eyes otherwise. Unless they had a very different relationship than he was used to.

        "Fjerda will not allow you to do this, you know?" Vasily kept his expression neutral but Kaz could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

        "No, but at least I will be able to protect myself." The fire had dwindled, replaced by something else. Something that was not quite fear but not quite anything else either. It was wrong. It wasn't something that he expected to see during a royal celebration. Not something that he ever expected to see in a royal's eyes.

        The dance ended, Anastasia giving her brother a respectful curtsey before she made her way to the dais. Her head was held high, he could see small, sparkling gemstones in her braids. She walked with purpose, knowing her way in the world like she had never once questioned it. Like she had never worried a day in her life about a damn thing.

        The hushed conversation was the only proof that something was hidden there. Something that he would never in his life find out. He did not know how he felt about that.

        The not knowing was worrisome for Kaz. He had no reason to care about it. But it was information. Information that he could potentially use for some reason or another. Information that could lead to him running Ketterdam, to crushing Pekka Rollins. Even if he was unsure how that was possible. 

        He tried to push this from his mind, tried to keep from worrying about anything other than Alina Starkov. They had a job to do. One that would risk losing Inej, losing the Crow Club, losing everything that had ever mattered to him. He wouldn't let the Barrel ruin him. He had made that mistake once already.

        He tried not to think of the princess. But even he could not stop noticing how she walked to her mother's side. It was as though gravity held no hold on her. She walked and danced as though her feet floated in the air. How would she compare to the Wraith if given the right tools?

        No one would ever live up to Inej or her standard. He had no need on anyone else who walked on the air, especially not someone who could not blend into a crowd.

        Besides, it wasn't like he could entice a princess to join his crew. Nor would he want to. These thoughts were just his mind's way of refocusing, of getting ready for the mayhem that was more than likely going to start sooner or later. Not even one of his plans could go perfectly. Although, he did have a better track record than most.

        The doors opened, the Darkling finally gracing them with his presence. A smile graced the man's features, causing a pit of unease to grow in Kaz's stomach. There was something about that smile that told a story he did not quite like. Ruthless betrayal lived within the Darkling. He would have never seen the signs had it not lived within him as well.

        "Moi tsar," the Darkling bowed before the king. He nodded his head once to the other members of the royal family, his eyes going to Vasily more than once. 

        The king nodded to his great general, a look of pride in his eyes. A man with power and no clue what was happening in his country. It was a wonder that anything ever got done in Ravka.

        "Ladies and gentlemen," the Darkling turned then to the crowd, that same smile on his face. "Too long has the Fold separated us from our brothers on the west. Too long have we lived in fear because of it."

        The crowd murmured their assent as he motioned to the doorway to Kaz's left. A woman stepped through it. With dark hair and an almost shy smile, Alina Starkov did not seem to be anything remarkable. 

        Draped in a black and gold kefta, she painted the picture of a glorious summoner. One who could rival the royal women on the dais. She stepped to her own small stage, Kaz noticed how the Darkling helped her step upon it. 

        They had not counted on how close the Darkling and his newest treasure would have become. He should have thought of that. There had been so much revealed in that one touch that he worried he would have to fight the whole Second Army to get to Alina. It was not something he looked forward to.

        "Alina Starkov," The Darkling spoke as his shadows took over the room. 

        The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His fingers itched for his cane. The steady weight of it would keep him steady, keep him from wanting to run in terror as the darkness surrounded him. He had never been afraid of the dark. But this was unnatural. It felt similar to something but he could not figure out what. That alone made him wonder about what in the hell this General Kirigin was hiding.

        "Lead us out of the darkness," his voice was everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. He could hear Inej whispering prayers to the Saints under her breath.

        A bright light shone from Alina Starkov. The Sun Summoner brought a ball of light into the middle of the room, lighting them all in washes of what looked and felt like bright sunshine. The shadows fled from it, scurrying on back to their master.

        He didn't buy it for a second. He was certain there was a trick that he just could not see. Kaz had a hard time believing in Saints. He had a harder time believing in miracles. This woman couldn't be one of them. She couldn't be anything more than a lie. All of them were. Every single person in that room was nothing more than a lie.

        Still, as the rest of the room began to fall to their knees and mutter the words 'Sankta Alina', Kaz found himself bending his knee and murmuring along with them. If only to keep up appearances.

        He chanced a glance toward the royal family. The king and queen remained in their thrones but their children had both fallen to their knees. The princess seemed to be glowing in the Sun Summoner's light, her eyes bright with fervor for the Saint that would reunite their country. 

        It seemed as though even the royal family believed in false idols.

        A cruel smile lit the Darkling's face as his shadows retreated. The smile of a man who had won. Kaz had seen it on several members of the Merchant Council, on several gang leaders in the Barrel. He had worn that smile himself. But seeing it in this room ... It meant something bigger than anything he could ever dream of was coming. He only hoped he and his Crows would be out of there before the real trouble came calling.

        He watched as the general led his weapon off of the dais and out of the room. Inej gave him an imperceptible nod, the two beginning to trail him with two other guards. The ones they were replacing had been easy enough to knock out and replace. Ravka needed better trained guards, better trained people. It was no wonder the country was falling apart at the seams.

        The plan had been to follow them as far as Alina's private chambers. But this was not the case. A man was brought past them, one that caught Alina's eye. Her brow furrowed and the Darkling had the others hurry her along while he went after the man. Kaz would have continued to follow after the Sun Summoner, but Kirigin had nodded his head towards him.

        Fuck.

        He motioned with his left hand for Inej to stick to the plan. He kept his spine straight as he followed the general, trying to ignore the hammering in his chest. There was nothing he could do but hope and pray that this went well. He didn't know who to pray to but he would.

        He stood far enough back that he could not hear what was said between the Darkling and the man who was being held by the shoulder. He could, however, tell it was nothing good. Nothing that would bring peace. 

        "Take him. Don't let her see," his voice was velvety soft as he spoke, sending a warning straight through Kaz. He knew not to trust silk and honey.

        "Of course," the other guard said. 

        Kaz waited as long as he possibly could before he broke off without suspicion. He headed towards the meeting point, knowing that Inej would have grabbed the girl if she could. However, as he began to rush an alarm sounded from somewhere.

        They had been caught.

#six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone #kaz brekker #kaz x oc #kaz x princess #kaz steals an emerald #ana x kaz #mobster x princess #nikolai lantsov #vasily lantsov #anastasia lantsov #lantsov emerald #lantsov oc #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #grisha netflix #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

#Starker #Peter x Tony #Tony/Peter #Fic #I don't know anymore guys #I miiiiight continue this?? #Or maybe I'll just leave the babe to suffer

[sparklingchan]

Dancing with a Stranger || Lee Minho (Stray Kids)

Pairing :  Reader (fem.) x Lee Know

Word count: 6k+

Warnings: Cuss words, mentions of alcohol, mentions of a break up, slight violence and blood (its nothing intense, I swear) ,suggestive towards the end, not proof read.

Genre: Angst , fluff, boyfriend AU , break up - make up AU.

Description : Lee Minho is the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for but when you end up doing the only thing he had begged you not to do, things start going downhill.

Author’s Note: I KNOW I SAID I’LL POST THIS ON MY BIRTHDAY but I am an impatient person and I really wanted everyone to read this asap :( This imagine is one of my personal favorites and like Boyfriend!Minho really hits different, won’t you agree? (Reposting because tumblr decided to be a bitch and not show up my fic in the tags? It’s 2 AM and I’m legit crying?? I was so excited about this) Yeh le @chogiwow​ !

Please do reblog, like and send in your views about this fic. I’m always happy to receive DMs and asks!

Enjoy!

It is really funny how a crowded, happening place like your college corridor turns into a cold ,eerie location of some prospective gruesome crimes by sun down. But then again , if you really think about it , maybe it’s not much of a ‘prospect’ at all.

Your knuckles start stinging first ,spreading then to your palm and the rest of your arm.

And the horrifying yet unavoidable realization finally dawns on you - you shouldn’t have punched your professor’s daughter.

“Y-you! You bitch! How dare you touch me?” She has this annoyingly loud voice that pierces through the tense air like a bullet. The prettiest girl on campus , the nicest of them all, the most desirable , but anyone who sees her right now, would be convinced she is neither of those things. Excluding you , of course , because you always knew how double faced and rude she was behind the mask of a pure princess.

“You should have kept your mouth shut then, Anya.” You say , hoping that the girl in front of you doesn’t notice the sudden fear in your voice that has replaced your authoritative tone from before.

But you can’t back off now.

Anya stumbles back with her mouth wide open , clutching her jaw as she curses under her breath , “My mother will hear about this ! I will get you expelled !”

“Oh yeah? Try me and the only thing your mother will hear about is what you and our lovely class president John do in the basement when she isn’t home.” You shoot back. You mentally want to slap yourself for that sharp tongue of yours that refuses to stop any time sooner. You had always wished that you’d gotten your father’s gentleness but sadly , you were the fateful heir of your mother’s roughness.

Anya doesn’t reply , instead , she throws herself at you , pushing you harshly against the lockers .And it is not long before her balled fists find a way to your nose , punching so hard that you literally feel the blood dripping down your face. You are so glad that all the students and staff have already gone home , you’d have hated for anyone to witness this.

“You will never lay your filthy hands on me again, y/l/n. ” she wraps her left hand around your throat while the other one pulls your hair with the strength of a bull. You scream in pain. Your body goes limp for a second - not from pain but from fear , but you realise it’s too late now. You should have thought about your fears before punching Anya.

Now all you can do is save yourself and escape.

The numbing pain from your scalp spreads through your head , going down your face and then attacking your throat. It gets harder to breathe.

“I’ll tell you what , Anya , you deserved it. You deserved all of it. ” you croak , “I told you to stop spreading filthy rumours about my cousin but you didn’t stop , I told you to stop bothering me but you didn’t listen. And now you’ve gone as far as spreading bullshit about my boyfriend who you’ve never even met ! I hate to break this to you but all of this is not going to make your trash personality any cooler. ”

Anya yelps with anger , increasing the grip on your throat and hair as you kick your legs helplessly, coughing .

“Shut up, y/l/n .” She growls , “ and as a matter of fact, Your boyfriend is just a mere dancer , how funny. An A-grade college student dating a poor street dancer. What happened , y/n, ran out of good guys for yourself?”

You want to yell at her and tell her that Minho is anything but a mere street dancer . He’s an amazingly talented artist who loves expressing himself through dancing , he’s a hardworking and honest person who is part of the country’s biggest dancing crew , and he’s your safe place , your home , your everything and god save anyone who dare hurt him.

But you bite your tongue this time.

“What now? Afraid ?” Anya raises her eyebrow, her lips curving into an ugly, sadistic smile.

You hate that smile.

You use one of your free hands to grab her hair while the other one slams hard against her jaw.

“Shit.” She mutters , falling back into the hallway.

But you’re not done yet.

You walk toward her with furious eyes and balled fists , and it isn’t long before she lands on the floor on her butt with a bloody nose and a black eye.

“Keep your mouth shut or you’ll end up on a hospital bed next time. In a coma. ” you spit out those words while she holds her tears back, face caked with humiliation.

Then you turn on your heels and walk out of the stupid college campus which would yet again be filled with more bullies by tomorrow morning, just like it has for centuries.

The dorm in which Minho lives almost always smells like freshly baked cookies ( courtesy: Lee Felix) and on rare occasions, it smells like burnt pancakes ( also courtesy: Lee Felix). Today , it smells like the former and you sigh in relief.

“Oh , my god ,y/n. What happened?” Changbin opens the door after you knock thrice , “Minho, dude, Come out , y/n is here!”

You shuffle into their big living room , head hanging low and eyes avoiding all sorts of confrontation , afraid of having to explain your stupid behavior.

“Y/n?” Minho sucks in a deep breath at your sorry sight , his eyes glazed with dread and fear as he walks toward you, ”Oh god, what happened?”

He swiftly takes out a handkerchief from his pockets , pressing it against your bleeding nose. His eyes are glossy with fear.

“I-it’s nothing. I fell down the stairs.” You lie. Can he please shut up and hug you already? You hate his questions so much , especially when you just can’t answer him.

“Y/n , that is not what a fall looks like. I’m not stupid. Whom did you beat up this time?” He asks , crossing his arms across his chest. And you really do almost blurt out the truth because it’s that easy for you to open up to him and because he knows you like no one else does. You’ve dated him long enough for him to know you like the back of his own hand. And that sometimes gets you in so much trouble. Lying to him is a near impossible task.

“Y/n, look at me!” He says , slightly annoyed now. He touches your chin gently, coaxing you to look at him but you’re too afraid to face him right now. Too guilty. So you shrug him off and walk into his shared room with Hyunjin, a homely feeling enveloping you almost instantly.

“Y/n, don’t you dare ignore me.”

Ugh. He can be so nosy at times.

“I came here for comfort , not for an interrogation. ” you pout , plopping down on the bed.

Minho scoffs , closing the door behind him. He wears a loose black t-shirt with a pair of shorts , and he smells like the expensive shampoo you had bought for him a few months ago ,which he initially refused to take but now loves it. He looks so good and smells so good and suddenly all you want to do is cuddle him and talk about his day, with his Winnie The Pooh blanket draped around your bodies.

“You aren’t getting any comfort till you tell me what happened.” He says . He stands with his back against the door , and stares at you as if you were a criminal. Maybe you were one ,but that doesn’t mean he’ll hate you or something ,right?

“Did you hit the professor’s daughter?” He asks when you don’t answer even after two whole minutes. Your stomach does a somersault, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You regret telling him about Anya a few weeks ago and you specifically saying that you’d one day ’ punch her brains out ’. You wish you’d shut up sometimes.

You play with your fingers, staring at your feet. You can’t look him in the eye anymore , not when you did the exact (and only) thing he had asked you not to do. You feel horribly guilty.

“Well in my defense, she was being a bitch ,okay? She was calling you a good for nothing dancer and ugly and underqualified and - ” you sigh , “ My point is, I couldn’t bear listening to all that, okay?” You admit , cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Minho doesn’t answer, very unusual of him by the way, and you snap your head to look at him.

The eyes that had once held concern and fear for your well being now are clouded with disappointment . He’s mad at you.

“She’s not wrong though. I am a good for nothing dancer, I go to a stupid cyber college. Nothing worth fighting over. Why the fuck did you put yourself in danger like that!” And he’s yelling now , his relaxed posture from before now replaced with a tensed one. You notice his clenched fists and teeth ,and you shudder with fear. He is furious. But at what? You don’t really know.

“Are you seriously justifying her actions? Minho, she can’t talk shit about you. I will not let her do that! ” You yell back ,getting up from the bed , “She doesn’t even know you!”

“Which is exactly why her opinions on my lifestyle do not matter ! And you don’t have to just go around acting like my bodyguard all the time!” He says.

Your heart drops, brows furrowed in confusion at his words that feel like a dagger is plunged into your heart.

You walk up to him, trying to take his hand in yours but he extracts it right back. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking. You know how crazy I get when I’m angry.”

“A ’ sorry ’ doesn’t suffice it. The damage is already done. And if tomorrow, you are thrown out of the university, who’s fault would it be? ” he presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down , “I can’t believe I am dating such an immature woman ,y /n. Grow the fuck up, will you?” He says , his anger filled eyes staring right into your soul . Your heart breaks into millions of small pieces , as your breath hitches in your throat. He had never said something so harsh to you in the many years that you’ve dated him and you really wish he hadn’t done it today either because you realise you’re not very good at handling hurtful words, especially from Minho. At all.

“Minho , I know you’re angry - ”

“Leave.” The world stops spinning for a second , your eyes widening with shock, “Go home. Don’t come back again.”

You want to cry but tears seemed to have given up on you too , his words striking you harder than any of Anya’s punches ever did. All your feelings seem to have converted into a much worse state of numbness when those words leave his mouth.

“Y-you are not breaking up with me, right?” Your usually loud voice comes out as a whisper.

“I am. Go, please. I don’t want to see you right now.” He opens the room door for you to exit, his eyes never meeting yours. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, a sign that he’s about to tear up yet you don’t know if he wants too be comforted by you right now, or ever. So picking up the remaining pieces of your damaged heart , you walk out of the room , stopping only to glance over at him one last time , in hopes that he’d change his mind. But no, his angry demeanor is still there , strong and tough and unbreakable.

And when you finally leave , Minho is grateful that Hyunjin wasn’t home - for he would have hated to cry in front of his roommate.

The bright neon sign with ’ Kim’s Restaurant ’ written on it shines in the distance , blurred only by the tears in your eyes and not by the tiny droplets of water slowly falling from the sky.

You feel a soft blanket of comfort draping over you when you walk toward the familiar building.

Your aunt and uncle have worked hard to build a proper business from a small shop that had once just sold fried chicken and cold drinks ; and it makes you so happy to see their new restaurant still packed with people this late in the evening.

“Oh , y/n. I was just about to call you. Did you not go to your dorm yet? ” your aunt asks from the reception desk , chewing her favorite gum and typing aggressively into the computer.

“I stayed back today. Project work.” You lie. Your aunt lifts up her head , her eyebrows knitted together and a suspicious scowl gracing her face , almost mimicking your mother. Your mom and your aunt are twin sisters , born just three minutes apart , and since then it has become your mom’s life mission to remind your aunt of the whooping three minute gap every chance she gets. It’s hilarious, really.

“Don’t make that face at me. You look exactly like mom.” You mutter , leaning against the wooden desk.

“I do look exactly like your mom , y/n. ” she replies with a chuckle, “Anyway, what’s going on? You look tired.”

Honestly, you’d love to talk about Minho and the impulsive breakup and the aching in your heart with your aunt because there’s no better person to seek advice from, but you don’t feel it right to burden her when she’s working plus a part of you doesn’t really trust your aunt to keep all the secrets to herself.

“No, I’m okay. Just mid college crisis.” you say.

Your aunt hums in response, probably not buying it but you’re happy she doesn’t push it anymore, “ Are you hungry? Want something to eat?”

A bag of fries with a bucket full of chicken wings sounds terribly tempting right now but you’ve lost all your appetite for the day the moment Minho closed the door behind you. Now all you feel is drained, tired, sad. Moreover, that is not what you were here for, “Nah, I’m good. Is Yugyeom home though?”

The door to your aunt’s house opens only after you ring the stupid bell at least three times , as you stand on the porch, judging the loud music that blasts from within the walls. “Wow , you look like shit.” Yugyeom always has some snarky comments up his sleeve but you are in no mood to be playing word games with him right now. You barge into the house , pushing past your cousin who you smells like donuts and Axe.

“Shut up.” You say, plopping down on his bed . You really want to cry right now but Yugyeom has never been big on consoling so you try to hold it in .

“What’s wrong? I’m not joking.” He sits beside you, putting down his gaming console on the table by the bed.

You play with your fingers , breathing in and out to calm your nerves. Yugyeom, out of all the people in the world , is the easiest to talk to but today , you find yourself on the edge , trying to be very careful with your choice of words. Maybe you were afraid of angering him as well.

“I..I kind of beat Anya up.” You confess ,swallowing the lump in your throat.

Yugyeom becomes still for a moment , staring at you with his mouth gaping and then his face breaks into the widest grin in the world.

“You really beat that bitch up? Like for real?” He asks , excitedly bro fisting the air like an athlete after winning an important match.

You nod , “And then I went to see Minho. He obviously didn’t react the way you did. He was very angry and then he broke up with me. ”

Yugyeom’s celebrations are short lived as you continue to tell him the details of what had happened earlier, his smile slowly dissolving into a frown.

“Y/n, first of all you really need to learn how to break news to other people. It’s always the bad one first and then the good one. Noob.” Yugyeom bumps his shoulder softly to yours. You would otherwise have argued with him and told him why the happy news should always be first and why the bad news should be last but you feel too exhausted to speak anymore. Your shoulders slump as you put your hands on either side of your head.

“How could he just break up with me like that? He had no logical reason to! He’s so selfish.” You mutter , tears gathering up in your eyes. You try to blink them away before your cousin notices them.

“I don���t think he did it for himself , y/n. You told him that you hit Anya because she was speaking trash about him. Of course he’d distance himself from you so you wouldn’t want to fight his fights for him.” Yugyeom says.

“I wasn’t fighting his fights! She trash talks about you and me and him and everyone else. It was the last straw for me. I didn’t do anything wrong. ” you explain , your heart hammering against your chest.

“I didn’t say what you did was wrong ,y/n. You have a right to be angry with her. But what we’re talking about is Minho. Think about this from his point of view,” Yugyeom replies, his hands on your shoulders , “You beat Anya up , got hurt and possibly put yourself in trouble with her mother all because of him. He feels guilty.” Yugyeom is speaking to you like he’s speaking in one of those debates that he does at college. You love seeing him speak, mostly because he is so manipulative yet subtle , smart yet observant and he can convince you so easily. He could easily pass as the best debater in your college - too bad you’d already taken that place.

“Or it could be because he doesn’t want more trouble in his account. Maybe he’s ashamed of me. ” you whisper, “ And I told you, I didn’t do it just for him. I did it for me and you too and all those people she bullies and makes fun of. Why is he the only one reacting like this? ”

Yugyeom sighs, “Yes , I appreciate your concern for my well being, y/n. But he might not be thinking the same way as I am. I was happy that you beat Anya up , but he was worried about you. He obviously doesn’t want you to get badly hurt.”

You rub the tears that flow down your face with the heel of your hand then place your head on Yugyeom ’s shoulder.

“He might have fallen out of love with me. Maybe he just needed an excuse to call it off.” You mutter.

“You know Minho’s better than that, y/n.”

He’s right . Minho really is better than that.

Break ups suck. In the truest sense. But what you now realize is that break ups don’t hurt that much immediately, but slowly , as the days go by and the memories start flashing in front of your eyes every waking moment , you feel like nothing more than a sack of meat and bones, drained of all emotions.

“For this unit of organic chemistry, I need all of you to memorise the reaction mechanisms over the weekend.” Your professor’s voice feels distant to you , as if there were a wall in between the two of you , even though he stands just a few steps away.

Your classmates start murmuring among themselves, fixing study dates that almost always are unsuccessful and gathering notes they hadn’t bothered to complete until now. But you remain seated in your chair , staring out the window, not bothering to talk to anyone.

It is a bright sunny afternoon and you see all the happy faces out on the field - couples, friends , classmates. You feel jealous. You clearly remember planning a weekend trip with Minho a few days ago and If you hadn’t decided to mess things up so bad, he’d have already been at your college gate by now , waiting in his father’s old car. You clearly remember how excited he was about the trip.

The dismissal bell rings not long after and as you walk out of the college gate, surrounded by thousands of students, you feel lonelier as ever. And your mind imagines his car below the tall banyan tree , his lean frame leaning against the door with a silly grin. You could almost see him there. Even though its just in your mind.

You miss him so much that it gets hard for you to even breathe properly.

“Okay , how long are we going to stay here? I have better things to do than stalk your girlfriend, Lee.” Changbin’s whiny voice breaks the silence in Minho’s car, much to his annoyance.

“Just a few more minutes. Till she reaches the dorm.” Minho replies , his hand limp on the steering wheel and his lips pressed in a tense line.

His eyes are focused on you , your slump shoulders and your unusually slow walk and the dark circles under your eyes. It is obvious that Minho wasn’t the only one having sleepless nights .

“Dude , why don’t you just talk to her? I’m sure she would listen.” Hyunjin says from the backseat , munching on peanuts, “ Plus I think she saw us.”

Minho watches as you turn around a corner and walk toward your dorm building , away from him. He almost wishes you’d seen him.

“It’s not that easy.” Minho mutters, turning the engine on.

At least he knows you’re okay, and safe. That’s enough reassurance for him to try and move on but he somehow always ends up driving to your college gates during dismissal,  the brief view of your face still making the worst of his days better.

“It’s not that easy.” He repeats to reassure himself .

“Guess what.” Yugyeom chimes in early one morning, leaning against the locker door beside yours.

“What?” You ask , not sparing him a glance. Your hands busy themselves in flipping over the pages of your notebook ; last minute revisions before tests are more important than the actual studying.

“I saw Anya this morning. She was running late , I think, and she bumped into a junior near the gate. I was sure all hell was about to break loose but she just apologized and left!” Yugyeom says , laughing.

You turn to look at him, a look of surprise plastered on your face. Anya actually did that? Instead of being her usual, defensive, violent self she actually chose to apologize? It’s hard to digest but you’re sure Yugyeom wouldn’t be making all that up. He’s not that creative.

“The sun must have risen from West today.” You reply with a chuckle.

The morning bell rings throughout the corridor, indicating the commencement of your classes. Throwing in your notebook ,you close your locker and heave a sigh. Its just a small quiz but you find yourself stressing over every single thing these days.

“Oh and by the way , it’s Jackson Wang’s birthday party tomorrow.” Yugyeom adds as the two of you start making your way towards the chemistry lab , coats hanging by your arms.

“And we’re going?” You question ,cocking your eyebrow.

Yugyeom is not really into parties , especially the over-the-top , spectacular , rich-kid parties that Jackson Wang often finds himself throwing, yet Yugyeom always goes because a) Jackson is his best friend and b) Who doesn’t like to feel like a rich man even if it’s just for one night?

“Yes. Both of us.” He says. You shrug your shoulders. You have always liked going to Jackson ’s parties and fawning over his huge mansion and the various cuisines placed in front of you that you can’t even name properly and watching other rich kids like himself play golf in the living room. It was pretty entertaining . Even with your post break up gloominess, you wouldn’t want to miss all of that.

“Okay.”

“And one more thing,” he starts ,“I saw Lee Minho outside our college gate yesterday. You might want to do something about that.”

No, unlike what was expected of you, you didn’t really do anything about it but Yugyeom’s words stick to you like a piece of gum throughout the whole day ,consuming every thought and pulling out all those thoughts that you’d stacked up and thrown away into the top most drawers of your mind. You were convinced that the day he broke up with you , he was done. He didn’t want to look back or reconsider. He wasn’t coming back to you. And you’ve been trying to move on as best as you could ,keeping your mind occupied and busy all the time. Yet you had to accept that in the wee hours of the night , staring at the ceiling ,you would often find yourself reminiscing him and whatever you two had. The gentle touches , the late night walks, shy smiles and endless talks ; you missed them.

But his presence outside the college changes the whole game, doesn’t it?

Later that day, you kind of regret agreeing to go to Jackson’s party because you soon realised that both Minho and Jackson went to the same dancing school at one point of time , and Minho probably (like a 99.9% probability because Jackson Wang never leaves anyone uninvited) was invited too.

You dread every second in Yugyeom’s stupid car that brings you one more step closer to seeing Lee Minho again. And although you would never dare say it out loud , a part of you was a little excited too.

“Dude , y/n , I have never felt so underdressed in my entire life.” Yugyeom breathes in as the car stops in front of the huge metal gates of Jackson’s mansion.

“Me neither.” You agree, your eyes glued to the people walking in and out of the doors, wearing tuxedos and dresses and sparkly jewelry. You feel horribly out of place all of a sudden, like a fish flying in the sky and a bird swimming deep under the water- you feel like you don’t belong here.

You look down at your black converse , tightly laced and washed for this very party and your loose ,dark green tshirt and ripped jeans .

“Why didn’t you tell me this was a fucking masquerade ball or soemthing?"you hiss at your cousin.

"Shut up, y/n , you’re not the only one feeling odd. ” Yugyeom shoots back

But all of that discomfort is gone the moment you see Jackson Wang sitting on the huge sofa in the living room , wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a white tank top , drunk and wasted and blabbering.

“Let’s go before he sees us.” Yugyeom says , pushing you through the crowds of people clad in silks and pure cotton , “Drunk Jackson is difficult to handle.”

“Oh , I beg to differ , All Jacksons are difficult to handle.”

The garden behind the mansion is filled with even more people than your brain was accustomed to seeing while the DJ stands at the top of a platform , headphones on and screaming into the mic every once in a while to hype up the crowd in front of him , but you realise it’s hardly needed. People are already way too hyped up in here.

“Y/n?” You hear a voice say and you immediately turn around to face Hwang Hyunjin standing under the wonderful night sky, looking as gorgeous as ever. But then again ,when does he not look pretty?

“Hey, Hyunjin. How have you been?” You ask with a smile. Your awkward hand movements do not go unnoticed by him but he thankfully doesn’t comment on it.

“I’ve been good. How have you been ?” He replies , inching closer to you. From the corner of your eye, you see Yugyeom slowing disappearing into the crowds, leaving you all alone to deal with your ex boyfriend’s best friend. You make a mental note to never lend your Netflix account to him again.

“I’m okay, too.” You say.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes staring at you curiously, “Tell me , y/n , how have you really been? I know what happened between you and Minho.”

You gulp , heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” You say, biting the inside of your cheeks nervously.

“If you say so.” he grins , putting an arm around you , “But I’ll be real honest with you , Minho - ”

The words are cut off when the DJ suddenly blasts a new song through the speakers , simultaneously yelling into the mic. The sweaty, wasted , hopeless crowd around you yell a few ’ Let’s GO! ’s and ’ Fuck It Up ’s in response.

“What were you saying?” You yell over the music , pinching Hyunjin’s t-shirt to get his attention. He glances at back you then points toward his left , “That.”

You turn your head in that direction , your heart skipping a beat the moment your eyes meet Minho’s nervous ones. You see him walk towards you in long strides ,his handsome features painted with anxiousness and worry and a foreign sense of guilt. You were angry at him ,yes ,but as he makes his way to you , his silky hair bouncing softly ,his pink lips slightly parted, his starry eyes locked on you ,he looks…Brilliant? Breathtaking? Gorgeous? Stunning? All of these?

He wears a blue tshirt with black pants and has a jacket tied around his waist. He looks beautiful- even though you are mad at him. He looks way too beautiful to not acknowledge it.

And just a few seconds before he reaches you , you break away from Hyunjin’s hold and run away into the crowd.

“Y/n, wait!” You hear the both of them yell at the same time. But only one of them follows behind you and you don’t even have to look back to know who it is.

Fear and anger creep into your body , slow but painful like poison. You remember the last few days and how horrible it had been for you , all because of Minho and his lack of understanding in a moment when it was needed the most. Over the past few weeks, your ex boyfriend had made no attempts to contact you whatsoever and if he thinks he could just pop out of nowhere and start talking to you again, then he’s gravely mistaken. You might still love him and want nothing more than to hold him close , but that doesn’t mean you aren’t angry anymore . You are not ready to face him. At all.

Your feet burn as you run further away from Minho, jogging up the stairs inside the mansion with your hand tightly gripping the cold metal railing.

“Y/n, please, just listen to me once.” He yells, still not giving up.

You scoff , “Why should I? You didn’t listen to me that day either!”

You find a door at the end of the staircase, your hands pushing it to reach the empty terrace that you’d heard Jackson bragging about during your English classes when everyone was too bored to listen to the professor. The terrace really was beautiful, with all kinds of flowers blooming and a fountain with lights , you would have almost been breath taken if not for the man closing up behind you.

“Y/n, damnit, ” Minho huffs, reaching his hand out toward you, panting, “Stop, okay? Just listen to me , please.”

Not like you have an option anyway. You sigh in defeat , walking toward the fountain, the carpet grass rustling under your feet. “What?” You demand, your voice bitter with anger.

Minho stands in front of you , his brown unkempt hair and firey eyes reminding you of the night you guys had kissed for the first time. He stands at an arm’s distance, giving you enough space to think things through. He would never want to force you to do something you wouldn’t want to. And even if everything turned out to be not in his favor tonight, he’d gladly accept it because he deserved it after treating you so badly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers after a few seconds.

You roll your eyes, “For what? What did you do? As far as I know, THE Lee Minho never makes mistakes!”

He hangs his head low with shame ; he didn’t mean a single word he’d said that night. He was worried, yes, he was very worried about your bashful attitude but he was also very grateful to you for always having his back. It physically hurt him to see you bleeding and completely worn out that day.

“Well, I did make a mistake this time. I said some words that I didn’t mean at all and I’m afraid the girl I intended those words at hates me.” He says , pressing his lips in a line.

“Damn right , she does.” You can’t even look into his eyes anymore because you’re too afraid of laying your true feelings bare in front of him.

“I’m really, really sorry, baby. I know I’m an asshole and I hurt you. I have no excuses to offer but I just want you to know that a single second more away from you will drive me crazy. ”

You process his sentences slowly - letter by letter, inking those words permanently into your memories. “Why?” You ask. What a silly question ,y/n, do you really want to torment this man so much ?

Minho gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement, “Because you’re quite literally my everything.”

Minho only dares to grin a little when you no longer throw virtual daggers from your eyes at him. “I hate you , you know?” You say.

“I know ,y/n. I don’t even blame you. I shouldn’t have said all that. I was just so, so mad. But that really wasn’t an excuse to be so rude to you or break up. I should have talked it out instead . I deserve the hate.” He admits.

The frown on your lips dissipates slowly ,making way for a sad, small smile.

“It was so hard, Minho. You don’t even know. I had never felt so lonely in my entire life.” You say.

“Believe me, y/n, I know.” He whispers as your hands find their way to his cheeks, rubbing them ever so gently.

You scan his face, absorbing in the fact that he was actually in front of you and this wasn’t one of your unrealistic imaginations.

Minho takes not more than a half step towards you and you automatically wrap your arms around his neck , like the millions of times you’d already done before. Everything about him is so familiar yet so new. Like layers and layers to discover and only one goddamn lifetime.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck , mumbling soft apologies against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist with every passing second.

“I missed you so much.” You admit, playing with his beautiful brown locks, taking in the smell of his (your) favorite body wash.

“I missed you too.” He replies , “So goddamn much. I almost wanted to cuddle Hwang Hyunjin at night.”

You laugh ,as he admires the way your noes scrunches up when you giggle and the way your eyes bend into crescent moons. In that moment, Minho realises how much he loves seeing you laugh ,especially when he’s the reason behind it. It fills him up with so much pride.

You hear the DJ change the song into a slow , romantic one as his voice booms through the speakers once again , “Ladies and gentlemen, grab the person next to you, with consent of course, and hold them close for this one because tonight is all about dancing with strangers!”

The crowd goes feral.

Minho raises an eyebrow at the DJ’s words , a sly smile playing on his lips , “Shall we?”

He pulls away from the embrace, gently bowing toward you and offering you his hand like some gentleman right out of a fairytale.

“He said dancing with a stranger, not girlfriend.” You deadpan but you take his hand anyway.

He chuckles, leaning closer to rest his forehead on yours, “Technically, we’re still broken up. That makes us strangers.”

You have to give in - not because of his weird reasoning but because of how terribly cute he looks when he smiles like that at you. He holds you close, swaying slowly to the music and grinning like there’s no tomorrow.

“What’s so funny, Lee Minho?” You ask , raising your eyebrow.

He shakes his head, still grinning, “I just realised how rare it is to find a woman who would quite literally declare war for you.”

“Now, you’re exaggerating a little bit with the war thing but yes, that’s the essence of it.” You reply with a proud smile.

He laughs, as you put your hand on his cheek once again and press your lips softly to his. You’d missed this so much - not just kissing him but also this feeling of intimacy you share with him everytime you’re in a closed space, sharing the same air. You missed his teasing, his stupidly sweet laughter, the warmth of his embrace. You missed Lee Minho - your safe place, your best friend, your world.

And even after everything, you both know for sure that you would fight the world for Minho if need be, and he’d do the exact same thing for you. Every single time.

#inkidz #writekpop #starryktown #kafenetwork #stayhavennet #skz #skz kpop #kpop imagines #kpop ff #kpop bias #skz ff #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz angst #skz fluff #skz lee know #skz minho #stray kids #stray kids lee know #skz smut #skz lee know ff #skz lee know fanfic #skz lee know fluff #skz x reader #skz icons #skz felix #skz changbin #skz scenarios #skz series #skz soft icons

[grimoire-of-thirst]

Hello hello ~ Can I request a nsfw scenario with William where he takes off his mask in front of his s/o for the first time? And also good luck with your blog ^^

Genre&Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Tags: handjob, blowjob, cowgirl, vaginal penetration, fem!dom (kind of)

✩:✩:✩

After William had finally accepted to spend the night into your room -to which you had been insisting on for the past week- you were quick to clean it and make it as spotless as you could. It wasn’t that much of a mess, but you still wanted for your room to be squeaky clean in his presence and make it somehow romantic. After the cleaning was done, which took you about a couple of hours, you added some scented candles and changed the usually pure white curtains with some red ones, along with matching bed sheets. After all of that, knowing that William has a soft spot for nature, you had also bought red and white roses, prettying up the entire room to finally obtain that romantic vibe you were striving to achieve.

All that makeover wasn’t necessary, but you had been planning this day since long ago and wanted for everything to be perfect. Maybe it was a little exaggerated, especially all the amount of red that painted your room, but you liked it and hoped that William will do too -although his attention will hopefully be focused on something else.

After feeling satisfied with the way everything turned out, you went ahead and took a bath, thoroughly cleaning your body and hair. As you were putting on your nightgown and noticing that William should be there soon, your mind began to wander everywhere, anxiety taking over you yet not knowing exactly why.

You and William had been dating for the past six months and were now ready to take the relationship to the next step, mostly because you took the initiative. William didn’t seem to be remotely interested in becoming sexually active, and the first time he rejected the invite for a sleepover kind of sent you off in a panic mode. At first, you thought it was because, maybe, he wasn’t attracted enough to you, and this alone, having him not seeing you as the woman you wanted him to see, was -to say the least- disheartening, therefore, you went to Julius -which happens to be one of your childhood friends- and expressed your concerns. Just the thought that William was against the idea of touching you was enough to break your heart, and when you told that to Julius he had laughed in your face, saying that this was definitely not the case.

You had tried to push for more information, yet he didn’t utter a word, insisting that it was something William was supposed to tell you, and not him. Nevertheless, you were now more confused than ever.

A couple of knocks on the door brought you back to the present, already knowing that it was probably the one you were waiting for. Checking yourself one last time into the mirror, you waltzed toward it, opening the door wide while a cheeky grin bloomed on your face.

“As sharp as a clock I see!” you said, moving to the side. William hummed, he too had a small smile on his lips before leaning down to leave a rather short kiss on the tip of your nose. You noticed right away that he was wearing his knight clothes along with the mask and a frown made its way on your face.

“You sleep with the uniform on?” you inquired, letting him slide his arms around your waist. William lightly shook his head, pulling you closer to him. “I just finished with all the duties, and I didn’t want to be late. I should go back and take my nigh-“

“It’s fine. We won’t be needing clothes anyway~” you sang, getting up on your toes to kiss his chin. William pursed his lips, cheeks getting warmer at what you implied. It was his first time, so he didn’t know exactly what or how to do certain things, and once you started leading him toward the bed, he gladly let you take the lead, seeing as you already knew what to do. You gently spun around with him, as if dancing to a tune only you could hear, and gently pushed him on the bed until his back was touching the soft sheets.

One of your hands intertwined with one of his, while the other one was placed on his chest as you gently climbed on top of him, legs bent to his sides while slowly leaning down toward his face. William stared at you with his lips parted and eyes lidded, already anticipating the feeling of your lips on top of his. It started soft, gentle, almost feathery-like, gradually putting more pressure as the kiss heated up. Your free hand went to grab his one, placing it on top of your thigh, wordlessly encouraging him to touch you. Yet, he didn’t know what should be the next move, so he settled with drawing abstract circles above the fabric of the gown. You smiled to yourself, surprised by how pure he was, it almost felt wrong to taint him like that, but it was so endearing and tempting.

Offended that he had so many clothes on him, you went ahead and removed the cape, letting it fall onto the floor, and then removed the belt, throwing it on top of the cape. “Remove the boots” you mumbled, kissing him once again and biting his lower lip, demanding entrance. William hummed, kicking away the boots, albeit with a little bit of struggle, while allowing you access by parting his lips. Soon, your tongue was exploring every nook and cranny all the while your hands unbuttoned his long-sleeved shirt.

As soon as the clothing item was gone, your hands were quick to travel down his chest, goosebumps appearing on his skin as the pads of your fingers went down, finally stopping at the edge of the pants, hovering over the button. Then, you left his lips, peppering his neck with wet, and soft kisses. William shuddered at the feeling, cheeks, and ears burning whilst his heart was loudly pumping inside its ribcage. For a moment he feared that you could hear it.

His mind was getting fuzzy, while a jittery feeling was bubbling into his stomach as your kisses went further down until your lips were above the edge of his pants. His breaths were becoming heavier as you finally got rid of his pants, and in one swift motion, you also removed his underwear, leaving him entirely exposed and vulnerable under your intense gaze. Moving to the side, and no longer straddling him, you caressed one of his thighs while lovingly looking at him in the eyes.

“Open your legs” you said. A smile appeared on your face upon seeing his cheeks coated with redness, probably out of either nervousness or embarrassment; or probably both. But he was cute nonetheless, especially how he complied with your request without batting an eye. You stroked a couple of times his thigh before moving toward his cock, which was only half-hardened. Starting with a slow pace, you took the time to grab his ankle and move his leg to your side, positioning yourself in the middle. When your upper part leaned toward him, William suddenly stopped you, gently gripping your arm.

“Are you sure about this? W-we can wait if you-” he mumbled, unsure of what he wanted to say. You stopped for a second, thinking about his question. Yes, you wanted it, but if he stopped you, maybe…

“Yes, I’m sure about what I want,” you said, going back up to kiss his lips. “What about you?” William blinked, smoothly wiping away the sweat that collected into his palms while a shiver went down his back. Yet, the hesitation that he was showing through his body, was telling you that -perhaps- he didn’t want it.

“William, if you’re not ready we can stop and-“ yet, he stopped you again by shaking his head. He seemed troubled and considering that maybe he wasn’t feeling good, you gave him an apologetic smile, slowly getting up, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a hug. Upsetting you because of his own insecurities was the last thing he wanted.

The wooden texture of his mask, along with the patches of fur on the sides were tickling your neck, so you lightly pushed him away from you. And just then did everything click into your head.

“Is it about the helmet?” you asked, voice coated in pure curiosity. Now that you thought about it, William never showed you his face -despite dating him for several months now. You had never pushed on the subject, partially because you never wanted to make him uncomfortable or something, but also because you don’t see it as important to know. You never cared for the physical aspect, his personality was wonderful and he always treated you with love and respect. So, really, the helmet never bothered you, so why was he suddenly so nervous about it?

William thought for a moment, stilling on top of you whilst debating if he should go ahead and remove it or just keep it on. He knew it wasn’t a nice thing to do -hiding like that after what happened just seconds prior. You two were already taking the relationship to the next level, and seeing as he was going to spend the night into your room, he’d have to eventually take off the helmet.

Yet, something was keeping him from revealing himself, and that something was his fear of rejection. Having you, running away as soon as you’d see his face, after all that happened, was already making his heart squeeze in pain. He didn’t want you to run away from him, scared or worse, disgusted, by his face. He experienced in the past women seeing his bare face, and sadly most of them would end up horrified by the enormous scar and having you do the same thing, after making him fall in love with you, would be his worst nightmare. While he was having a mental monologue with himself, your eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why he was suddenly so silent and spaced out.

“William?”

Your voice caught his attention, blinking a couple of times to regain focus on you and the situation at hand. Slowly, he shifted up in a sitting position, eyes full of concern.

“It’s not what most would like to see” he said, voice low while gripping the sheets. You tilted your head to the side, now way more confused than before.

“See what? The way you sleep?”

William chuckled, yet kept his eyes on his hands as if they were the most interesting things in the world. “No. My face.” The small smile was quick to disappear, letting a frown take place on his face, which you were quick to pick up, noticing also the change of his mood.

“What? Do you have like multiple eyebrows or something? Or maybe you have an additional pair of lips up there? Or do you-” you asked. William widened his eyes; taken aback by all the absurd theories you were making up. You were so caught up into listing all the possible things he was hiding that it made him chuckle once again.

“No, my love. I don’t think that’s even possible”

“We live in a world were magic, elves, fairies, and demons exist, so why can’t someone have Christmas lights connected to their brains?” what was making it more amusing for William, was how genuine and serious you sounded. Although he had to admit, you had a point.

“I just…”

Slowly, his hands went up to grab the mask, emptily swallowing before finally taking it off. He felt extremely vulnerable and exposed, he didn’t like the feeling of you seeing his imperfections, but it was something that was needed to be done, especially at this point in the relationship.

“I still don’t understand what is wrong about your face. But I can see I was wrong on all my theories, especially about the eyebrows. I didn’t know you had none… that’s a lot of room for eyeshadow”

William didn’t know how to react. He had really thought you’d say something about his scar, yet, you didn’t even mention it. Which was quite comforting to him.

“I know my scar is unpleasant, you can tell-“

“And that’s a problem for you? I mean… yeah, everyone has their own insecurities, but it shouldn’t bother you, nor should you care if it bothers someone else,” you said shrugging. Gently, your fingers started drawing small circles on his shoulders before lacing your arms around his neck, leaving a small kiss on his temple, right on the scar.

“Besides, it’s just a scar, something that everyone has, well, not everyone but you know what I mean. Yours happened to be on the face, so what? I still think you’re beautiful”

No one has ever told him that he’s beautiful. Julius had ignored his scar, and even Yami didn’t care at all, but they never said those three words. Yet here you were, peppering short, wet kisses all over his scar as if further proving your point. He had never felt so good into someone’s arms. And he definitely never felt so happy and loved like right now. His heart was leaping inside, a large smile blooming on his face and threatening to stay there for the rest of the night. Now, that he knew how you feel about his scar, he felt more at ease and comfortable.

“Now, let’s finish what we started” you mumbled, firmly pushing him down on the bed. William widened his eyes, startled by the sudden movement. Then, a grunt left his lips as soon as your hand took a hold of his cock, slowly moving your hand up and down. Now that William took off of his chest his insecurity and seeing how loving you still were toward him, there was nothing holding him back.

He placed both his hands on your thighs, hiking up the gown and revealing more and more of your skin to his eyes. Another grunt resonated inside his throat when your thumb brushed over the small hole at the tip, smearing the precum around. William’s grip on you tightened, suddenly realizing that he was the only one fully naked, while your body was still covered by the nightgown.

“Can I-“ he started, trailing off as if hoping for you to catch on what he wanted to ask. He was definitely nervous, and if the slight cracking of his voice along with his burning cheeks were not enough to make you understand that, then the slight tremble of his hands surely did. You nodded, flashing him a small smile, assuring him. William swallowed the sudden lump that formed into his throat as he completely removed your gown by pulling it over your head. For a minute he did nothing but stared at your naked form, mind suddenly spinning as he felt overwhelmed by all that skin.  

You, on the other hand, were not distraught at all, if anything, you wanted him to watch you while also enjoying his cute reactions. The thought that he had never seen a woman fully naked until now and that you were probably his first, was something that brought you quite the enjoyment and satisfaction.

Feeling a sudden boost of confidence running through your body, you forced his legs open, tightly gripping his thighs and positioned yourself in between them, once again. William watched while his heart was threatening to burst out, especially when your face was inching toward his groin. Only then, did he finally find back his voice.

“Love… you don’t have to-“ but his words died into his throat as soon you took him into your warm and slippery mouth. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated as he tightly gripped the bedsheets, clutching them into his fists while knuckles went almost white. You began to bob your head up and down his cock, occasionally taking him fully, making your nose touch his pelvis while the tip went all the way to the back of your throat. He could feel the texture of your tongue under his cock, the silkiness of your mouth sucking him was driving him crazy.  Moans and grunts slipped out of his mouth despite trying -and miserably failing- at keeping them at bay.

The way you were sucking him, and how you were making him feel as if he was on cloud nine, was making his head spin with pleasure, but only when your eyes locked with his, did he almost lost it. His blush intensified upon clearly seeing how his cock was disappearing into your welcoming mouth, and adding to that the eye contact was becoming way too much for him.

”Y/n… I’m-” his breaths were heavy and quick, coming out in puffs, and you knew that he was reaching his limit, but suddenly you stopped. William looked at you confused, slightly pouting in disappointing at being denied his release, but it soon disappeared once you straddled him, gripping the base of his cock and aligning it at your entrance. His hands took a hold of your hips, helping you out when you began to slowly take him in.

William’s mouth fell open, a low -almost inaudible groan leaving his lips as you slowly sank on him, walls tightening around his length. His head fell back on the mattress, eyes shut close, and once he was fully inside you, he took a moment to cherish the feeling. He thought that nothing could compare to that feeling, yet he was proven wrong when you started rocking your hips. More grunts left his lips, half-lidded eyes watching as you fucked yourself on his cock, hips going back and forth trying to get him as deep as you could. His hands tightened on your hips, nails barely digging into your soft flesh yet you paid no mind to it.

“Feeling good, love?” you teased, despite being out of breath. William moaned again, eyes rolling all the way back at your powerful thrusts. Your walls were squeezing him so deliciously that it was making it hard for him to find the right words to say.

“Yes” the response came out breathless, mind blank but at the same time filled with you. Your name being the only thing that he could let out of his mouth along with ‘please’ and ‘more’. His hips then started to move on their own, thrusting upwards to meet yours half-way through, chasing the sweet release that he so craved.

His eyes traveled from your pussy up to your breasts, which were bouncing following the mildly fast rhythm of the thrusts. Seeing you so lost in pleasure, so caught up into the feeling of him filling you up, sparked within him a desire to bring you even more pleasure, thus, his thrusts became harsher, successfully hitting your core multiple times. One of his hands went up and grabbed your breast, while the other one cupped the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss.

Low, quick puffs of air were released against your mouth as he kept rutting inside you, growling once you started to tighten around him, sign that you were close to your release. His hips stuttered once again against yours, hitting over and over again your sweet spot, making your head spin with delight, wanton moans spilling out of your mouth while also pleasing his ears as you finally came around his cock.

After a couple of more thrusts, William too came, spilling everything inside and coating your walls white. Both stayed like that, regaining your breaths while William scooped you into his arms, right hand going through your strands while leaving small kisses on your forehead. After what seemed like a minute, William turned to face you.

“We should go and-“ but upon seeing your eyes shut, and hearing the soft snores that you were making, he understood that you were already sleeping. He smiled, eyes softening as he tightened his arms around your waist and covered your body with the blanket. The bath could wait, right now, taking a nap sounded way more tempting.

✩:✩:✩

A/n: First of all, thank you sweetie for requesting! 

Second of all, I’m not sure if this is what you wanted…? You were not specific when it came to the ns*w part so I went ahead and used whatever went through my head, but I hope you enjoyed it!

#william vangeance #black clover william #william vangeance x reader #Black Clover #black clover scenarios #black clover x reader #smut #william x reader #vangeance #vangeance x reader