#a gentle longing for an unrequited love hes accustomed himself to

[shadebloopnik]

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

#this may have gotten away from me lmao #this was supposed to be a rlly short prompt of 'Unrequited love but overbrimming friendship' but instead i typed out this word vomit- #i don't know if im labeling things right here??? this may not look platonic tk others but ig im sort of projecting here #bc i want friendships like this soo badd. i mean this is still platonic right??? this is normal friendship behavior like come onnn #I've been teased about being ace bc of this mindset but i always just go RIGHT this is how friendship works y'all blind😭😭😭 #bloopnik writing #bloopnik rambles #radioapple #appleradio #platonic radioapple #platonic relationships #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #duckiedeer #unrequited feelings #BUT NOT UNREQUITED LOVE HELL YEA #one sided radiostatic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND ITS BEAUTIFUL #queerplatonic #i think #fic #fanfic #radiosilence

[nsuiswitch]

Sleepless Nights

｡✧*✧ﾟ⁠+*

Pairing: Joel Miller x Gender Neutral Reader, platonic relationship with Ellie Williams

Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: During their short rest in Wyoming, reader begins to panic about their future life (and love), Joel unknowingly stirs the pot.

Warnings: some angst, self-doubt and panic from reader and some eventual fluff, forehead smooches, age gap (reader is mentioned to be in their early to mid-twenties post college, Joel’s age remains the same) requited/unrequited love, not sticking to plot timeline (I just love stretching out their time in Jackson because the possibilities are endless!) no use of Y/N. GENDER NEUTRAL, NO IMPLIED OC

A/N: This is quite literally the first real thing I’ve ever written in my life, so please, for the love of god, go easy on me!!!!! I wrote this late one night when I was sad and couldn’t get any sleep, this just word vomited out of me. I love the TLOU so damn much, and my brain has never recovered from this obsession since I discovered it. I’m never gonna get over Joel, I would sell my soul to speak to that man for two seconds. I’m such a whore for him. I hope you enjoy this ^^

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Somehow, two days in Jackson, Wyoming felt longer than all the time it took to get here. The gated town left you with much to adjust to. Your long months on the road had you, Joel and Ellie very accustomed to survival mode, spending most days on high alert, with miles to go and often on an empty stomach. Sometimes, the only thing that kept you moving was the fear of staying in the same place for too long.

And now, it was as though none of that ever happened. Like somehow, all the atrocities that occurred, all the little pieces of yourself you’d left behind, had disappeared beyond the town’s gates. How strange it was, after months of trekking through deep wood and the dilapidated remains of cities, to stumble upon a place so normal and human.

Even as the day faded, and evening darkened the skies, just outside the window of your room, you could hear laughing, kids whining, and the rustling of people going about their lives. Sounds of life outside your own, that weren’t a cause for concern, kept your heart full through the winter nights.

But, this didn't alleviate all your worries. After all, you knew your time here would eventually be cut short.

"We'll stay, just for a little while, maybe a week or so. It’ll give us a chance to rest, get back on our feet.”

Seven days seemed longer then, when Joel had first mentioned it. Now, you couldn't help but feel like things were a bit more complicated.

Over the last few months, Joel had warmed up to both you and Ellie. Somehow, you’d managed to break through some of his rough exterior. Now you’d found a different side of Joel accompanying you on your trip. He didn't respond curtly anymore, he managed to string together a sentence or two, even if you’d asked him something stupid. Whenever you and Ellie would go back and forth, arguing over something trivial or when she'd pull out yet another genius pun from her favorite book, you'd see the ghost of a smile briefly flash over his face.

If that wasn't enough, you couldn't help but feel like the air between you two had changed significantly. It didn’t feel friendly, it felt like something more. It was delicate, and had you not been paying any mind to it, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed.

How gentle he was with you, the way his gaze or his hands would linger a moment longer than necessary.

Sometimes, on sleepless nights, when Ellie was fast asleep, you two would talk, and he'd open up far more than you'd ever expected. Even if he backpedaled and closed himself off shortly after, it still mattered to you that he tried. That he cared enough to even bother.

And you couldn't deny that you'd felt something, too. From the very beginning, it was always more than just close quarters or loneliness, you took to Joel. You honestly didn't know why, God knows you didn't have much in common. When the pandemic hit, you were in your last year of university. By then, Joel had likely lived through far more than you possibly imagine at that time, all bright-eyed and overly optimistic despite your academic stresses.

It didn’t make sense, but there were these moments, ones on the road (for the few days you had Bill’s truck), quiet conversations during your long hikes and in cramped up corners that you feel safe. He made you feel so warm and loved, despite his coldness. You wanted nothing more than to reach in and drag out the person he was before all this, before he lost his daughter, and before the world broke.

Now that he’d found Tommy safe and sound, you couldn't help but think about the end of your journey. Hell, everything about being here made you think about the future. About the family you never thought you would have.

Before Cordyceps, your ties to blood family were loose and your friendships even looser. You never had much to cling to. During your college years, while you were still figuring yourself out, you never managed to find any company along the way. You only existed in brief, awkward interactions that never stained anyone’s minds long term. You felt insignificant and while you valued your freedom, the thought of dying alone kept you up many nights.

Now, you felt like you were losing something near and dear to you. It felt like only days ago that Joel was pointing a gun to your face and now, you couldn’t live without him. Deep down, every part of your being wanted to keep living this way, pandemic or otherwise, with Ellie and Joel. It didn't matter, whether you stayed in Wyoming or not. You knew there were no other people in the world you could’ve taken this trip with.

You just wished this whole “love” thing was a bit easier. It made you envy the shows you’d watched as a kid, where the main characters would quickly admit their love for one another (romantic or otherwise) and then they’d happily march into the sunset, hand in hand, to continue on their goofy and heartfelt adventures.

There were no words to describe how badly you wanted that. A fade to black, a happy ending wrapped in a bow that didn't require any hard conversations. One where you didn't have to look Joel in the eyes and bare your soul out to him, knowing full well he might reject you just to save himself (and you) any further pain. In the rare moments that he would hold your gaze, all your confidence left you. You were far from a wayward teen or a child, but for those quick seconds you felt like you’d been hiding a rose behind your back, like your eagerness to love him was written all over your face.

Even after casting all your feelings for Joel aside, what would come of Ellie? What about the cure?

It wasn't something you three had spoken much about. After all, she was just a kid, who didn't deserve any more stress or worry. You only towed the topic gently when she’d brought it up, but, even after all this time, you were still unsure.

What would happen if it worked?

It was hard to imagine the world regaining any form of structure, even with a cure. The brutality, and the bloodshed you’d all seen, was caused by humans just as much as it was from infected.

Humanity was broken on a different level, one Ellie’s blood could not reach.

And what about afterward?

Ellie would still need someone to look after her. And you knew damn well you weren’t going to leave her at the mercy of strangers. Fireflies or not. It didn’t matter, not after everything you’d been through.

You felt like a sibling to her, but also like a parent. She looked to both you and Joel for direction. If you’d asked something of her, she’d do it, even if it was in between her usual teenage sass. On the other hand, the age gap between the two of you wasn’t as large as you and Joel’s. It was all too easy to fall into chaotic banter and get on each other’s nerves. You’d spent plenty of travel time pestering each other to keep the days short.

More than anything, you felt a responsibility for her that you hadn’t felt for anyone else.

Now, you'd take a bullet for her, without hesitation, and those feelings don't just die in a week. Cure or no cure.

So, maybe that was your happy ending. You’d get to be the parent-sibling, and you'd stay with her. Asking Ellie to be your travel buddy seemed a hell of a lot easier than admitting your feelings to Joel. Just the idea of it made you sick.

Asking him to stay with you. Begging him not to leave.

You could feel the rejection now, even though the words had never been said. The image of you, outside, your face hot, tears threatening to spill, as you watched Joel's figure blur and disappear into the distance was too much to bear.

You knew your confession would kill you. After that, you would never be whole again. But you couldn't not know. You needed to be absolutely certain of Joel’s feelings. If you never asked him, you'd regret for the rest of your life.

It was this stream of thoughts, circling through your head in a never ending chaos, that kept you from sleep's embrace.

You tossed, turned and cursed at yourself. Since yesterday, you planned to be up as early as possible as not to waste the little time you had in Jackson, and your internal dialogue was getting you nowhere. Staring at the ceiling was not helping to make these life-altering decisions any easier. Still, You couldn't let this rest. You needed to know what would happen next for you. Who would decide your fate. And until you did, you wouldn't rest, either.

The sound of the front door creaking open and shuffling took you away from your spiraling mind. You jumped a bit, more than you'd care to admit but, you were miles away and weren't expecting anyone at the house.

Joel had spent all day with his brother, catching up on lost time, so you and Ellie had been left to fend for yourselves.

Maria's tour of the commune had left you with a vague memory of where to go, but since you'd managed to navigate miles and miles of forest (mainly by following Joel's command) you figured your determination and Ellie's snark would get you through.

And it did. You found more than enough to occupy yourselves. After a shower and a hot meal, you scoured every inch of the commune (or one long street at least). You’d passed by some shops, the movie theater once more, and settled by the horse stables to cool off.

Once the sun started to set, and since you hadn't run into Joel at any point throughout the day (though you secretly hoped you would) you decided it’d be best to walk back to your rooms before it got too dark. You’d likely touch base with Joel in the morning, though the thought did nothing to ease your nerves.

Right now, you felt like you couldn't even look at him, not with all of this running through your head. If you didn’t get a chance to bury all of this deep down, you’d melt in the morning sun. All you wanted was some time, and a good night’s sleep would do the trick.

As the footsteps grew louder, you rolled over and tried your best to look asleep. You felt like a little kid now, trying to hide that you’d stayed up past your bedtime. You had felt like this more often than you wanted to with Joel. Not because of his doing, but, what could possibly make you think that someone like him would want to pursue you? You were barely into your 20s, and never had a chance to experience the world before it all feel apart. You were so inexperienced, immature, and there was no way he didn’t see some of that in you. In his mind, you were just like Ellie. A kid to look after, nothing more. And while you’d had some pleasant times together, there was no way in hell that would stir up romantic feelings in him.

You shut your eyes, hoping to hide from yourself and him, should he decide to visit.

Joel’s room was on the floor below yours, so the moment you heard shuffling up the staircase, your heart skipped.

You figured, in Joel fashion, he had probably come upstairs to check on both of you, especially considering he hadn’t seen you the whole day, but you could not, for the life of you, calm down. How dumb it would have looked to find you, all scrunched up uncomfortably in bed, under the dim light. To save yourself the embarrassment, you did your best to loosen up and sink into the mattress.

Ellie's room was a door from yours, and closest to the stairs. It creaked open softly, and the footsteps disappeared inside for just a moment, merging with the silence. Then after a time, out they came, and the door creaked again ever so slightly as it met the hinges.

You’re next.

You felt like you were in a horror movie with extremely trivial consequences.

Laying there all stiffened up, trying to look as peacefully asleep as you possibly could, you waited for your door to inevitably open. After a moment it did, and even with your eyes closed, you knew it was Joel.

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Joel was anxious to get back to the house as soon as possible. This had been the longest time in the last few months that he’d been apart from both you, and Ellie.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that there wasn’t any real danger. He also knew that you were a grown ass adult, fully capable of handling themselves, teenage company included, and had proven so time and time again, but against all logic, he just couldn't scratch the itch. It bothered him all damn day; he needed to see for himself that his newest passengers were still safe and sound.

Joel had settled things with Tommy, and, was happy to catch up and see the life his younger brother had created for himself. Even with all the feelings Tommy’s pregnancy announcement had stirred up within him.

Still, in between their conversations, Joel’s mind kept crawling back to the same people. The cargo he’d at one point, been praying to get rid of. Now, he missed the two of them, plain and simple.

He wanted to hear their little quips and snide remarks, along with the warm laughs both you and Ellie drew out of each other with the dumbest jokes. The combination of cautious optimism during the travels, hearing your footsteps as a whisper behind him during silent days, brought him a comfort he hadn't known for years. Both your presence and Ellie’s soothed him, in a way he hadn't felt since Sarah’s passing.

You drew him back, against his better judgement, to feelings and a past that he'd tried so desperately tried to bury. And now, no matter how hard he tried to keep it at bay, everything kept crawling back to the surface.

But Joel didn't want to think about all that now. There was no easy solution. He just wanted to see the both of you safe and fast asleep. Then he could get a much-needed night's rest and figure out the rest later.

Too much of the town domesticity had made him soft. A little part of him, one that he dare not acknowledge, started to ache for this little family of sorts. Ellie, witty as ever, and you by his side. As much as it killed him to admit, it didn’t sound so bad.

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You laid there, stiff as a board, as you felt Joel move around the bed frame, coasting the edge until he stood right beside your head.

You felt his warmth all over you. He smelled like the outside but not in a bad way, it was his usual earthy musk and, as he leaned closer, the lingering scent of whiskey. He'd no doubt shared a few drinks with Tommy, and now you’d wished he'd stayed longer instead of torturing you with this sudden proximity.

You felt his hand slide over your forehead, gently, as to not “wake” you and then, of all the things he could've done, he leaned over you and gently pressed his lips to your temple.

And god, you hated him for it.

For all the feelings he stirred up in you.

It was as though, he'd felt your yearning, that big ugly mess of feelings you couldn't deal with, and decided to add fuel to the fire.

Damn it Joel.

You wanted to shove him away. Better that than you getting bold enough to pull him closer and beg him to stay the night. You’d never wanted anyone else the way you wanted Joel. It felt like only days ago that you’d thought he was a complete asshole, that you’d be celebrating being back in the QZ. What happened?

"G'night darling" Joel whispered over the soft sounds from outside.

God, the things he could to do to you with just two fucking words.

There were so many times you thought could move past your feelings and focus on the long journey ahead, for both your sake and Ellie's.

But everything he did stirred something in you. Every moment of tenderness he'd shown both you and Ellie when you skipped a step or fell behind for a second too long.

It was his fucking smile. The little suggestion of it that peered through when Ellie managed to get a rise out of him, despite the grumpy old man that he was.

You hated it, how he was always so close to you and yet a million miles away. Maybe, if you had met him in a different world or another universe, you wouldn't of thought twice about him, but right now it mattered so damn much, This is all you ever wanted and needed in this cruel life. Every day and night, you ached for him.

And now it was his presence, all encompassing and unwavering, shrouding you from the moonlight, protecting you from any danger that'd ever dare to close your path. It was his honeyed voice and southern drawl, silently promising to wrap you up in a warm coat for the rest of your days.

But, as quickly as it happened, it was over, and once again he was tip-toeing over the hardwood floors and closing your door. He left, and you knew after that, there wouldn't be a moment of sleep.

Long after his steps grew distant, and the building went still once again, you couldn't move. You laid still, just as you'd been before, searching the pale walls for answers, for anything to quell the fire building up in you.

Gif Credits to: @ // trashcora

Despite all of your doubts, uncertainty and the possibility of future pain, your mind and body were burning for him.

#joel miller #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn reader #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel millee x gn! reader #x reader #pedro pascal character x reader #pedro pascal the last of us #pedeo pascal joel miller #joel miller oneshot #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller imagine #tlou imagine #Tumblr #fanfiction

[foolgobi65]

careful man’s careless daughter

@philtstone prompted: Anne/Gilbert babysitter au fake dating prompt #5 let’s go laydees “you have the emotional capacity of a brick. that slate I broke over  your head.” (we’re pretending people still use slates now....american schools have no money...its possible ok) 

k so i was trying to figure out how to work in the babysitter + fake dating and ... like a flash the plot to this old telugu/tamil movie i love missamma/missaimaa came to mind -- its not quite the same because they’re two people pretending to be married so that they can make money as school teachers/live in tutors for a wealthy family’s daughter but it works just enough that i decided to roll with it lol. 

this technically isn’t the actual babysitting, nor the fake dating which I actually turned into a fake marriage lol, but i hope u still like it, even though it is all over the place and a general wreck because i wrote it straight through without any editing or thought towards pacing/characterization bc i havent written in forever lol!! im not even sure what the time period setting is lol, and i dont think my translating of the anne events into a semi modern day even works but w/e lol. 

u are the truest of friends, the light of my life, and have certainly heard more than your share of my mental breakdowns both in the last month and the last few years lol. u deserve all the good things, all the good fic, all the time. 

title is a perversion of a tswift lyric because it came up on youtube. if anyone wants to send in prompts from here

---

“You owe him how much?” 

Anne sighs, crossing her legs to hide how uncomfortable she is in this moment -- here she is in the park, fifteen thousand dollars plus interest in medical debt for Marilla’s eye surgery and being hounded by Roy Gardner, ex boyfriend apparently turned loan shark who was on his knees proclaiming both love and loan forgiveness should Anne just accept his proposal. 

Here Gilbert Blythe is, sitting on a park bench after two years without contact, watching the whole thing. 

“Marilla doesn’t have health insurance,” Anne says, eyes on the ground as she uses the toe of her shoe to grind a leaf into the sidewalk cement. “Even when I was teaching, the union plan didn’t let people add parents on as dependents.” She sighs. “With everything happening with the farm, she couldn’t afford to put money towards a plan and so when her eyes got bad....” 

For a moment, there is silence. Anne can almost hear Gilbert’s jaw clench “That’s just wrong.” 

Anne laughs, and because her eyes are averted she doesn’t see Gilbert flinch. “That’s America, Blythe.” 

“Well,” she hears him say, tone just dripping with what Mrs. Rachel would call the Blythe Stubbornness, “It shouldn’t be.” 

She won’t ever admit it, but there’s something Anne has always found deeply compelling about Gilbert when he gets into these moods -- all righteously indignant in a way that Anne feels inside of her own body. Or felt, before Matthew died and left behind debts not even Marilla had known about, and Marilla’s eyes worsened around the the time Anne was let go from her teaching job and even if she had had the job it wouldn’t have mattered, she knows, but still. Beautiful, wonderful, beloved Diana had offered to help, of course she had, but Anne knew that Fred’s business wasn’t yet where it should be and that the parents Barry were still unimpressed with their son in law to be’s financial acumen. So she’d had to go to Roy, who had of course lent his beautiful Anne the money, and of course had arranged for Marilla to be treated at the best hospital in Toronto, of course had set them up in the apartment of a friend of his right in downtown where the rents were a thousand maybe two per month. He’d popped the question for the third time the second Marilla had been released back into Anne’s care. 

Almost as if he can hear her thoughts, Gilbert speaks -- “Gardner shouldn’t be harassing you like this either. Who ever heard of charging interest on a loan to a friend? And what on earth does he think he’s going to take from you if you just don’t pay?” 

Anne burns. This, she hasn’t told Marilla, nor even her darling Diana. For some reason, it seems alright to tell Gilbert. “The farm,” she mumbles.

Gilbert snorts. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. Are you saying that Roy Gardner, heir to one of the biggest fortunes in Boston and your ex boyfriend, took your home as collateral on a loan for money you needed to pay for your mother’s surgery?” 

Anne says nothing. She still hasn’t looked up at him, hasn’t been able to meet his gaze since she sat down on the bench and told Roy to get up off his knees and wait two months for either his money or her affirmative answer. She blinks, having mercifully forgotten that Gilbert was present for that last bit. She hopes he’s forgotten too. 

“And wait, before he left you said....” No such luck. “Anne!” Anne’s sure her entire head must be flame as she closes her eyes, bringing her knees up on the park bench and burying her face into her own lap. “Anne you said you’d marry him if you couldn’t get the money!” 

“There’s no debt between spouses,” Anne mumbles. “We’d get to keep the farm, and I wouldn’t ever worry about Marilla’s health again.” 

“But you don’t love him!” She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Gilbert sound so scandalized. 

“I used to!” she tries to retort, but even Anne knows that her voice betrays her when she tries to speak this lie. “I used to think I was,” she amends, “and maybe that’s as close as I’m allowed to get -- he’s rich, handsome, he even loves me! What more could I ask for?” 

“Coercing you into marriage, demanding interest on money that we all know is just pocket change for someone like him...that’s not love,” Gilbert Blythe responds, with all that....that all-knowing Blytheness in his voice that Anne has hated since she was 13 years old and the new kid in a class of people who had always known each other just as easily as they had known themselves. “Love is selfless, Anne, strong and kind. It makes you better for giving away your heart, even if the one you love doesn’t give you theirs in return.” 

Gilbert Blythe, always acting as if he knows something Anne does not. He speaks as if he’s been in love, at some point over the years since he was last in Avonlea and for some reason Anne absolutely burns with that knowledge. Ooh she just hates him, now at 24 just as easily as she had at 13! 

“And what exactly is love worth if it means I just lose the farm trying to pay for Marilla’s surgery, and still have nothing for the next time she’s sick?” Suddenly Anne is on her feet, hands on her hips as she glares at Gilbert looking quite alarmed as he still sits on the bench. The words she has kept locked on the inside, too private to even be written in a diary, come pouring out in one big rush:

“Three of my four parents are already dead, Gilbert Blythe.” Her voice hitches, to her horror, her sudden fury vanishes as she has to blink away the tears she has kept at bay since she and Marilla buried Matthew. Damn Gilbert, for bringing this out of her as well. “I can’t...I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.” Her lips thin, and with a breath, her voice steadies. “I don’t care what you, or anyone else thinks about my choices if it means that I can take care of Marilla.” 

Gilbert’s eyes have the sheen of his own tears when he stands, his own lips wobbling just slightly. “I...” he swallows. “Of course, Anne.” Something Anne recognizes as self hatred passes briefly over his face, but she doesn’t understand. “I wish I had money like Gardner to give you, I really do.”   

Anne gentles, even if something inside her twists to be the object of the long-old guilt mixed with pity, much less Gilbert Blythe. Since Matthew’s death, every person in Avonlea it seems has sat with Anne and Marilla and offered their deep condolences, their absolute shock at the pair’s financial state of affairs, how much they wish they could help but sadly cannot, what with the way the bank’s collapse has hit their own finances. Only families like the Gardners survive economic crashes with money to burn. 

“I wouldn’t have taken it even if you had,” she offers instead, shrugging casually. 

His eyes flash. “But you took Gardner’s?” 

“I thought he loved me!” Anne closes her eyes, somehow feeling her cheeks flush even deeper. This is why she’s avoided all mention of Gilbert Blythe so strenuously since high school graduation, because more than anyone else he is the one who drags out the words she is always learning to keep inside. Here he is, somehow pulling confessions Anne hadn’t even dreamed of telling Diana, confessions that make her seem small, and stupid, lost in a world so much more complicated and treacherous than she can handle all on her lonesome. 

Well, she thinks, in for a penny -- 

“I thought he loved me,” she says, “and that he had the money to spare. I didn’t realize...” She looks away again, so that she never has to see him react to her folly. 

“Oh Anne,” Gilbert says, for some reason so soft and stricken that Anne’s knees go weak with her sudden desire to fall to the ground and weep. “You deserve so much better.” 

And now she’s angry again. “What would you know about what I deserve?” Anne spits, “you haven’t even been home since you started med school!” Vaguely, Anne thinks that Gilbert hasn’t been home since she and Roy had gotten serious, serious enough for her to bring him to Green Gables and show him the place that had been her very first love. Coincidences can be so strange. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, glaring again at the ground. “None of this matters. I’m just going to go home” Anne clenches her jaw, knowing that when she gets back to Green Gables she will go into her room and play every excruciating part of this conversation back in her head, again and again until she throws up or passes out at dawn from sheer exhaustion. Maybe both, if she’s lucky. She leans back slightly and manages to turn around on her heels, a trick Gilbert Blythe had always pulled at school and had had girls thinking he was so cool.

She’s five minutes away from the park bench when suddenly she hears him call out her name. 

“Anne,” he shouts again much closer, bending at his waist to balance his hands at his knees as he pants. “God, it really has been two years since I was on the university football team.” 

Despite the roiling emotions of five minutes ago, Anne’s lips quirk. “I can’t imagine you all practiced very much to end up near the bottom of your league every year.” 

Gilbert’s eyes widen, and for some reason he flushes. Maybe he’s so out of shape that it’s from exertion? “I didn’t realize you kept up with my matches.”  Ah. Anne, it seems, will experience nothing else but one long sustained flush as long as she is in front of Gilbert Blythe. “You know,” she tries to say casually, “you hear things here and there. Diana told me the village gossip.” 

Gilbert opens his mouth, but then suddenly shakes his head, like a dog trying to dislodge water from its fur. “I have...” he frowns. “I have a proposition for you.”  Anne raises what she hopes is an elegant eyebrow. “Oh?” 

He grimaces. “There’s a boarding school, a Catholic one, that’s asking for teachers over the summer for a few of their select students who want to be coached for college admissions. Essays, standardized tests, everything. They’ve got heaps of money, and are willing to pay salaries up front. Plus, they cover all your expenses while you’re there!” 

Anne blinks, feeling the beginnings of hope gather as kindling at the very dredges of her heart. Once, both Anne and Gilbert had competed so well against each other that they had both gotten into Harvard. Then, Matthew had died, and Anne decided she could just as easily get a teaching degree at the state school and stay closer to Marilla too. Gilbert alone had had the distinction of being the first from Avonlea to reach such heights, and had reached even higher when he had been accepted again to Harvard Medical School. 

But at one point, both Anne and Gilbert had taken their SATs. They’d both written their application essays. They’d both gotten in. Anne, even, had been offered a full ride compared to Gilbert’s only partial scholarship, so there could even be an argument that of the two, Anne had been the one on top. 

And if nothing else, Anne is even better at teaching than she was at taking tests. 

“I’ll do it,” she says firmly. “Where and when do I need to report, and how much money are they offering?”  For a second, a bright, dazzling grin paints Gilbert’s face. “Really? Ten--” he coughs, “Twenty thousand.” Anne frowns. 

“Each?” It sounds like a dream come true. Five thousand more than Anne needs, and paid upfront. She could save the farm, and put away five thousand towards the farm’s debts. “That sounds....exorbitant.”  He nods, suddenly more confident. “Yep! Twenty thousand for sure.” He laughs. “I know Gardner was supposed to be slumming it at state school, but you really can’t be surprised at how much money rich people are willing to throw at a problem.” 

“The problem being...their children.”  Gilbert’s grin turns wicked. “The problem being their children’s SAT scores, and lack of compelling anecdote to base an admission’s essay on, yes.” 

Anne laughs, wicked in this moment as well. She wishes in this moment, fiercely, as she has many times over the last few years, that she had been able to go to university with Gilbert at her side -- as the friends they had slowly begun to be after years of one and two sided enmity, before time and distance had turned them into near strangers. She doesn’t regret staying back, not really, but there is a part of her that no one had ever understood half as well as Gilbert Blythe, who had, after the Harvard interest meeting, drawn and pinned up a schedule for practice SATs that took into account both his and Anne’s often conflicting life schedules. 

“What’s the catch,” she asks, grinning when Gilbert chokes “come on, Blythe, there’s always a catch with offers like this. Is it across from a waste manufacturing plant? Is the principal a pervert?” 

Slowly, Gilbert Blythe is turning red. “Ah,” he says, shuffling like he never did even when he was an errant schoolboy. “Well,” he says, and....is that his voice cracking? 

“Gilbert,” Anne says, trying to reassure him, “I grew up in the foster system, I can handle much worse than bad smells and pervert principals, I promise.” 

He frowns. “It’s not that,” he says slowly, “but basically they’re looking for two teachers, a man and a woman to manage the boys and the girls while the rest of the staff go on vacation.” 

Anne smiles, trying to ignore the jolt of her heart at the thought of an entire summer with Gilbert, studying like they used to but as friends. Her old dreams, finally coming true. “That’s perfect then, you take one job and I’ll take the other! It’ll be like old times, kind of.” 

He smiles faintly, as if, even after locking horns with the best and brightest at Harvard, Anne is still the person he wants to be trading barbs with over the heads of high school students for months on end. “I’d like nothing better, he says, except...” 

“Except?” 

Gilbert inhales. “ExceptTheSchoolWillOnlyHireAMarriedCoupleSoThatTheyDon’tHaveToWorryAboutOutofWedlockSexorTeachersHavingSexWithStudents.” All in a rush, and now Gilbert is the one who can’t apparently handle eye contact.

“What?” 

“The school,” Gilbert says to his shoes, “since it’s Catholic, and also since they’re lazy, only want a married couple so that they don’t have to have anyone watching to make sure the teachers aren’t having sex with the students. Or each other.” 

Anne blinks. “But we’re not married!” 

Gilbert grimaces, opening his mouth, but then just biting his lip. They could be, Anne thinks, only a tad hysterical. Only all of Avonlea was matching them up all the years of high school, and even the years after until she’d met Roy. It would be so easy to get a certificate. They could get a divorce by September, even annul their marriage since they definitely wouldn’t be having sex. 

Twenty thousand dollars. 

“So what you’re saying,” Anne says slowly, her lip curling of its own accord “is that after all that talk about what love is and isn’t, and telling me that I shouldn’t marry Roy for the money he’d give me, your blockheaded solution is instead, for me to marry you?” 

Gilbert looks up. “Well when you put it that way--”  Anne sees red, even as she already sees herself in one of her old white lace dresses, standing with Gilbert at the courtroom and signing. “Gilbert Blythe I don’t believe you! Sometimes, I think that you really do have all the emotional capacity of that slate I broke over your head!” 

“I know,” he says tone heavy with something so sad that Anne’s hearten softens a bit of its own accord. “But you really need the money, and I promise we’ll get a divorce by September.” He smiles, but there’s something bitter at the corners that Anne has never seen before -- she almost raises her hand to rub the strand of emotion off his lips. “And you’re not the only one who needs the money. Will you do it?” 

Twenty thousand dollars. The farm, Marilla, an end to the eternal pity of Avonlea. And also, a small part of her suggests, an opportunity to finally spend time with this new Gilbert Blythe who went off into the world and left her behind. 

She sighs. “I vote that you be the one to tell Mrs. Lynde.” 

#obviously gilbert's been in love with anne this whole time #not in a really creepy way just a realization that no one he meets compares #a gentle longing for an unrequited love hes accustomed himself to #the salary is originally 10k each but he decides to give her his and cut a deal with the people to put it all in anne's name #which theyre fine with bc theyre married and hes like oh the debts we have are in her name lol #in this au since he didnt give up the school for her this salary thing is probably that equivalent? #anyways anne and gilbert fall in love while teaching annoying rich kids who get a transformative summer that helps them become good people #they reconnect talk about their past their present their futrue #fall in love thinking the other one could never feel the same #good stuff #aogg #anne of green gables #anne shirley #gilbert blythe #maya writes

[getoswhore]

ᥫ᭡ ─ PHILOPHOBIA. ⸝⸝ kazutora hanemiya.

ଘ. featuring ⸝⸝ time skip!kazutora x gn!reader

ଘ. synopsis ⸝⸝ it's difficult to act as “friends” when you're both deeply in love.. but you both know it's best to stay as you are now..

ଘ. warnings ⸝⸝ 0.8k+ wc. mentions of sex. unrequited love. angst w/ no comfort(?). just sadness. (unhealthy) friends with benefits dynamics. philophobia (kazutora). tears ‘n pain. <3

ଘ. note ⸝⸝ ever since i found out kaz bb would be a bad bf— according to the official tr books, i just..

golden threads of morning light pour through every open space between the fibers of your sheer curtains, flooding your room with anew rays of the morning sun. and that warm daylight illuminates against kazutora's porcelain face; golden rays gazing over him and soaking into his fair skin, complementing those sandy freckles that scatter across his chest and the every dip of his muscles up to his shoulders.

serene it truly was..

when you woke and those dazed dreams faltered beneath your eyelids, you didn't shiver this time like normal, where you'd naturally wake up cold, no comfort of strong arms wrapped around your shivering frame to ease into.. but this time, it felt surreal to still have kazutora resting beside you.

his seeking frame dozed off into a deep slumber of heaviness' dreams, his half-naked body still exposed atop of the many blankets from the long nights of sweaty and filthy sex, his locks of inky hair spilling over the sheets, and arms, strong arms cradling you into a gentle hold. and this time, you were left with watering eyes, wondering,

could this be it?

is this the time he truly stays with you?

the feeling of your bed still being occupied when not in such erotic moments with him and to the feeling of him staying till sunrise was foreign. but you wanted to be accustomed to this, this feeling of him always being beside you. this feeling of his soft touch against you, where the palm of his callused hand will always lay flat against your tummy, keeping you close to him as the other is tucked beneath your head.

scooting your naked frame closer to his gentle embrace, you swear it felt as if the world stopped on its axis, feeling he must have woken when you pushed yourself closer to him for more comfort he can never truly give, feeling his body tense in realization. you stiffened as well, your bottom lip catching between your teeth in hopes this is the day he finally realizes you both are meant to be together and not slip out the door without a word until next time you meet up..

in hopes he realizes it can just be you and him..

but those desiring wishes and desperate hopes falter, feeling his palm slide from beneath your head as gently as he can, and slowly begins to peel his body away from yours.

now that shivering came, tingling up your spine in goosebumps, feeling the warmth of his body disappearing as he quietly slipped out the bed, before hearing him scavenge for his clothes that were scattered along your room. he was quick, trying not to wake you as he got dressed, but only if he knew you laid there, wide awake, face scrunching to hold in sappy tears that threatened to spill out and pour against your messy sheets.

only if he knew you were clutching at those sheets that smell of sex to suppress your sobs so he won't hear, but you couldn't hold it in, feeling it bubbling up in your belly and spilling out your throat.

kazutora’s head cranes over towards your body that shivers, wide golden eyes settling onto your back that curled into the bed.

his jaw clenches at the way you laid there with goosebumps layering at your skin and he knew he did that. he knew once he pulled himself away, you became cold and soul to become wafer-thin.

he knew he was hurting you every time..

but kazutora was shivering himself, he was scared, trembling silently. he needs your warmth against him too, but he knows he would only melt and disappear once again. he knows if he stayed he would ruin your love for him, he knows he would be the cause of your heart to break completely.

yet, only if he knew it is slowly cracking the more he walked away from you, walking away from what could happen between the two of you. and with each step he strayed further from you was all out of fear.

the fear of falling in love so deeply where he can't get back up, but only if he knew you would be there to grab ahold of those warm hands of his with a vice and pull him up for comfort..

but only if he knew..

kazutora tried ignoring your sniffles that smothers into the blankets but he just needed to soothe you in some way before he leaves,

“i’ll see you later, okay?”

he deeply hoped that was enough for you to know you'll see each other once again.. and with that, he opened the door, and you slowly turned, catching his softened eyes disappear behind that wooden wall..

and maybe it was the trick of the light, but it looked almost as if he was crying too..

₍ ੭ᐢ..ᐢ)੭ @getoswhore — refrain from plagiarizing, translating, modifying, and/or reposting my work!

#gender neutral y/n #kazutora x reader #tokyo revengers #kazutora hanemiya #tr kazutora #kazutora x y/n #tr smut #kazutora x you #tokyo rev angst #tokyo rev x you #tr x you #tokyo rev smut #kazutora drabble #tr angst #kazutora smut #kazutora angst #tr x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tr x y/n

[bubble-tea-bunny]

sweet talk

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: been rewatching ouran and found the time to write smth small. basically a really late valentine’s fic lol. i’m drafting an idea for takashi as well atm. maybe kyoya after? ;)

word count: 1,844

At this time of year, the weather is chilly, the air cold even without the presence of wind and warranting the need for a scarf to avoid a red-tipped nose and numb cheeks. Most days are gloomy, the overcast sky glaringly bright and difficult to look at. But today, it would seem the divine hand in charge of the course of the seasons has granted a reprieve, the clouds parting so the sun might wash over the grass that you and Tamaki sit upon currently, in the garden of the Suoh estate.  

The gardeners had finished their tasks this morning, as instructed by Tamaki the night before. It gave you two the opportunity to be out there alone in the afternoon. The hedges are trimmed and tidy, and the smell of freshly cut grass is strong. You inhale deeply, chest puffed, and sigh in satisfaction as the scent reaches your nose. It had been so long since you sat out in a garden, owed to the fact it had been too cold for that lately.

Tamaki chuckles at your enthusiasm and rifles through the picnic basket he’d brought with him. He pushes aside the array of deserts—cake slices, chocolate bars, fruit tarts, and more—their colorful wrappings crinkling loud enough to grab your attention.

“Where is it…” he mutters.

You tilt your head. "Where is what?”

The tip of Tamaki’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, evidence of his concentration, and when he finally finds what he’s searching for, he holds it up like a first place prize, complemented by an exclamation: “Aha!”

It’s a small plastic pouch, clear with red stripes and tied near the top with a matching, shiny red poly ribbon to keep it closed. There’s what you assume to be candy inside, in various colors, but you don’t recognize it. You’re still just as clueless, but you don’t need to voice your question because Tamaki can see the confusion written across your face.

“It’s commoner candy!” he explains. “Well, commoner Valentine’s candy, more specifically.”

You continue to watch, intrigued by what he’s brought, as he pulls at the ribbon to loosen it and opens the pouch, reaching inside for one of the pieces of candy. He holds up the heart-shaped treat, gripped carefully between index finger and thumb, and angles it so you can see what’s written on it: Sweetheart.

Upon realizing there’s wording on it, and that the same must go for every heart in the bag, your eyes light up. “Cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tamaki agrees, voice quiet as he observes the candy. The nickname is printed red though the lettering isn’t too sharp, which gives away that it was done by a machine. “Haruhi got one for all the host club members, and I wanted to share mine with you.”

When he turns to you, amethyst eyes warm like a summer night, you smile. And when he offers the bag of heart candies to you, you eagerly reach in for one. “How thoughtful!” You turn over the piece you picked out: Only You.

“Well, shall we try them together?” Tamaki inquires, and you nod. The two of you pop the candy into your mouths in unison, then sit silently for a moment in contemplation.

It’s… unique, is the best description you can come up with. The powdery, pressed substance is basically a sugar bomb that melts once it comes in contact with your tongue. But it isn’t the quality of sugar you’re accustomed to—it’s far and away from the refined sweetness of the handmade confections stashed away in the picnic basket Tamaki brought along. Still, this mass-produced goody is delightful in its own way, in taste and novelty, for you have never seen such small candies with words on them, and you say as much to your boyfriend, the last traces of the heart candy lingering on your lips which you lick away.

“They’re charming,” you remark, reaching for another piece. “For when you can’t find the words or get them out yourself.” You read what’s written on the yellow heart you grabbed, then turn it to show Tamaki: Be Mine.

Tamaki’s attention briefly diverts down to read it as well, and the corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided grin as he meets your eyes again. “Sure, they can be useful for some people, but I can get by just fine without candy telling me what to say. How could I call myself the king of the host club if I weren’t able to string together pretty words?” Always conducting himself with some semblance of dramatic flare, he puts a hand to his chest, and the sunlight reflects off his eyes in a way that makes it seem like there’s a tear or two forming in the corners.

As usual, his acting is impeccable, and you can’t contain your smile; he’s such a natural. You have no objections to his claim as king of the school’s host club, and if you’re being honest, you wish you had even half the charisma he does, that some of the skill he possesses at waxing lyrical would rub off onto you via proximity alone.

“They would’ve come in handy for me that day I confessed to you,” you admit shyly, and it’s Tamaki’s turn to tilt his head, confused but waiting for you to expound. “These candies say all the things I wanted to say to you then.”

The day you came to terms with your feelings about Tamaki and the day you actually revealed them to him were different, and the time in between had been spent in a state of conflict over whether it was worth mustering up the courage to approach him about it. There was little doubt in your mind that the president of the host club received declarations of love left and right, a routine part of his week, a clockwork consistency like that of waking in the morning and laying down to sleep in the evening. You’re a drop of water in the ocean; what could possibly make you stand out?

For all that, you figured you should confess anyway. Rejection was still an answer and it was better than nothing. At least after the gentle let down (because truly, Tamaki is, without fail, graceful in matters of love, both the reciprocal and the unrequited) your turmoil over what he may say would finally be put at ease.

Though you rehearsed over and over what you would say and how you would say it, the practice ends up being useless, and you weren’t sure why you even bothered. Once you met his kind gaze—expectant and patient, giving you the opportunity to gather the words in the stretching silence that would be oddly too long in any other context—the resolve you had slowly been building on your walk to the meeting point by the fountain crumbled. You tripped over your words at the sight of his tender smile. Tamaki just had that effect on people, and you wished he’d look at you that way always. To be on the receiving end of his affection was to bask in the warmth of a sun that never sets.

It’s a feeling you’re distinctly reminded of now, sitting in the garden on an uncharacteristically sunny day for winter and the center of Tamaki’s attention, and you think you might be set alight from the sheer intensity (due mostly to Tamaki; the sun is poor competition in contrast). He wears that beautifully soft expression, mind clearly having thought back to your confession as yours just had. But it seems his recollection differs slightly, for he presents a counterpoint.

“I thought you handled it perfectly.” He sets the bag of heart candies on the grass and braces himself with his now freed hand, which allows him to lean closer to you. He enters your bubble but you never mind it, and his touch is feather-light as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

You’re unpersuaded, however, and raise a brow. “Really?”

Tamaki chuckles and nods, blonde hair bouncing with the singular motion. “Your eyes spoke for the words you had trouble finding. I might be the one stringing together pretty poetry like diamonds around your neck”—his fingers slide lower to trace the curve of your collarbone left exposed by the cut of your blouse, and you shiver—“but you have no need for words at all, much less the turns of phrases on pieces of candy.”

“Is that why you liked me too?” you ask, remembering his own confession that had followed closely on the heel of yours. You keep your voice hushed because given how close to each other you are, there’s no need for any higher of a volume.

Tamaki hums in confirmation. His index finger delicately taps once, twice, thrice, on the hollow at the base of your throat, a sort of absentminded movement while absorbed in his thoughts, before he once more brings his hand up, cradling your cheek. “You say you’re a drop in the ocean but you’re the drops of morning dew on the roses just outside my bedroom window. My heart flutters to breathe you in.”  

You smile, bashful, and set your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. Your cheeks have darkened in a blush Tamaki would like to kiss. “Okay, I’m convinced,” you concede with a murmur. He’s so close to you now. “When I admitted how I felt, maybe it didn’t go as badly as I thought.”

This elicits another laugh from Tamaki. Instead of acting on his desire to run his lips along your silken skin (there would be time for that later), he settles for a quick peck on your nose, then reaches into the pouch of heart candies, temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. His fingers curl around two pieces and he pulls them both out rather than dropping one, but he sees the words on them before you do since his hand obscures them from your view.

“The powers governing destiny have destined our souls for each other,” he declares. “Because you and me, it’s love.”

He uncurls his fingers to reveal the candy in his palm, and you look down at them. The green one reads You & Me, and the blue one It’s Love. This prompts you to giggle. It’s music to his ears.

“What happened to not needing candy to tell you what to say?” Your tone is playful.

Tamaki shrugs, unable to hide his amused grin. “I pulled them out at random. If this is the universe speaking to me, who would I be to argue?”

You have no counter to this, not that you think there even is one. Destiny is destiny and as Tamaki feeds you one of the hearts and you bite into it, the sugar once more dissolving on your tongue, you can only thank those powers which make the world turn for conferring their blessing upon the two of you in such a deliciously sweet way.

#ouran high school host club x reader #ouran high school host club imagine #tamaki suoh x reader #tamaki suoh imagine #ouran host club x reader #ouran host club imagine #ohshc x reader #ohshc imagine #ouran high school host club #tamaki suoh #ohshc #bubble-tea-bunny

[darkistmalfoyhead]

My Little Ghost~ Ficlet

Draco Malfoy hated Hogwarts. Absolutely loathed it. Yet when he found an old, dusty piano tucked in between several writing desks he felt quite happy for the first time in a while. Some of the best memories he had was teaching piano to his little cousin, Grace who made insufferable family dinners bearable.

It was the witching hour, where reality faded away and there was nothing but him and the music. Time had no meaning and his hands danced until they shook from strain. The sad looking piano was his little friend. But it creaked and groaned, skipping several chords so the day after he began the daunting task of fixing the rusted thing. After the others went to sleep he toiled, back sore and sweat dripping down his face by the end of the night.

Yet as the days drew by, he made no progress whatsoever. If anything he’d made it worse. However one evening there was a curious stack of books on a desk. He flipped through them. Vanishing rust, transfiguring ivory and polishing spells. Who had done this? Maybe Madame Pince didn’t hate him as much as she let on. Draco grinned and returned to work.

The very next day he left a plate of cookies on her desk and a girl snorted. Granger. He shot her a glare.

The treats must have worked because the books kept coming. By third year the piano was completely fixed and the stacks became filled with music theory and classical pieces. He dutifully played through them all.

Draco didn’t feel so alone anymore but the weariness never left him. His hands grew calloused and worn. Maybe it was because of the swirling whooshes of air that always passed by him as he practiced or the gentle sound of whispered breathing but he pretended that he was playing for the ghosts, the ones who were forgotten. Six years later raw agony coursed through his veins. The Dark Lord killed his sweet cousin for being ‘too soft’.

And it was all his fault. Why?

Because she had been caught practicing the piano instead of working, playing a tune that was for ‘children’.

He tried to break his fingers, to burn away the beauty he’d created just for her that became the cause of her death. Everything in the world seemed to work against him. But the quiet ghost of the library stopped him, always watching and never leaving. And slowly, ever so slowly, the boy who spiraled down came to a halt.

But it wasn’t Madame Pince with her sour expression who helped him. There was another girl, a first-year who was brushed aside by everyone else and left in the shadows. She would often borrow Harry’s cloak and wander the library, happily running through the shelves.

One day, however, she wasn’t alone. The pretentious Malfoy had wandered in, the very same boy who called her filthy names. She debated hexing him. How dare he take her only sanctuary from her.

Yet for the first time she had seen something other then pure arrogance on his face. His eyes were wide, filled with a quiet wonder as he lifted the lid of the forgotten piano she had walked by many times.

And then he started to play. The notes were wobbly at first, the pianoforte creaking as his hands moved but soon they began to dance, slowly but surely.

She’d left the world in that moment, the time he touched the instrument and made something beautiful out of the weathered old thing. Hermione tried playing after he left, tentatively pressing the still-warm keys. It sounded awful.

The next day he returned. She pretended not to notice what he did but she again would find herself listening. Maybe she cared enough to cast several tricky sound barriers- she told herself it was only to ensure Filch didn’t find them from his foolishness. Yet she made sure the barrier was large enough to cover the whole library so that she could hear the songs as well.

That was there rite for the next few years. As the lanky little Slytherin became leaner and taller, she would take the cloak and run to the library, doing homework amidst the archives and leave tomes that would help whatever was troubling him.

Because seeing the cold, calculating Draco Malfoy with a soft smile on his face as he hummed in tune made him so utterly human she couldn’t resist but stay for him.

And as the years passed, his expression became sadder and filled with exhaustion. He would talk to her, too. It always made her want to smile for he would address her as his ‘little ghost’ because she was careful to make sure he never knew her identity. Sometimes he would ramble about his day, other times it would be nonsensical chatter.

But one night slammed his hands against the keys, creating a primal, ugly sound. He doubled over, grimacing in pain. She still didn’t know why she did it, why she held her enemy. But Hermione Granger wrapped her arms around his torso, pinning his hands before he could do further damage and letting the boy sag into her arms.

Two lonely souls finding refuge among the must of pages, bound by the music and comfort they brought one another. The next day it was all gone as both awoke to worlds that were no longer in there control. Mornings were dark and lonesome, evenings the only time when her blood thrummed, when his fingers danced with happiness.

She silently cried in the bathroom after Malfoy had split her book bag in the hallway, gritting her teeth. There was a danger of growing accustomed to the soft, sweet boy in the library. She had started to forget the monster he hid behind during the day. After everything she’d done for him, felt for him he still didn’t know. Would never know. Because she was so afraid of that smile he gave only to the quiet ghost would disappear if he saw the muggleborn that she was.

Yet a persona she’d gazed upon many nights tentatively stepped into the girl’s bathroom. Shocked, she froze, unsure of what he was playing at in there sixth year. Was he there for more? To torment her, humiliate her because she tolerated it due to her stupid unrequited love?

Those familiar, long fingers delicately pinched a tattered cloak. It was Harry’s. Oh no. No, no, no, no. She’d left it in the library last night.

Hermione paled, reaching for her wand as he came closer, his face unreadable. Does he know? Is he going to hurt me?

Instead he slumped beside her, his arm dangling over his knee. The two, gray storms looked at her with such a bitterness she nearly recoiled. His hand found it’s way around her shoulder, the other crumpling the cloak. She cursed her beating heart as she stared at him with mixed fear and delight.

I’m so sorry, my little ghost, he murmured, eyes filled with anguish. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She inhaled sharply, not daring to breath.

He knew. And he didn’t hate her.

So she curled into a ball, making herself as small as possible and leaned against the broken boy’s chest. Idle arms wrapped around her and she heard something muttered about ‘payback’. But she could feel his stiffness, for she knew he’d never imagined that it would be her.

In fact, Hermione wondered why he hadn’t asked the question yet.

Why didn’t you tell me? It was quiet, barely audible. There it was. She felt his arms grow tense, his reflex to fear the worst that she’d observed over the years.

Because I thought you deserved to be happy.

He shuddered, his lips grazing her ear.

I was your tormentor. And yet you still though about me? Draco pressed his face into the nape of her neck. I hope to repay you, little ghost,

She shivered for she knew what was coming next. The hands calloused from the old piano tilted her chin, a question in his eyes. Then the world was gone, gone, gone as his mouth met hers.

It was asking if she wanted him for the broken thing he was. And she said yes, digging her fingers into the pooled fabric, arching her back as he laid himself on top of her.

The cloak would no longer be necessary in the library tonight.

#dramione #dramione headcanon #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #hp #hogwarts #hogwarts library #malfoy family #ficlet #dramione text #text #first year #sixth year

[glitxhwayventeen]

Ghostin

Seungkwan: Chapter 2 (A Little Bit Of Your Heart)

Characters: Seungkwan x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst (a shit ton of sadness honestly), semi-unrequited love, death mentions, implied genocide, runaway mates, family fighting, violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Hi Friends! I recommend listening to Just A Little Bit of Your Heart by Ariana Grande. I think it sets a good mood to this chapter. Well not good mood, but it helps give you an idea of how I want you to feel towards the end f it.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Ghostin Master List

Chapter 2: A Little Bit Of Your Heart

Over the next week, you continued to have nightmares about your past mate. Sometimes it was the memory of his dying, other times it was a completely unrealistic portrayal of terror with him leading the charge. Each time Seungkwan would dutifully come to your aide and hold your through your ordeal, kissing your head and rocking you back and forth like a baby. Sometimes, you’d lay your palm on him somewhere on his body and you’d suck him right into the dream you were having.

He couldn’t lie, seeing you so upset over another man was destroying him, but he loved you. He knew you’d eventually get over it, or at very least not be so upset over it. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway. But every dream he was thrown into with you made that thought dwindle more and more. He could see how much you loved your past mate still. Everytime you smiled at the other wolf, it broke something in him. Everytime you threw yourself into his arms and begged him to never let you go, he’d wake up the next morning, dart out the door and run into the nearby woods and cry until his throat bled.

He wasn’t like his brothers and how they were with their mates issues, he couldn’t keep up his brave face for long. He couldn’t help but let your past bother him. No matter how much he tried, it always affected him. He was just too emotional a person to have your situation not hurt him. He wanted your attention and love solely for himself. It was just his instincts.

He was never good at controlling them to begin with, but when you came around, what little self control he had went out the window. He couldn’t help but be jealous and angry. He couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down his face every night when he was holding you, hushing you back to sleep. He knew your heartache wasn’t for him. It was killing him. But he would NEVER let you know that. It wasn’t your fault this was happening anymore than it was his. He just wished you would see him rather than want your old partner.

His brothers were all very concerned for him. He was having trouble eating, sleeping, and just being his general happy little self. It was like he was a hollowed out shell. They wanted him happy, but they knew confronting him on it would just upset you, which would in turn, further hurt him. They knew it wasn’t really something you could control, they just wished that you two could get to your happily ever after already. You had started to notice how much of a toll you had taken on him too…

You woke up that morning in Seungkwan’s arms, a ritual to which you had become accustomed to. You felt safe with him, which you knew was probably only because of the mate pull, but you decided that you liked his naturally protective nature regardless. You had began to really enjoy being around him. He did everything he could to make you happy. He always made you laugh. He never let you say an unkind word about yourself. You had started to developed some very strong feelings for him. He was still out cold, he must’ve been exhausted trying to keep up with your horrible sleeping habits.

You nuzzled your nose into his bare chest and whimpered out, signaling to him that you wanted him to wake up. Of course, it worked and within seconds his precious eyes had shot open to check on you. The whites in them were dulled and their usual sparkle had lost their shine. You felt bad that you had done this to him, he looked so worn out that you couldn’t help but let another whine escape your lips. His hair was greasy and unkept, his skin was pale and the bags under his eyes had become prominent, even his voice had started to lose it’s cheery edge that you loved so much. You did this to him. And you absolutely hated yourself for it.

“What’s wrong baby? Is everything alright?” He quickly stated as he shook his head to wake himself up. Despite his tiredness, you were still the only thing he cared about.

“Y- Yeah, I’m okay. I just feel bad s’all” you mumbled against his hand that had found itself on your cheek as he looked at you with a great worry on his face.

“Why do you feel bad baby?” He questioned, bringing your face to his and giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“That you’re suffering cause of me. I’m sorry” you spoke to him with watery eyes. Shit.

“I’m not suffering baby” Liar. He lied to you as he hushed you, laying his forehead against yours as he started to rub your temples softly., “I’m just a little tired is all.” Well, that one at least wasn’t a complete lie.

“Because I won’t let you sleep.” You finally sobbed out and threw your head in your hands.

“I’m sorry. I keep trying to stop. I- I keep trying to take him off my mind, it just- it just doesn’t work. I don’t now what to do! I’m so fucking sorry!” You wailed before he pulled you into his chest, rocking you back and forth like he had the previous night.

“Shhhh… It’s alright baby. I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about me alright. It’s my job to worry about and help you. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” He tried to assure you, failing miserably.

“I’m supposed to care for you too. And I haven’t been. I’m sorry” you let the tears freely fall before Seungkwan used his thumbs to sweetly wipe them away and forced you to look up at him.

“Baby, look at me, I’m okay. I’m just a little tired. But I’ll be alright. It won’t be like this forever, just a little while longer, okay? You don’t need to waste your pretty little tears on me. I’m a big strong wolf. I can handle myself.” He said a little too confidently, causing you to let out a chuckle at his joke.

“See, there’s my girl. Now hurry up. Breakfast is gonna be ready any minute and if we’re not down there, we won’t be getting any.” He kissed your nose and jumped to his feet, grabbing one of his shirts on the floor in the process. He took your hand and pulled you up out of bed, making his way to his bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen.

The scene in front of you after you reached the bottom of the staircase caused a grin to appear on your lips. All the boys had gathered around the kitchen table and were conversing loudly with each other. You had missed being with a big family, it was nice that now, thanks to Seungkwan, you had one again.

“Morning guys!” Seungkwan chirped as he sat in an empty chair, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you to sit on his lap, making you blush slightly as you weren’t yet used to that type of PDA yet.

“Morning kids!” Mingyu chuckled aloud towards you both as he put Chan in a headlock, fighting for the last piece of bacon on the porcelain plate in front of them.

“How’d you sleep last night Seungkwan?”Jihoon questioned bluntly, his gaze going straight to Seungkwan, completely ignoring your existence.

It wasn’t unusual for him to do that, he was one of the wolves who were closest to your mate. And though he wanted his brother to be happy, he didn’t like the fact that you were still hung up on your old mate. So he gave you a bit of the cold shoulder whenever he could. You didn’t really mind. You understood his anger and thought he had every right to dislike you. The other boys didn’t like seeing their brother so torn up, but they didn’t blame you for it. Just Jihoon.

“We slept just fine, thanks!” Seungkwan put on a fake mile to answer the older wolf’s question, knowing full well that he meant to disclude you. He didn’t like Jihoon’s attitude toward you and he did whatever he could to show him that he wanted him to stop.

“I didn’t ask about BOTH of you, I asked about YOU. How did YOU sleep? Did she force you to stay up again?” Jihoon sneered out while scowling at you.

“Hyung, knock it off. She didn’t ‘force’ me to do anything. You know that. I stayed up because I WANTED to.” Seungkwan shot back, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your heart beat speed up anxiously.

“Right.” Jihoon added, “because you just LOVE not sleeping for days on end.” He rolled his eyes before huffing, setting his eating utensil down with a loud clank sound.

“Would you back off already!” Seungkwan jolted up, setting you in his place on his chair before leaning over the table to get in the older boy’s face.

“She can’t help her nightmares! But you can help being an asshole!” He growls out, nostrils flaring and eyes turning red with anger.

Jihoon stood up from his chair, pushing it back with a loud screech before slamming his hands down onto the wood table. The noisy bang when he hit the table was enough to jolt you up from your chair.

“I’ll stop being an asshole when she stops playing with your feelings! All you want is Just A Little Bit Of Her Heart and she won’t give you anything more than exhaustion and heartbreak!” He yells out, chest puffing up and down with rage.

The other boys in the house had quickly gathered their mates and had taken them to their respective rooms, fearing for their safety in the event of a fight. All that remained in the kitchen with you three were the mateless Minghao, the nosey Soonyoung, and the Alpha Joshua.

You stood there in complete shock, not really knowing what to do. If you spoke up, you’d only make Jihoon’s anger toward you worse. But if you didn’t, your mate might attack him. Tears started rolling down your cheeks as you looked between the two arguing wolves. Seungkwan sensed your emotions through his anger and turned his eyes to you for a moment. He could see how much his brother’s words were affecting you, so he decided to get you out of there before things got worse.

“Joshua Hyung, can you please take (Y/N) back up to my room? She doesn’t need to deal with his bitchy attitude anymore than she has to!” Seungkwan snarled Jihoon’s way as he pleaded with the only Alpha available to get you out of the current situation.

You weren’t as helpless as the other mates, you were a wolf too, after all. You weren’t even scared of Jihoon, he was only a few inches taller than you in your human forms. In your wolf forms, you’d even be the bigger one out of the two of you. But everyone in the pack knew you didn’t like to fight. You’d rather get beaten bloody than potentially harm someone else with your strength, even if they had started it, you’d never continue it.

But Seungkwan was worried for you. Jihoon had, on occasion, started and finished some pretty gnarly fights. He didn’t want him to try and lunge at you. And he definitely didn’t want his brother to end up hurting you. He would protect you if he needed to, but he’d rather you be taken away from the situation to prevent it as much as possible.

Joshua nodded at your mate before he took your wrist in his hand and began to head towards the stairs to bring you back to your room. It was his job as Alpha to try and keep the peace, but his most urgent job right now was to make sure you, a mate, didn’t get hurt.

“Why would you try to send her away?? She needs to hear this! She should know what she puts you through everyday! She should know she’s killing you and that we’re all pissed at her for it!” Jihoon growls toward you, causing your mate’s fangs to slightly elongate at the older wolf as he did his best to keep his inner wolf from showing.

“Don’t you dare talk to her that way.” Seungkwan coldly said, moving to stand in front of your fleeting figure, blocking you from the older wolf’s view.

“My God! She could at least TRY to hide her pathetic little feelings for a dead guy when you’re around! But she doesn’t! Because she doesn’t love you like she loved him. Wake up Boo! She never has and she never will!” Jihoon jabs his pointer finger into your mate’s chest.

“Why can’t you fucking see through her stupid shit? She’s not worth you destroying yourself!” Jihoon screamed at his younger brother while staring up at the younger wolf, practically drilling holes into his eyes with the amount of fury he was exhausting.

Joshua had tried to pull you upstairs again once the two wolves had gotten closer to each other. The other boys in the room moving into position to prevent the arguing wolves from hurting each other, a sure fire sign that something was going to happen. But you managed to wiggle your arm from his grip. You jetted your way back to the center of the kitchen before you spoke up.

“He’s right Seungkwan, I’m not worth this! You shouldn’t have to destroy yourself for me. I’ll leave!” You jump in, causing all the boys to stop their snarling at each other and turn to you in shock. What?

“W- What did you just say?” Seungkwan whispered, barely audible.

He tried to step toward you with his hand going out to try and reach your arm, causing you to jerk your should backwards. The sadness on his face was enough to make you want to fall to your knees and cry, but you had to remain strong for this. You caused enough damage to their pack. You wanted the boys to all get along again, you wanted things to go back to normal for them, but most of all, you wanted Seungkwan to stop tearing himself apart because of you.

“I said I’ll leave. This isn’t fair to your pack, and it’s sure as shit not fair to you. I’m killing you, and you don’t deserve this.” You say weakly, trying your best to hold back your imminent tears.

“But- But you’re my mate… You- You can’t just leave me… I- I can die if if you go.” Seungkwan sobbed, streams of hot liquid cascading down his cheeks.

You stepped in front of him, quickly cupping his face with your small hand and smiling defeatedly.

“No. You won’t Seungkwan. You have a family who love you enough to tell you the harsh truth, they won’t let you die on them. They love you more than you could ever imagine, Trust me on that. I know you’ll be okay because you’d never leave them when they need you as much as they do. You’ll be okay. I need to leave so you can be happy again.” You speak with shimmering eyes, tears forming at your water lines at the thought of losing him.

Last time you lost a mate, you wanted to die. Hell, you tried to die, more times than you can count. But the thought of losing Seungkwan felt like you already were dead. Your heart felt like it had disappeared from your chest and the air had evaporated from your lungs. Every morsel of your soul ached. But you had to do this, you had to do this for him. He deserved better.

Seungkwan stood there quietly crying his eyes out as you held his fragile face. The boys frozen around him were but a distant memory as he looked into your eyes and tried to find something to say, anything to say, to try and make you stay with him. But all he could do was take the hand you had against his cheek in his and snuggle into it, trying his best to memorize the sensation with everything he had in him.

“Please…” He mustered out, looking at every inch of your beautiful face as if it were the last time he would ever see it. For all he knew, it was.

You moved onto your tippy toes and gave his lips a loving peck before moving yourself back down, a tear dropping down the side of your face in the process.

“Jihoon was wrong on something you know. I do love you Seungkwan, more than I’ll ever love anything in this world.” You let out a small laugh as he shook his head in disbelief, not wanting you to go.

You dropped your hand to his face and let it hit your side right as you made your way for the front door. You reached for the doorknob and turned, pulling it open before you stepped outside and closed it.

You looked back at the house with fondness before shifting into your wolf form and sprinting full speed into the deep forest, leaving Seungkwan and the other boys standing paralyzed with shock inside.

(Updated 8/7)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan

[taeyamayang]

Hi I wanted to join on your 400 followers event !

I would like to be paired with a boy. GN . For cards I wanted joker, spades and diamond. A little about myself : my main language is Spanish. I’m very empathic yet chaotic. For hobbies , I sing, dance and modle sometimes. My zodiac is Cancer and my key word is snow.

I hope I did this right , have a nice day lovely 💕

a/n: the key word fits perfectly in the current winter season and i love it hehe. also, I WROTE ANGST KEGAYAMA WTF IM VSMEBSKSJS

btw sorry for the late response, anon! and thank you for joining the event :)

you chose: JOKER, SPADES, & DIAMOND

JOKER: enemy

YOUR ENEMY: Oikawa Tooru

TROPE: enemies

GENRE: petty fights and teasing | crack | chaotic interactions | iwa enjoying the tension | fluff! | lowkey love this dynamic

GIST: You don’t know when did the petty fights start. Perhaps, ever since Oikawa fucked up the school drama where you two play the lead roles. He decided to spurt improvised lines during the performance, which made you into a  panicking mess in front of the whole student body. Since that day, you have been devising a plan to take revenge on the famous setter of the volleyball team. With you is his best friend and number one lover hater iwaizumi. The two dug a hole in a pile of snow that would trap Oikawa. After that, you will attack him with snowballs. The plan worked, and you’re currently aiming at the obnoxious boy with legs tucked in snow. Drawing your arm behind you with a snowball in hand, you aim for his pretty face before screaming, “EAT SHIT, SHITTYKAWA.” Thus earning a guffaw from iwaizama himself, who taught you the nickname.

bonus: the principal caught you swearing so both the three of you: Oikawa, iwaizumu, and you have to spend 13 hours of community service after school.

SPADES: ex lover

YOUR EX: Kageyama Tobio

TROPE: first loves to exes

GENRE: 629729k ANGST | hurt/no comfort | exes to ? | jealousy | unrequited feelings | leftover feelings | post break-up

GIST: “don’t” was everything you managed to say between muffled sobs. You mask your sorrow with a smile on your face as the man next to you, who you called your world and home is uttering the words you fear the most. “why don’t we enjoy the snow, first?” you puff out air and comes out in a fog. “Give me this time as your last present to me as your lover.”  Your fingers are spread out, palm facing the gloomy sky. A snowflake touches gracefully and helplessly falls into the expanse of your hand. “I know you’re going to say it.” You choke on the last word, covering it up as you roll your tongue across your chapped bottom lip. After seconds mustering courage, you glance at him, shooting him a weak grin, a smile that almost reaches your eyes. “you’re breaking up with me.”

DIAMONDS: best friend

YOUR BEST FRIEND: Ushijima Wakatoshi

TROPE: low maintenance friendship

GENRE: brain rotting fluff! | wholesome | coming of age | high school drama | soul searching | dunamic duo

GIST: Spending most of your after-class free time watching your best friend play sports had you grown accustomed to the four walls and hardwood floor of shiratorizawa’s volleyball gym. It’s the first week of December, and the breeze had turned harshly cold as the day went by, but today was even more ruthless than yesterday. As the arm of the clock meets with five and twelve, along with the teammates of the volleyball team, you begin to gather your things in preparation to leave the room. Although you and Ushijima usually walk home together, you always head outside the gym first and wait for him under the greyscale sky. But your routine was ceased when long fingers clawed your arm. “it’s cold outside. Wear this.” Before you could protest, Ushijima is already peeling off his jersey jacket. he hangs the oversized material over your shoulder in an attempt to keep you warm. he gestures to the blanket of snow descending from the sky. the corners of his lips pull into a gentle smile before locking eyes with you; he says. “today is the first fall of snow.”

Masterlist | HQ Masterlist

[in-sempiternam]

F,S,T, U and X for bae aka Asmo 😌, and I, K and N for Adel 🥰😍

LMAO, I don’t know why I even post ask templates and not just do it for those specific characters and be done with it. 😂  (also, thank you very much for clarifying who bae would be, because for a hot second I was worried I would have to do this for 2/3 of my whole cast, and... ooooffff)

Anyway, answers under the cut, as always:

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt? I would say, he’s very good at flirting. Though there is no definite way HOW he does it, because that depends very much on the person he’s going to flirt with. So the first step is observasion, to figure out what the best approach would be and then find the right balance of wits, humour, serious, sexy and whatever else might be required. Oh, and most importantly, yes, of course he aims to get the other person to have sex with him, but never ever goes in with the expectation to get it, so it’s also cool with him if it just ends up being flirting for flirting’s sake, because in his opinion desperation always oozes and is one of the biggest turn-offs especially a man can display.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart? Eeehhh.... no.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love? Hmmmm... I guess? Maybe? It‘s not really something that occupies his mind. Like, if it does, cool. If it doesn’t, who cares? Not him. He does not think about things like that. At all.

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken? I really had to think about that a while, and came to the conclusion, that the answer is no. Not really. Not deeply. He’s too much of a “brainy” person for that and most of the time operates on logic and rational thought, because honestly, when he’s emotionally involved and his feelings get the best of him, it’s usually others that get hurt and broken in one way or another. (now, if we’d ask if his ego ever got hurt, that’s a whole other story and the short answer is yes, very.)

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names? He’s definitely more inclined using pet names than being given pet names. He’s really not too fond of that, though does at least tolerate it most of the times unless it’s one he really doesn’t like either for himself or as a pet name in general, because to him it’s dumb and/or ridiculous.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say? While he’s eloquent, he’s unfortunately also a dumbass when it comes to lovey dovey stuff, so no. Or, to put it more nicely, his love language just isn’t verbal.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?  Leaning towards no here, simply because he’s not that experienced with kissing. Yes, he was with a few women before he was married, bad that was on a payment base of some sort, so as long as he didn’t bite their face off, they would not necessarily tell him if and what he could do better. Like, he wasn’t not god-awful, but probably also not swaying anyone off their feet with his skills. He did learn a few things when he got married, but that’s entirely accustomed to what his wife likes and still might not impress anyone else. So, yay-nay?

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed? Pretty vanilla in a sense that he doesn’t really want anything super kinky. Somewhat gentle, somewhat aggressive? Idk how to describe what I have in mind… like, greedy, in a way that definitely makes you feel adored and very much desired, but not in a rough way? Pushy, as in he wants you and he wants you now, but still attentive and considerate. Certainly determined to get what he wants and be satisfied, but equally watching out, that his partner gets the same. (defo better at sex than kissing, lol)

#dreamilysillybanana #OC ask meme thingie #Asmo #Adel

[theelvenhaven]

Unrequited Love

Part 2

Maeglin x Reader

1.2k words

Reader finds out what happened with Maeglin and Idril and does their best to comfort him.

*  *  *

You stood quietly in the middle of the courtyard you were to meet Maeglin at. It had been an hour past the usual time you would meet in the morning, if anything you had anticipated Maeglin to be there early. That way he could disclose how the event of yesterday had gone, but he hadn't shown up and you knew it hadn't gone like he hoped.

You gathered your books quickly as you began to wrack your head of the places he would've gone to hide away. Immediately his study came to mind, rarely was he bothered at his study that and he could drown himself in his work. But you wondered if he was even able to accomplish such a thing.

Without another thought you hurried from your courtyard, making a bee line for his office. You didn't stop for anyone, not for your brother- Lord Galdor- who had tried to call out to you. Not for the scholar who followed you for a moment trying to get your assistance in the grand library.

You only told him that you had a pressing matter to attend too in one breath. When you arrived to the House of the Mole no one paid you any mind accustom to seeing you around so often. When you came to his office door you intercepted a courier grabbing the stack of reports you know Maeglin would need. You took a breath before knocking on his door, there was silence on the other end for a moment.

With a sigh your grabbed the door handle and let yourself in to find Maeglin sitting at his desk, with a weeks worth of work spread out across his desk. His quill scratching noisily across the parchment roughly, his robes were a little disheveled and so was his hair. Several of his candles partially burned halfway down and still going, even the white drapes were pulled closed.

"Maeglin?" You began in a worried tone and you watched as his whole body went rigid at the sound of your voice, stopping his writing momentarily. Maeglin let out a shaky breath closing his eyes for a moment before he continued working,

"Yes?" He responded to you in a dejected tone, but you caught the small waver in his voice. Gently you shut the door, locking it not wanting anyone to disturb him as you set your books on an end table. Bringing the letters to put on his desk,

"What happened Mae?" To Maeglin it was a cruel move for you to use his nickname you had given him, especially when he was feeling so wounded and vulnerable. The tears immediately welled at your kindness and heavy concern. But he fought them hard blinking them back not moving his gaze from the paper before him.

Crying was for Lady's. That was what his Ada always said, it was an unnecessary expression and the best way to repress those emotions was through work. Just like he was taught, not being coddled annoyingly so like you were trying to do.

"Nothing." He grumbled out bitterly, but you only took the seat before his desk watching him quietly. You would've asked him if he was okay but you knew that he was not, and you felt so sad for him, it had been some time since you saw him so broken up. The last time you saw Maeglin like this was when his Nana died. You didn't know then how to comfort him, and even now you felt a little clueless.

"Maeglin," You began pressing him gently, wanting more than anything to soothe him.

"It's not nothing... Whatever happened is bothering you and it's okay that it does." You explained further and you heard the quill in his hand snap under the pressure of his fingers. You knew at any moment before this if he wanted you gone he would've expressed it but he didn't. Maeglin flitted his eyes up to you and you could see the storm brewing in his eyes as he frowned deeply at you.

"Y/N stop." He snapped out bitterly, the tears welling in his eyes, as you watched in silence swallowing the lump in your throat. While Maeglin was one for boundaries he had never snapped at you before, but the last two days were full of firsts.

"Unless you can make her return my affections then there is nothing you can do. So stop pitying me." Maeglin spilled out unable to stop himself, revealing some of what you had suspected happened. The tears slipping out beyond his own control and he stood quickly turning away from you as a hand went to cover his mouth. Quietly you stood heart heavy at the sight of him, before you walked over to Maeglin. He was making sure to keep his back to you, especially while he cried.

"Maeglin I don't pity you..." You began stopping just behind him, your hand reaching out to touch the back of his robes. His body for a moment stayed relaxed, used to your intermittent touches due to your long friendship. That was until you began to rub it and he began to tense,

"I sympathize with you." Your voice was gentle and you felt the heavy shake in his chest as he tried to quiet his sniffling. When you tried to walk around to look at Maeglin, he only held up his hand quickly to stop you.

"Don't, you're not supposed too see." He tried to say firmly, but his voice betrayed him, full of more emotion than he wanted to convey. Every word he spoke only kept the frown etched on your mouth, but you said nothing to him only continuing to rub his back. Maeglin's crying only becoming more intense the longer you both stood there. With you trying to comfort him only seemed to make the tears worse.

"I do not understand why it hurts. I am a man I should not feel so weak over this." He cried out to you his shoulders finally slumping, not caring now that you moved to see him as much as he loathed it. When you came around to him you gently pulled on his robe, bringing his head down to rest on your shoulder.

Maeglin relented even though you knew any other time he'd not be having it, but you suspected he probably needed the comfort more than he even realized.You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaving you unsurprised that the affections were not returned. He lay against you rather awkwardly unsure of what to do, other than just crying into your shoulder.

"You have feelings Maeglin... even though you are a man, it doesn't negate your emotions. Even men are allowed to be weak and it be over things such as love..." You explained in a calm voice, the word love tasting bitter on your tongue. Maeglin wanted to argue, but after what happened with Idril he just didn’t have the will. 

"I just love her so much..." You heard him breathe against your shoulder, the tears soaking through the shoulder of you top. You nodded at his words solemnly, hurt to hear the words but you knew precisely how he felt.

"I know you do..." You whispered back to him, it was all you heard about was how great and wonderful she was. Maeglin's self built world had been shattered, and you worried that he may never recover from such heartbreak.

“Is it okay to stay like this..?” You heard him mumble out sadly between the tears sounding so unsure of this situation. But once again you nodded at his words,

“Of course Maeglin. We can stay like this as long as you need...” Your voice soft and soothing, assuring Maeglin that this was okay to be doing. His body finally seemed to relax some against you, you loved him so much. You wanted to do anything you could to help soothe the hurt he felt.

#Maeglin #Lomion #Maeglin x reader #reader insert #the silmarillion #the silm #silm #silmarillion #house of the mole #lord of gondolin #gondolin #house of gondolin #jrr tolkien #tolkien #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #theelvenhaven #the fall of gondolin

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found (chapter 10)

Warnings:  a touch of angst and unrequited love

Tagging: @hemmyworthy @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

Esme wakes with the baby; eyes opening with the first sounds that come through the monitor. She pauses to watch Tyler as he sleeps alongside of her, flat on his stomach with his  face turned towards her, a forearm under the pillow that lays scrunched beneath his head. He's at peace when he sleeps; the demons and the memories allowing him a reprieve before coming out to the play.  Slumber has never come easy to him.  His senses always on high alert. Brain and body having grown accustomed  to reacting  to a possible threat at the drop of a dime.

When he was first home from the hospital, he was plagued by nightmares. Horrible dreams that would have his body bitching and his face contorting with pain, low and tortured moans that would increase in both volume and intensity. Sweat coating his body from head to toe. His entire body would tense up right before he woke up, then he'd let out a strangled cry and spring up into a sit.  Chest heaving and his breath leaving in his lungs in enormous, almost painful heaves. His eyes dark and stormy; furtively glancing around the room in a desperate attempt to get acquainted with his surroundings. Fighting as his brain teetered between the dreamworld and his actual reality.

While the first two nightmares had terrified her, she had learned quickly that it was best not to react. To stay silent and motionless until he actually acknowledged her presence beside him. She'd made the mistake of trying to wake him a handful of times. When his tormented brain and body would be caught between what was real and what wasn't, and her mere touch would send him over the edge. He'd react as if she were the threat; grabbing her by the wrist or the elbow, pinning her arm behind her back as he flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her to the mattress. It wasn't his fault. She knew that.  The monsters inside of him made him oblivious to everything when they whipped him up into that state.  And she remembers trying to fight against him; those fingers digging painfully into her skin and that much heavier and stronger body holding her firmly in place.  And she'd beg for him to stop. She'd cry out for him and she would try to get through to him; reminding him that it was just a dream, he wasn't still in Dhaka, she wasn't the enemy.  

Just as quickly as the nightmare came, it would end.  He'd snap out of it and the enormity of the situation would instantly hit and he would become frantic when he realized what he had done. That rage in his eyes replaced by sorrow and disgust in himself. He would apologize profusely. He'd cry.  And she'd hold him as he did, a hand on the back of his head as he sobbed into her chest.  Her own tears dripping into his hair.

The guilt would last for days. Every time he'd catch a glimpse of the bruises that his assault had left behind.

Tonight he is at peace. Not a single muscle twitching or nerve firing as she moves beside him; rolling onto her side to face him, gently combing her fingers through his hair. He is  boyish looking when he sleeps. His features relaxed, softer. Those impossibly long dark eyelashes brushing against the top of his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted, his breath slow and rhythmic. He's smiling. Not the small sad smiles or the weary, sullen ones. But a gentle smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. A smile of pure contentment. Of a man that has found a moments respite after a long day of doing battle with his own mind.

She pushes those stray locks away from his forehead and presses a kiss to his brow. His body reacts; cheek rubbing against the pillow and his breath escaping in a long, drawn out sigh.  But his eyes never open.

“He sleeps,” she whispers with a smile, and then cautiously slips her body out from under the heavy, muscular leg that he'd draped over her sometime during the middle of the night.

She moves quietly and slowly as she climbs out of bed, locating both her tank top and a pair of yoga shorts, slipping into both and then padding towards the door. Grabbing one of his dress shirts that hung from the back of the door and shrugging into it.

****

She tends to the baby.  Having to carefully step over Nik's resting and slightly snoring body as she sleeps beside the crib. One of her hands curled around one of the wooden bars, a desire to protect that tiny life that she had put herself in charge of.  And while it comforts Esme to know that her old friend is there, it is still disheartening. Nerve wracking. Not that they have connected, but why they'd had to do it.  A silent and unknown threat could be lingering right outside their door. It was naive to to think that there wasn't someone out there wanting for the chance to cause problems.

A man like Tyler Rake steps on a lot of toes.  Makes a lot of enemies. A by product of the job.

She'd been foolish anything to believe...to hope...that somehow they'd escape retribution. That the Tyler Rake his enemies knew was well and truly dead and would stay dead. If that's what they believed, it was better to leave it that way. He maintained no social media presence. If you searched his name on the internet, no results...aside from a man in Oklahoma having the same name...would be revealed.

As far as the world was concerned, Tyler Rake didn't exist. His reputation perhaps, but no record of name or face. Just an unknown man that would do the tough and dirty jobs. Those who wanted revenge or justice or a family member returned would simply put out the word as to what they were looking for, and it would eventually get to him. But he never came face to face with those who hired him.  He never spoke to them. He was just the one that did all the heavy lifting.

She reaches for the baby; speaking to her in soothing, hushed tones, a smile never leaving her face. Hands working to release her daughter of the confines of the swaddled receiving blanket.

“Daddy is way too good at this,” Esme whispers. “He wraps you up so tight. Like a little burrito. An Amelia Bean burrito.”

As she lifts the baby out of her bed, her thighs bumps against the crib. Causing the wooden bars to shudder. And Nik to snap awake.  

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Esme frets. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

“It's all right. Is everything okay?”

“She's just hungry. Always hungry.  She doesn't want to stop eating.”

“She really is Tyler's daughter,” Nik remarks, and then frowns when she realizes the way it sounded. “That's not what I meant. I didn't mean for it to sound that way. As if I was questioning if she IS his daughter. I just mean...”

“That he eats a lot. It's okay. I understood. I'm the one that cooks for him, so I get it. No harm, no foul.”  

Nik pushes herself up into a sit and watches as her old friend tends to the basic necessities; a diaper change, a fresh pair of pyjamas, lots of kisses and cuddles and talking in that cute, melodic tone that has the baby smiling and reaching up to grab at her mother's hair.

It's a side of Esme she'd never thought she'd see.  While it wasn't her first marriage, it was definitely the happiest. She was loved. Safe. Protected. She never had to question his loyalty or worry about him shirking his responsibilities.  Never had to second guess his faithfulness. Tyler was all in. In ways Nik had never seen before. Esme had changed him. In the same way he had changed her.

“You're good at this,” she says.

“I just do what I need to do. I'm her mom. I just do the things moms are supposed to do.”

“But you do it well,” Nik informs her. “And not all mothers do it well.”

Esme smiles down at the baby, then lifts her to chest, a hand on the back of her head and the other holding her bum.  “She makes it easy. She's a very good baby.  She's very calm. Very laid back. Until she isn't anymore.”

“Very much like Tyler,” Nik observes.

“From head to toe. Inside and out. That man must have some seriously strong genes.  I'm going to go and feed her. Go back to sleep, Nik. It's late. Or early. However you want to look at it. Thank you. For keeping an eye on her. Other than Tyler, there's no one else I would trust to do it properly.”

The other woman smiles. Touched by the sincerity in her friend's voice. Is that what they were? Friends? She hadn't felt it fit into the friend criteria for months now.  There were a lot of things that had been left unspoken. Things that she had perceived as personal slights. A sense of loss and a lot of 'what if's' that she couldn't quite get past.  She had lashed out and said things that she regretted. Things that had deeply wounded her friend and caused her to both harshly react and then shut the door entirely. Both had made mistakes. But Nik felt she shouldered more of the burden.

“Do you want company?” she inquires, as Esme heads for the door.  “I always have a hard time feeling asleep once I'm up.”

“You don't have to.  Jason is out there. We'll be fine.”

“It's not I have to,” she says. “It's that I want to.”

Esme smiles, and then jerks her head in the direction of the hallway before slipping out the door.

*****

They head to the kitchen. And while Esme sits at the table and the nurses the baby, Nik busies herself making a pot of tea. Pulling milk out of the fridge and sugar from the cupboard and setting them on the table. Leaning back against the counter,  she rubs sleep from her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, watching her friend from across the room.  Enjoying these snippets of domestic bliss that she's never particularly wanted for herself, but had almost come to envy. She'd been doing the job for a long time. Starting from the bottom  and steadily making her way to the top. She'd been so engrossed in her career (could it really be called that?) that she never stopped to consider what she really wanted once it came to an end. Because it would. End. And she had no idea what she would do with her life once it did.

She watches Esme; marvelling at the tenderness, the motherhood instinct that had so easily kicked in the moment the results had come back that she was pregnant.  She remembered that day vividly; wandering into Tyler's hospital room with fresh coffee and treats for her and her friend, ready for another long day of keeping each other company while they waited for updates on his condition,  as he spent the day floating in and out of consciousness.  There were very few fully lucid moments in those early weeks.  A shocking amount of damage had been done to his body and he'd lost an incredible amount of blood, and the stress and the pain of the injuries had been putting a lot of stress on him.  Doctors had opted to ease as much as that extra burden as they could, keeping a steady drip of morphine going and keeping Tyler as comfortable as possible.  It was during those times at his bedside that Nik and Esme had had their most candid and often heartbreaking conversations. Where they'd cried on one another's shoulder and expressed their worst fears and shared their deepest and darkest secrets.

When she'd walked in that day she found Esme crying in the beside chair. Same spot, same place, every day. That was where you'd find her. Sometimes she'd be reading a book or looking at something on her cell phone, but most of the time she would be reaching through the safety bars on the bed to hold his hands. And she'd smooth his hair away from his forehead and talk to him as if he could hear her and as if he would give a response.  He'd react to her voice; opening his eyes briefly, attempting a smile, squeezing her hand.

Little signs that gave enormous hope.

She'd had the railing down on his bed and her head resting against his thigh, her entire body shaking as huge, yet quiet sobs swept through her.

“What's happened?” Nik had asked, immediately in a panic, setting the coffees and bags of food down and rushing to her friend's aid. “Has the doctor said something? Are there problems? What..?”

Esme had looked up at her. Tears streaming down her face, her eyes haunted. Terrified. Not the hysteria that she'd shown on that bridge and during the hurried rush to the hospital, but just as intense.

“I'm pregnant.”

At first Nik had thought she'd imagined it. Or misheard. The words said so low and so quiet that they could have easily been mistaken.

“I'm pregnant, Nik,” she repeated. “I'm having a baby.”

Tyler's baby?

The question had been on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't let it slip. She'd known that there was something going on during those five days holed up in that Dhaka hotel. She sensed it.  And before that she'd seen the little glances they'd share from across the room. She'd them that night at the hotel on the city limits, after the final team briefing, sitting together at the pool. Their feet in the water and their shoulders touching, immersed in conversation. Tyler was different. He was more relaxed. Smiles and laughter came much easier to him than Nik could ever remember.

Yes. She'd known.

She hadn't realized until much later how much she hated the mere thought of them together. When he and Nik had started sleeping together, Tyler had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want anything else. He wasn't looking for a relationship.  He had nothing left of himself to give in that respect and all he wanted was something physical.  A warm body to use for his own pleasure. Perhaps even wake up to on the odd morning following a late night of drinking and an even later night of sex.  He'd told her that he'd never be that kind of man. The one with time and patience to devote to a relationship. And while he loved her and loved spending time with her, he wasn't in love with her.

Then Esme came along and everything changed. And it broke Nik's heart. She felt betrayed. Slighted. And all she could do was sit on the sidelines as the two of them fell in love and started a life together.

Yet she did what she could for both of them. Stepping up where Tyler couldn't because of being in the hospital and his physical limitations. After all, she was partly the reason he'd ended up in such a mess in the first place. She felt guilty. Responsible. So she'd stayed in Australia and helped the best she could. Attending doctors appointments, ultrasounds. Plastering a smile on her face even as resentment ate away at her. She'd never put much thought into a future. Being a wife. Having children. And suddenly it became something she obsessed over.  

Something she obsessed over with Tyler.

She'd felt guilty. Remorseful, and one day she'd just snapped. Accusing Esme of ruining her life. Of just wandering into things and taking whatever she wanted. Whomever she wanted. Calling both her and Tyler stupid for being so irresponsible and selfish. They'd been in Dhaka to do a job, not fall into bed with another. And if it had to happen...if they couldn't resist...why hadn't they been smart enough to be careful about it? A baby was difficult at the best of times. And that had been far from the best of times.

Esme had been six months along at that time, her belly growing bigger with child, her face glowing. She'd been two weeks away from getting married.  And Nik had been harsh. Brutal.  As sometimes the truth is.

After that, Esme shut her out.  She was hurt. Perhaps even a tad threatened now that she knew of Nik's true feelings towards Tyler.  And when Nik left Australia, all the phone calls and correspondence ended. Esme put up the wall and there was no way of getting over  it.

****

The kettle boils and Nik pours the water into a ceramic tea pot she finds on top of the fridge, carrying it to the table and taking a seat across from the other woman.

“Congratulations,” she says. “She's beautiful.  You and Tyler did good.”

Esme smiles, her eyes never wavering from her daughter. A look of pure adoration and love that nearly takes Nik's breath away.  “Thank you,” she says. “And we did. We really did.”

“She looks just like her father. I was surprised at how much.”

“Why? Because you had your doubts she was even his?”

“I never said that, Esme.”

“You didn't have to.  And I don't blame you for thinking it. Things were messed up. Complicated. And things happened so fast between Tyler and I. I understand why you would think it. But it still hurt. It still broke my heart.”

“I know,” Nik acknowledges. “And I'm sorry for that. Truly sorry.”

“I hadn't been with anyone in over year,” she continues. “Before I met Tyler. It had been thirteen months between the last guy and him. So there was no way that she couldn't have been his. And I didn't trap him. I didn't set out to get pregnant. And I didn't make him stay. I told him he didn't have to stick around. That he didn't have to feel obligated to marry me.”

“He didn't. He wanted to.  He wanted to be with you. He told me that himself.”

“And I know he wouldn't have just taken off. I know he would have wanted to be in the baby's life regardless. He would have stepped up to the plate and took responsibility.  But he didn't do all of that because he felt he had to. He did it because he wanted to.”

“I know. And I never should have said all those things.  I regret them every day. But I was hurt too, Esme. And I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You had no idea that there was something between Tyler and I before you came along. I never told you because I didn't think there'd ever be a reason for you to really know. Then he nearly died and that was hardly the time to bring it up. You were going through so much. I didn't want to add anything else.  But when you told me that he'd asked you to marry him and you said yes, well that was more than I could take. And I snapped.  I said things I regret. But I didn't say them to hurt you. I said them because they were the truth. Because they needed to be said.”

Esme slowly nods, considering her friend's words. They were painful and hard truths. But they were painful and hard truths that needed to get out into the open. Instead of festering like a rotting, oozing wound.

Nik pours them both a mug of tea. Milk and sugar for her. Just milk for Esme. And the other woman smiles.

“You actually remembered something like that,” she says. “Something as simple as how I take my tea.”

“Why wouldn't I? It's what we used to do, remember? We'd sit with a tea and chat. Just like we are now.”

The discomfort is still there. Two wounded women trying to come to terms with all that had been said and done. But it isn't as heavy now. There's room to breathe.

“I'm sorry,” Esme speaks up, as she moves the baby to her shoulder; a hand rubbing smooth, slow circles on the infant's back.  “I'm sorry that it hurt you when Tyler and I got together. But I don't regret it.  I don't regret falling in love with him.”

“How could you? Why would you? Look at what the two of you have accomplished. You made another human being together. And she's so very beautiful. So beautiful and healthy and perfect and the two of you should be very proud. Of her. Of each other.”

“We are. We're in awe of her. In awe of knowing we could make something so incredible. Especially during such a horrible and ugly time.  The fact that she came out of all of that, it's...surreal.”

“The only bright moment,” Nik agrees, and motions for her to hand the baby over. “Give her to me. Have your tea. Before it gets cold.”

She settles the baby against her. Loving how Amelia just snuggles right in; rubbing her face against Nik's t-shirt and yawning loudly before laying her head on her chest. She loves the smell; a mixture of milk and baby powder. And how silky the baby's hair feels when Nik drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“You're a natural,” Esme smiles. “She's likes you. Look how comfortable she is.”

“I quite like her as well.  She's just a wee little thing. Way smaller than she looks in her pictures.”

“I'm glad. I was worried I'd have to try and push out something that weighed twelve pounds and had man sized feet already.”

“Your daddy is quite the big boy,”  Nik says to the baby. “Tall and strong. You're going to be  small like your mom.  But feisty. You won't let anyone push you around, will you.  You'll be more than capable of taking care of yourself. Your father will make sure of that.”

Esme laughs “I think he's already planning on how to teach her to kill grown men a hundred different ways using various household objects and her bare hands.”

“That would not surprise me at all. He adores her. I could see it today when I watched him with her. It's a side of Tyler I've never seen. That I didn't even know existed. She has him wrapped around her little finger.  We should all be so lucky to learn from you, Amelia. We should all learn how to wrap the big and scary ones around our fingers. Not that your daddy's scary. Not when it comes to the people he loves. And he loves you so very much. And your mommy.”

“Yes...he does...” Esme agrees.  “...and we are lucky. So very lucky.”

“Thank you, Nik says, and her friend blinks. “Thank you for giving this to him. A normal life. For helping put him back together. Thank you for loving him the way that you do.”

Smiling, Esme reaches across the table and takes her friend's hand, squeezing tightly.

They stay like that until the sun begins to appear on the horizon.

#Tyler Rake #extraction #I Found #tyler rake fanfic #tyler rake fan fiction

[thescholarlystrumpet]

All Through the Night Rated Explicit

Smutty one-shot for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January prompt: “I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight.”

Bae's nanny, Belle, harbors a secret and - she's certain - unrequited crush on her employer, Bae's father. But secrets can be tricky things to keep when people get trapped together by a thunderstorm, with no electricity and only one bed.

Bed-sharing!smut with some feels and added child!Baelfire cuteness bonus. Tropes abound!

A/N: Big thank you to @rumple-belle for both encouraging me to just go ahead and write this and for beta-ing it!

On AO3 HERE

“I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight,” Baeley asserted, holding up a corner of his quilt to welcome her under it.  

Belle bit back a smile at his earnest little face, completely unaware of dimensions and how she’d never possibly fit in the nook he occupied. A growing boy of six and a half, he’d be too small, himself, in a year or so.

“Well that’s very sweet of you but I’ll be just fine on the couch.” She smoothed the blanket up under his chin.

“Oh. Are you sure? It’s kinda lumpy.” The boy’s expression twisted with distaste.

Belle cocked her head to one side, “Are you worried about my comfort or does someone not want to sleep alone like a big boy? Is it because of the storm?”

Bae’s lips pursed. “Nuh-uhh. I am a big boy! I’m just being nice. You can sleep wherever you want.” he grumped, sounding oddly like his father in his rush of obstinate defensiveness.

Accustomed to her young charge growing more mercurial at bedtime, Belle gentled her tone. “I know you are, Bae. You’re growing up so fast! But even big boys can dislike big scary sounds like thunder. Even I get scared of it sometimes, you know.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “You don’t get scared of nothing.”

“Anything,” she corrected automatically.

“Anything,” Bae echoed dutifully. “Right?”

“It’s alright to be afraid, sometimes,” she assured him, rather than face more questions. If only he knew…

Sure, she was lying about the thunder. That hadn’t frightened her since she was younger than Bae. But Belle definitely lived with a large and overarching fear. One that consumed her thoughts and left her more than her share of sleepless nights. It was as adult a fear as she had ever felt: the fear of revealing her most secret heart to one who would surely reject it. Belle lived in the shadow of an undeniable and overwhelming attachment to the most unsuitable and indifferent man she knew  - her employer and Bae’s father, Mr. Gold.

Loving Bae was easy. Most days, when he wasn’t cranky from staying up too late, he was an absolute delight; sweet, intelligent, and highly inquisitive. He kept her on her toes and she treasured the way his eyes lit up whenever she helped him to discover new facts about salamanders or satellites or whatever new subject had caught his fancy that week. They went to the library every weekend so he could stock up on books for them to read together. Now that he was on chapter books, he would even insist on reading to her, at times. Bae was her little darling and she loved him unequivocally.

His enigmatic father, on the other hand, was another story. He should have been nothing more to her than the father of her charge, the man who signed her checks. He should have been a glorified roommate, since she’d finally agreed to move into their guest room after that messy break-up with Garrett left her homeless. He should have been a friend, co-parent, or mentor. He should have been anything but the object of her increasingly embarrassing fantasies, the one person in town whose very silhouette could make her heart jump into her throat, the man she couldn’t stop picturing as the quintessential part of her someday Happy Ever After.  

Belle had been raised on fairy tales. Or rather she raised herself once her mother passed away and her negligent father stopped even trying to be a parent. Belle had wanted that knight on a white horse so badly as a girl, as a teen, even into early adulthood. Unfortunately, in Storybrooke, there had only been Garrett and his gas guzzling car, and his possessive grasp, and his wandering eye.

Mr. Edmund Gold was certainly no Prince Charming but he had rescued her anyway, in her time of need. And his brusque manners weren’t so off-putting once she’d gotten to know him. He could be surprisingly funny, even charismatic when his guard was down. And the way he was with Bae these days was so alien from the way she’d first seen him (the way the whole rest of town still saw him), all warm affection and playful teasing. Belle liked to think she’d been an influence for the better in that regard.

It was just about three weeks ago, while Gold and Bae were playing, that Belle had first realized she was falling in love. In a moment of weakness, she’d let herself imagine what it would be like to have Mr. Gold look at her with the kind of affection he only ever bestowed on his son.

“Bae?”

The velvety voice of the man himself, broke Belle’s reverie. He stood in the doorway of the tiny room dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a shaggy robe, his long hair still damp at the very ends. He had a battery powered lantern slung around his wrist on a cord, the blueish light throwing his already striking features into a deep, shadowy bas relief.  

They’d been just coming back from the lake, the sun sinking fast toward the horizon, when they got caught in a sudden downpour. A streak of lightning lit the sky, followed in seconds by a roll of thunder. The raindrops felt sharp as needles against Belle’s skin, blown hard by the rising wind. Returning to town on foot, as had been the original plan, would be impossible. They made a snap decision to head to Gold’s cabin, instead. All three were soaked and shivering by the time they arrived. For a day that had dawned quite warm and sunny for fall, it had come to a rather miserable end.

Belle had ushered Bae into a hot shower to warm his numbed fingers and toes while Gold attempted to build a fire. Unfortunately, the wood was all damp and refused to catch. There was a single electric space heater that helped a little, but was useless once the electricity went out. Bae’s room wasn’t too chilly, small as it was, and the boy was packed in with as many blankets as he could tolerate.

“Papa!” Bae threw back the quilts and blankets to extend his arms toward his father.

Gold looked askance at Belle. “He’s still up?”

Belle blushed and rose from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting. “We were… just talking about the storm.”

“Is that so, son?” Gold perched on Belle’s abandoned seat, bracing one side with his cane as he hugged Bae back thoroughly with his free arm. “I hope it’s not too loud out there for you to get some sleep.”

Bae shook his head, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion. “Belle is scared of the thunder so I said she could sleep here with me. Is that okay?”

Gold chuckled and ran his fingers over a cowlick in Bae’s dark curls. “Well, I don’t quite think there’s room for her here, but I’ll make sure she stays safe and dry, alright?”

“Okay. So she can sleep with you, tonight?” Bae asked, settling drowsily back against his pillow.

Gold made an indecipherable sound at the back of his throat before turning his head to cough politely into his forearm. Belle’s cheeks burned, the air suddenly thick in her throat. There was a moment of stark hesitation before Gold leaned in to kiss Bae’s forehead.

“I know you’ll sleep like the dead once you settle down. Just all this excitement keeping you up. Close your eyes,” Gold ordered softly.

Bae obeyed.

Belle could tell him something a thousand times, cajoling and convincing, occasionally even bribing him to do it. His father need say it only once. Such was the kind of quiet power Mr. Gold could exude.

Belle would never admit it aloud but she’d had more than one little fantasy feature Gold giving her orders of an entirely different nature. She closed her eyes and rubbed the spot just between them, above her nose. It was an entirely inappropriate thought to be having at this time. Gold was probably a little peeved at her for not getting Bae properly settled. This was the third time father and son were saying good night, Bae having bounced up and out of bed twice to ask Belle for another story.

They hadn’t brought his reading material for a day by the lake and the only book Belle had on her was definitely not child friendly. Instead, she’d told him variations on fairy tales that her mother used to tell her, personalizing lead characters with traits Bae would recognize as his own.

Two such stories in, Belle had felt herself being watched. She’d looked up to find Mr. Gold’s eyes fixed on her, his expression intense and unreadable. Bae had also noticed his father and gotten so excited to share Belle’s stories that he leapt out of his blanket nest and it took several minutes to ease him back into it.

Third time, it seemed, was indeed the charm. Bae’s face had gone slack, his breathing even, as his father rose slowly from the bedside.

Gold inclined his head back toward the living room and the two of them adjourned, shutting the door to Bae’s room to just a sliver. He hated when his door was fully latched.

Belle shivered in the main room of the cabin, the higher ceiling and poorly insulated windows making it much draftier than either bedroom. She didn’t have a change of clothes, but luckily Gold had found a spare pair of fleece pajama pants and a sweater. The clothes smelled musty and were comically long in both arms and legs, but she was grateful enough to be dry that she didn’t complain. Gold was similarly outfitted in his spare pajama pants and a T-shirt with that ugly, tattered bathrobe thrown atop it for warmth.

Belle turned to face Mr. Gold, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset at having to put his son to bed a third time that night. She had no real defense for not putting her foot down. The truth was, she spoiled little Bae like he was her own. She’d never really been a nanny before this, and now she was starting to understand that perhaps she ought to have stayed a babysitter and part time librarian instead. It was easier when there were dozens of children to mind. With just one to focus on - and one she already adored - her judgement could get a little clouded. Then again, Belle could see such a world of difference from the unhappy child Bae had been a year ago. It was little wonder that she couldn’t help but indulge him.

Mr. Gold had been rather stiff with his son when she first met them both, as though he feared the child would break if he handled him too often. Mrs. Gold had only recently left and it was clearly a sore spot for both father and son. Bae was pale and entirely too serious for a five year old child. Gold was distant and uncertain in his attempts at showing affection. He’d apparently only hired a nanny to provide supervision and enforce the house rules, seeming genuinely confused the first time he came home to find the two of them crawling around on all fours, pretending to be dinosaurs.

Early on, he had even reprimanded Belle for letting Bae “take advantage” of her “tender nature.” She’d have taken the latter part as a compliment if it weren’t for the way he frowned when he said the word “tender,” almost like it was a dirty word. It was one of the few times Gold had really gotten her goat. Children needed tenderness, she told him, emphatically, to be reassured that even when they were naughty, they were loved. She’d let everything she’d been holding back up until that point pour out of her: how lonely Bae was, how he longed to spend time with his father, how difficult it was to be a child expected to behave like a small adult. Gold had listened to every word she’d said with a grave expression. Belle feared for her job by the time she was through, but she could not have stayed mum if her life depended on it. She should have known even then that she was already too far gone. Gold had been silent a long time before simply nodding and dismissing her from the room.

She’d spent a week on tenterhooks, flinching every time he addressed her. Yet he never reproached her for her tirade, or even mentioned how inappropriate she had been to lecture him in his own home. That weekend, however, was the very first time Gold stayed home from work and went with them to the park on Sunday. Bae had been overjoyed for the chance to play with his father and it quickly became a new part of their routine. Gold could still be prickly at times and Belle had learned to read when he was getting overwhelmed so she could step in and distract Bae with another activity. Overall though, the relationship between Bae and his father had grown in leaps and bounds - much like the youngster himself, who seemed to shoot up like a weed in the sunshine.

After that, Belle had also been a lot less afraid to speak her mind, when it counted.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold,” Belle began, noting how heavily Gold leaned on his cane, his shoulders slumped with weariness after such a long day.

He waved his free hand. “It’s no matter. He’s had a lot of excitement today, it’s only natural he’d have trouble settling down.” He limped to the couch and lowered himself gingerly. “I, on the other hand, may need to sleep through the next century just to recover,” he smiled thinly.

Belle returned the smile with a tired one of her own. “Well, Rip Van Winkle, I have a feeling a certain human alarm clock won’t let that happen any time soon.”

He gave a short huff of amusement. “Just as well, not really sure I’d like having a long, white beard just yet.” Gold ran a hand down his very clean shaven face.

“It was good enough for Gandalf,” she shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her forearms for warmth.

“Ah, now there’s a fashion icon worth emulating,” he replied dryly. His brow creased. “You must be freezing. My apologies. Let’s get you to bed.”

Belle blushed again at his words but he didn’t seem to notice as he was focused on standing up. He inhaled sharply, swearing under his breath as he heaved himself to his feet. Belle flew to his side, attempting to help support his bad side but he waved her away.

“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped, wincing again as he tried to take a step forward.

Belle frowned. “I know… but, it’s been a long day and I thought…”

“I don’t need a nurse, Miss French.”

Belle sighed. She was exhausted too but it wasn’t in her nature to stand by and let someone suffer. Even if they were being a pratt about it. “Well that’s good because you’d be a terrible patient. Now, do you want a hand or would you rather be stubborn and suffer?”

His lips thinned as he gave her a hard look. When she returned it, flatly, the corner of his mouth quirked upward for just a moment before he looked away. He cleared his throat. “There’s, ah, there are some extra blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed. I was… going to fetch them.”

“Okay then. I’ll be right back.” Using her phone’s torch function, she went to the aforementioned chest and threw it open. Inside was a mess of fabric, tarnished silver, and and what she really, really hoped was not a giant spider web. She tried not to think about that last part as she reached in and fished around for something that felt blanket-y. She pulled out two swaths of scratchy wool, grimacing at the way they felt in her hand. After a few more minutes, she determined they were the only passably blanket-like things in the pile and closed the trunk.

She returned to the living room to find Gold on the sofa, bent double to massage his calf. She held up the hunks of tartan patterned wool. “Did you mean these?”

He looked up, quickly pulling his hands from his leg, fingers flexing in the open air before settling in his lap. “Yes. Those would be the ones.

Belle bit back a face of disgust. She didn’t fancy sleeping under these harsh, dusty things but beggars couldn’t be choosers and at least she was dry. She set one down to shake out the first.

“Ahhh, Mr. Gold?”

“Hm?”

She held up the blanket - what was left of it. “I think you might have a moth problem.” There was a gaping hole in one side and several smaller ones dotting the rest like Swiss cheese.

Gold’s face fell. “How about the other? Let me see…” He started to stand and reach for it, grunting and swearing again, then muttering an apology for swearing as he regained his seat. Belle handed him the first blanket and picked up the second. Unfurled, the second was almost worse than the first; nearly as much hole as blanket.

Gold’s jaw went still and tight as he stared at the woolly remains, nostrils flaring.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle eased onto the seat beside him.

He swallowed audibly and spoke without turning to look at her. “Mothballs. They told me I’d need mothballs. When I put the blankets in the trunk, I forgot.” He ran his hand over the tattered cloth in his lap. He looked at at her, almost unseeing. “They’d be very disappointed.”

“Who?” she asked, softly.

Gold’s mouth fashioned the tremulous ghost of a smile. “My aunts.”

He looked smaller than usual and rather lost in the thin, pale light of the lantern. Belle was overwhelmed with the urge to pull him to her, to rest his head against her breast and stroke his hair. Instead she gripped his upper arm, very lightly, just a little touch to know she was there, that she cared. Gold looked at her hand on his arm as though he’d forgotten he was capable of being touched.

Belle leaned in just as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. He was oddly beautiful in his sorrow and she was immediately ashamed for thinking so.

“They… they meant a lot to you,” she surmised.

Gold met her eyes, again, his own dark and fathomless. He nodded. “They were all I had,” he stated simply. “And these,” he indicated the blankets, “were all I had left.”

Belle knew it was just the storm and the quiet dark, just the exhaustion setting in and tearing down both their walls, but she didn’t care. She was fully and brilliantly alive in this moment, only inches from the man she loved, and he was being more candid with her than he’d ever been before. She might never get another chance to be with him like this, again.

“I know what that’s like,” she admitted.

“Do you?”

Belle nodded. “When my mother died, I was left on my own. All I really had were her books. They became like friends, cold comfort for a lonely little girl.” She huffed a small laugh at her own self pity. “When we moved, my father made me choose only one favorite to bring with us. He said we wouldn’t have room in the new place. One out of a whole library. I thought he was so cruel for that.”

“He was.” Gold agreed solemnly. “Monstrous.”

Belle paused, uncertain if she was being mocked, but Gold’s frank expression didn’t change. She allowed herself a small smile. “The joke was on him, though. Rather than work in his flower shop like he wanted, I got a job at the library after school. So I could read all my favorites as many times as I liked.”

Gold gave a low little chuckle. “I always knew there was something of a rebel in you, Belle French.” His voice was a low rumble, accent deliciously thick, the ‘r’ rolling off his tongue in a way that made her want to chase it with her own.

His breath was warm as it wafted across her face, still smelling sweet from the lemonade she’d brought to the lake. She tilted her face toward his just a fraction more and his gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth and then back. A crack of thunder sounded, so close it may have well been in the room, and Belle shivered.

Gold pulled back, blinking rapidly, “I… I think I ought to get some rest.”

Belle deflated against the couch cushion. “Oh. Oh, right. Well, uh, at least let me help you.”

His brow furrowed. “Help me what? I’m already here.” He indicated the couch. He hoisted the holey blankets over his lap. “These are… less than expected but they will suffice for the night.”

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “You are not sleeping on this lumpy couch with barely enough blanket to cover one limb at a time.”

He pursed his lips, “Miss French….”

“Mr. Gold….”

“Well, where on earth should I sleep, in your expert opinion?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “In the bed.” She stood, grabbing his cane from where it had fallen to the floor. “Don’t be such a fussbudget. Come on, I’ll help you into the bedroom.”

Gold made a blunted noise of outrage. “Do you think I’d be such a negligent employer - nay gentleman - as to let you freeze to death out here on the couch?”

“So, what? You’d rather martyr yourself for my comfort?”

“Yes!” he splayed his hands in exasperation.

Belle paused in her efforts to get him to take his cane and stand. “That’s… sweet. In a misguided sort of way.”

Gold’s eyes scrunched closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes, with his forefinger and thumb.

Belle sighed. “Look, I know the mattress isn’t huge but it’s bigger than Bae’s bed so I think there’s plenty of room for the two of us to share.”

Without moving, Gold made the same strangled sound as he had before at Bae’s similar suggestion that they share the bed. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose before opening his eyes and removing his hand. “I hardly think that is… appropriate,” he said, without much conviction.

“Appropriate is in the eye of the beholder and the only one to behold it would be the six year old who suggested it in the first place. I think we’re on safe territory, Mr. Gold.”

It rankled her just a little that he was being so dense about this. In a little over a year, he’d barely just begun to treat her as a human being, let alone any kind of companion. Tonight he’d been so open, almost easygoing, or as easygoing as the Town Misanthrope got. She’d started to think maybe there was a chance… the way he had leaned toward her, the way he’d looked at her just moments before… that perhaps her attraction was not wholly one-sided. If that was the case, why wouldn’t he want to share a bed?

He licked his lips and, without a word, held out his hand. Belle placed his cane into it. He leaned on the cane, but did not object again as she came around to his bad side and helped him rise. Leaning on her and the cane, he limped into the bedroom.

She helped him get situated before crossing to the other side and sliding under the heavy quilt. The bed was chilly and also covered in a layer of dust (Belle made a mental note to send a cleaning service out once they got home). The blankets were unevenly distributed and sheets twisted down at the foot so she found herself sitting up and running her hands along the edges to try and fix them.

Gold shifted uncomfortably beside her as her wandering hands brushed his legs once, and then a second time. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“They’re uneven,” Belle groused, tugging at a sheet.

“Good God, woman, relax. You are off the clock. I am not Bae and I can fix my own blanket,” Gold snatched it out of her hands, rolling onto his side, away from her.

“Well, at least Bae knows how to share properly,” she replied, snaking an arm over his shoulder to pull the blanket back. “You’ve got the long end and if I don’t flip it, we’ll both have cold feet!”

He resisted for a moment before releasing it with a grumble. Belle set them to rights, smoothing the sheets up and blanket down. Gold was curled in a tight, unmoving ball and she made a face at his back.

At last she sank into the mattress, her body relaxing. She closed her eyes and let her mind meander through her day. It had been a beautiful day at the start. Gold had taken them out in a rented motorboat and shown Bae how to fish. They didn’t catch anything but that hadn’t been the point of the exercise. Bae had happily listed every fish fact he knew while his Papa listened attentively, and Belle had wished she could take a surreptitious photo. Gold looked ten years younger, lounging in the sun with his boy, relaxed and thoroughly happy. He’d even smiled at her a few times, in the brisk distracted sort of way he occasionally did these days.

Once they got back to shore, Belle had taught Bae how to recognize edible berries and they’d collected handfuls to add to the picnic lunch she’d packed. Belle kept stealing glances at Mr. Gold over Bae’s curly head. It was just so rare to see him out of a suit, dressed as he was in jeans and long sleeved shirt. The suits were always lovely and well tailored, and gave her plenty of thoughts about slowly unwrapping him like a present. Dressed down he seemed… human, like his sharp edges had been filed down. He’d caught her looking more than once, and they’d both quickly looked away.

Now she could feel the warmth of his body beside her, seeping into the sheets. She breathed out heavily through her mouth, fighting down the urge to snuggle up behind him. It was ridiculous, feeling this way for a man who could be so infuriatingly opaque. One minute they were swapping childhood stories and he looked very much like he wanted to kiss her. The next he was a human boulder, shutting her out in every way possible.

She must have drifted off at some point but a crack of thunder jolted her awake. She and Gold had rolled closer in their sleep, he on his back with an arm flung over his head and she on her side, facing him. He must also have shed the bathrobe at some point because he was only in the T-shirt now. There was barely enough light to make out his facial features but it occurred to her that he was smiling softly, unselfconsciously. She pulled herself up onto her elbow, cupping her cheek in her hand.

What would it be like to wake up like this and belong in a bed together? To lean in and kiss him awake? To have a playful little tussle before stripping each other bare and making love ‘til morning?

He made a soft little sound and Belle fancied that he was agreeing with her fantasy.

“What do you dream about, Mr. Gold?” she whispered, lowering her head back to the pillow.

Another little sound, low and masculine, greeted her query but then he fell silent and Belle fell back asleep.

The second time she woke, the rain had stopped and the moonlight shone strongly through the window. Belle had curled into Gold’s side, one arm slung over his waist. She held very, very still, listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear. Despite the rain and the dust and the old fusty clothes, she swore she could still smell a hint of his cologne and she inhaled it deeply, trying to commit this moment to memory. The arm beneath her had fallen asleep but she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She felt a rush of warm breath against the top of her head.

“Belle.”

His voice was more air than sound but it was loud enough in the now-quiet early morning.

Feeling guilty of trespassing, Belle began to shrink in on herself. Until she realized he’d used her first name. Gold had never called her anything but “Miss French” or, rarely, “Belle French”,” never just Belle. She loved the way it sounded on his lips.

“Yes?”

He released another, shakier, breath. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“I… I need you to move.”

Disappointed, Belle began to slide her arm away when she realized that it had not been, as she thought, at his waist. Her arm had extended across his belly at an angle toward his hips. So as she began to roll away, her hand skimmed across… oh. Oh.

They both froze.

Belle moved first, lifting her hand away and pulling herself up on her other arm, tingling with pins and needles, to look at his face. Gold was wide eyed and slack jawed, his lips parted as he seemed to be taking one very deliberate breath after another. He studied her with an expression that bordered on fear.

Belle gathered all her courage, though her mind was sluggish with sleep and foggy with pent up desire.

“Is that… Is it because of me?” She lay her hand on his chest, noting how his heartbeat had accelerated.  

“Belle,” he whispered again, almost a whimper as he added, “Belle, please…” His eyes roved her face in the moonlight, asking a question he could not seem to form with words.

“Please, what?” Tentatively, ready to pull back at any sign she was unwelcome, she slid her hand downward, toward where she’d felt him hard and straining beneath the sheet. “Is it… I want to touch you, Edmund. May I?” Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears and her pulse seemed to have relocated itself to the apex of her legs. She’d wanted him so badly for so long and it seemed like she must be imagining this happening, even now. It took every effort to keep her hand from shaking.

He shuddered just slightly as she said his name, his eyes closing briefly before reopening on her face. “Why?” His tone was incredulous.

Belle hiccuped a giddy little giggle. “Because I’ve wanted to for months? Because if I’m just dreaming again, I don’t want to waste it? Because… because you’re finally letting me? Pick your reason, Mr. Gold.” Seeing the look on his face, she self-corrected, “Edmund.”

He made a needy little sound at that and lifted the hand that lay between them to stroke the side of her face. “And how do I know I’m not the one dreaming?”

Belle smiled gently, leaning toward him until her mouth just barely hovered over his. “Only one way to find out,” she breathed. Her eyes shut, she made a silent wish before closing that infinitesimal space and kissing him. For half a second she feared he’d push her away but then the hand at her cheek slid into her messy curls, his fingers tangling between them as he held her fast. His other arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, lips parting to allow the tip of his tongue to dart between them.

Belle met that volley with a flick of her own tongue and Gold moaned into her mouth, tightening his grip. She slid down the bed, needing to be even closer, flinging a careless leg over his hips. And oh yes, there he was, pressing hot and insistent against her inner thigh. He ground himself against her as he devoured her mouth, the hand not buried in her hair tracing her waist and hip like he was learning every curve by heart.

She snaked a hand upward, running her fingertips through the baby-soft silver hair at his temples. She’d always wondered if it would feel as good as it looked and it absolutely did. They broke apart from kissing only to gasp for air, Gold breathing half a swear word into her shoulder as she moved to straddle him completely. Belle nipped at his earlobe as she centered herself on the rigid line of his cock, bringing both knees forward to gain friction where she needed it most.

His lips found purchase along the long column of her neck, trailing biting kisses up and down its length as she shivered with pleasure and shimmied her hips against his. His hands traveled down to grasp her arse and squeeze. Belle hummed her approval and he did it again, the tips of his fingers sliding to the crease at the back of each thigh, agonizingly close to her heated core. She was embarrassingly wet already, her panties sticky and clinging, twisting with her increasingly desperate undulations.

Growing frustrated with the many layers between them, Belle sat up.

Gold’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked up at her. “Is, ah, is everything….?”

“Oh God yes,” she nodded. “Just... too many clothes, don’t you think?”

Gold made a low sound of agreement, a smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “Whatever you say, Miss French.”

“Mm, can I get that in writing?” she teased. “And I thought we were on first name basis, now.”

He looked down. “I’ve never been fond of my first name.”

“Oh.” Belle bit back a frown.

“But I like it when you say it.” He met her eyes again, his tone the quiet, confessional one he’d had on the couch earlier that night. “I… like a lot of things when you say them.”

Belle felt herself melt a little inside and dipped down to press her lips to his. He kissed back hungrily and it was all she could do to pull away long enough to tug off the loose sweater. They teased and tasted one another until they were both breathless and she touched her forehead to his.

“I’d like to see you,” he murmured.

Happy to oblige, Belle kissed the tip of his nose and sat up again, feeling his cock twitch against her.

He inhaled deeply, “Fuck. You’re…” His hands shaped her waist, gliding over her ribs to cup each small breast, the nipples already pert with arousal and the chill air. She trembled as he flicked his thumbs simultaneously under their sensitive undersides before then running a thumb over each nipple. He shook his head, hair fanning on the pillow below him. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

Belle blushed deeply, the color running from cheeks to chest.

Gold continued caressing her nipples with his thumbs until she was squirming, little mewling noises escaping her involuntarily. With a hand at her waist, he wordlessly directed her to lower one breast over his mouth, using his lips and tongue tease her as his other hand moved down toward the juncture of her thighs. She shifted her hips to allow him better access and he slid his hand beneath the elastic band of her borrowed pants, finding the soaking gusset of her knickers with his fingertips. He groaned at this discovery, the sound reverberating against her breast. Belle turned to allow him access to the other breast and gasped as one knuckle slid deftly along her cleft.

“Less clothes,” she mumbled, moving off of Gold to shuck her pants and underwear. Before she regained her place atop him, she tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, giving him a meaningful look.

He frowned. “Are you certain?”

Belle raised both eyebrows. “You ask that, now? Maybe I should remind you what you do to me, Mr. Edmund Gold…” Kneeling on the bed, the cold causing gooseflesh on every exposed patch of skin, she pulled his hand between her parted thighs. His fingers just barely skimmed her nether lips, coming away glistening with her arousal. He stared at them, spellbound before returning his gaze to her face. The pure adoration in his eyes was enough to leave her momentarily stunned.

She choked back an unexpected lump in her throat before gingerly reaching for his shirt, again. “Yes?”

Gold nodded, allowing her to help him sit up and divest himself of both shirt and pants. The moment they were both nude, he hauled her atop him and fervidly captured her mouth. She kissed him back with equal exuberance, rolling her hips as her slickness coated his erection. The blunt head nudged her clit and she made a needy, throaty sound that Gold eagerly swallowed. He bucked his hips beneath her, hitting the same spot again and Belle pulled back with a swear on her lips.

“Please, no more teasing… I need you,” she pleaded, almost mindless with the steadily building ache at her core. She ground herself against his cock, the head nearly slipping inside her.

“I don’t have any…” He forced the words out with some difficulty, his thighs below her tense, the muscles strained and quivering.

“Protection? It’s ok. I’ve got an IUD. And I’m clean.” Raising herself up and wrapping a hand around his shaft, she bit her lip and looked down at his face. “Please, Edmund?”

“Fucking hell, Belle,” he rasped, gripping her hips with both hands, nearly hard enough to bruise. As he lowered her hips, she guided him inside her, both hissing with pleasure as flesh met flesh, wet and hot and oh so deliciously ready. Inch by inch he filled her, her inner muscles already clenching and fluttering, until he was fully seated.

“God, you feel fucking amazing.’ His voice was almost a growl, hands still at her hips as she adjusted to the feel of him inside her.

Belle leaned in to kiss her way up his jaw to his ear. “You do too.” She canted her hips, rising up just a little before sliding back down, then repeated the motion. He rolled up and into her downward movements, echoing and answering the language of her body. “So good…” she crooned, as they began to establish a rhythm of short, sharp thrusts.

Gold’s breathing was harsh and ragged, his parted lips brushing her neck, her shoulder, her ear, whatever they could reach. Belle ducked her head to kiss his cheek, his jaw, nipping playfully at his earlobe and at his voluptuous bottom lip as heat began to spiral up her spine and down her legs. Conscious of how quiet it was without the storm, Belle held back the moans and half formed words that kept bubbling up, bursting to escape in shuddering gasps. She was getting close, slipping a hand between them to press at her sensitive little nub and riding him faster. Every fiber of her being was focused on their joining, on the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, his hands moulding to her flesh as he hit all the right spots within. Her peak hit her suddenly and with a blinding force. Gold’s dull nails dug into her skin as her pussy milked him hard. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder to muffle his moans as he reached his own completion.

Belle grasped his face between both hands and kissed him soundly. “That was worth waiting for,” she murmured against his lips.

He made a sound of agreement, pulling out of her reluctantly as she moved to lay on her side. “I’m only sorry I ever made you wait, sweetheart.” His tone was half amused bewilderment, half pillow talk.

Pulling the blankets up, she tucked herself against his side again, his arm curling automatically over her shoulders - as though they’d done this a million times. “Apology accepted. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I like when you say that word, too. Again.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I mean it.” Belle tightened her arm around him, kissing his chest, just over his heart, in reply. Cocooned in his warmth, she began to drift off, noting that they probably had very little time left before dawn. It wasn’t light yet but she could almost feel the morning coming on.

Drowsily, he added. “I did dream of you, by the way. Just like this.”

Her heart gave a powerful thump in her chest and she tilted her head up to share a sleepy, lingering kiss. “Me too.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle smut #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #belle x rumplestiltskin #rumbelle au #a monthly rumbelling #young baelfire #bed sharing #rumbelle bed sharing #my fic

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Secret Santa Gift Fic III

This is @thevanishedillusion‘s secret santa gift. You gave a very detailed prompt and I’m afraid this isn’t exactly what you asked for. Once I started, the character developed on its own. But I still tried to stay close to the initial premise and I hope you’ll like it anyways! Have fun and merry Christmas! :)

Fair warning: this is only the second time in my entire life that I write in second person. I did my best but it’s still a perspective I’m unfamiliar with. Also this fic contains references to character death, mental health issues, trauma and PTSD (all in references to events happening in Iron Man 1). The prompt is at the end of the fic. 

“I love you. Isn’t that just the saddest thing?”  –Quote from Elementary, S03E12

Unrequited love sucks. It sounds like a no-brainer. Something so obvious it should slap you in the face the first time it comes up in casual conversation—but it doesn’t. And sure, on an intellectual level, you’ve always known it. You’ve understood that the ‘unrequited’ is just a shorter way to say ‘no happy ending available’. You’re aware it means someone doesn’t get what they so desperately want, whom they so desperately want. But that doesn’t mean you’ve been prepared for the reality of it.

The truth is, it doesn’t just suck. It’s a bit like a sucker punch every time you see them smile—even, especially, when that smile is for someone other than you. It’s like slapping yourself over the back of the head over and over again, yet still misspelling that one word when the time for the spelling bee comes. In your case, that word was ‘misanthrope’. You always forgot the ‘h’, no matter how often your mom reminded you. No matter how often your best friend helped you practice, despite how much he hated sitting still and waiting for you to remember all the letters.

You still got it wrong when it mattered. You still didn’t duck fast enough to avoid that damn bullet that got you discharged from the closest thing you had to a home for good. And you still didn’t get the guy at the end of the story.

It sounds like the start of a Bridget Jones movie—or at least you hope so, because if your prince charming isn’t waiting right around the corner, your memoirs will make for one heck of a depressing story.

And, wow, talk about throwing yourself a pity party.

[continues under the cut]

Another truth—one you don’t care to acknowledge too often lately—is that life isn’t as bad as you make it out to be. Sure, you almost died in a bloody—in every sense of the word—terrorist attack a couple of months ago. And yeah, the first months after said attack made you wish you hadn’t made it.

But you’ve gotten past that now. For the most part. You’ve built yourself a new life, a civilian life—and who’d have thought you were capable of adjusting to it so fast, certainly not you—and it’s not what you’re accustomed to, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

You’ve got a real home now. A small flat, three rooms only, which drives your best friend up the wall every time he visits, but it’s all the space you need. Tony, of course, isn’t too happy with that explanation. He’s still pushing you, as much as he dares to anyways, to move into his tower—but so far you’ve held your own. Decades of prolonged exposure are probably the only reason you’ve managed to accomplish that particular feat. That and the trauma that you’re half-ashamed to admit you’ve used as an excuse more than once.

It’s what you need though. Your own space, away from Tony Stark and his larger than life personality, away from the papers and reporters, away from JARVIS’ all-seeing eyes, away from his beautiful assistant slash girlfriend.

Jesus, you’re starting to sound like a scorned ex again, you realise, and force yourself to push those bitter thoughts away. It’s not fair to Pepper Potts, the woman who’s managed to capture Tony’s heart after all these years. Nor is it fair to Tony himself, for that matter.

It’s not like you’ve ever had any sort of claim on him. And Tony never promised you anything, never tried to initiate something that went beyond the friendship you’ve both worked so hard to hold on to. In some ways, that actually makes it worse. Because you have no right to feel like you’ve been cast away—not when Tony keeps inviting you over for dinner like clock-work every week, not when Pepper always greets you with an honest smile, not when there’s been a floor with your name on it in Tony’s tower since long before he’s started to build it—you know that.

Tony hasn’t abandoned you. He hasn’t thrown nearly three decades of friendship away because of a woman, even one as brilliant as Pepper. That’s not the kind of man he is.

Unfortunately, none of those nice, rational facts change how you feel.

And that’s not even starting on the stomach-clenching sensation you feel every time you watch those small, but oh-so-telling affectionate gestures between them. The ones that tell you more than words ever could that Tony and Pepper aren’t eccentric boss and exasperated assistant any longer. They’re a real life, official couple.

As his best friend, you should be happy for Tony. For the happiness in his eyes, the way they glimmer when he looks at her. The fact that you can’t manage more than a tense, half-hearted smile makes you feel like the lowest scum on earth, which is why you spend a lot of time decidedly not thinking about it at all.

Sadly, avoidance only gets you so far in life. And when someone like Tony Stark is involved, that ‘so far’ isn’t very far at all. You love that dork to death, but if there is one thing Tony can’t do, it’s to let things go. He always has to pick and pick at them, until you get annoyed and lash out. Something that’s been happening more and more often lately.

It would be wrong to say that your friendship with Tony has started to fall apart ever since he confessed to being in love with Pepper. You like to think you’re not that petty, though as things currently stand you’ll never know.

Right now it’s not Pepper, who’s standing between you and Tony—or at least she isn’t the only one. There’s a whole immeasurably huge black hole titled ‘Afghanistan’ as well. And unlike Pepper, it’s not something you can throw a quick smile and apologetic last-minute cancellation at.

Afghanistan compiles all of your worst nightmares, your greatest terrors, your most horrible memories into one single word. As though anything human languages have created could adequately express what happened. What you lost. What you survived.

You’ve never talked about it, never even acknowledged it. There hasn’t been any time. Ever since Tony blew up the terrorists that held him hostage—and it should make you proud, relieved at the very least, that your civilian friend with no training managed such a feat, but all it really does is remind you that all the trained soldiers, that you, didn’t—life has been a whirlwind that shows no signs of slowing down.

But for you the world stopped turning four months ago. You lost your entire unit four months ago. You went to sleep every night with your best friend’s screams ringing in your ears for months every night since.

Of course the second Tony set foot on American soil again, he did what he’s always done: he evolved. He’s turned his company around, he’s asked Pepper out, he’s turned himself into a freaking superhero. He fought for his life on the rooftops of New York while you were trying to make it through a night without waking up shaking and screaming.

Somehow Tony has taken the trauma of those three months and compressed them into something that drives him forward—and you hate him for it, just a little, as much as you’re trying not to, because all you seem to be able to do is slow down.

Tony tries to help you, it’s not like he’s blind to your issues. Not like you could keep it from him either. But this—in this he can’t help you. You can’t let him. It’s ironic in a way: Tony is the only other survivor, the only one who was there when your world blew up around you. He was there, he’s the one best equipped to understand what you’re going through. And instead of helping you, instead of making things easier, it makes everything so much worse.

It’s why you’re here now. Standing in front of a bright building, just twenty minutes away from your home, unable to bring yourself to enter, yet unable to walk away.

Well, technically it’s Pepper’s fault—another thing you try very hard not to be bitter about. Because Pepper is smart, yes, but she’s also attentive in a way Tony has never had the patience to be, and it scares you sometimes. The way she looks at you, like she understands. Like she knows.

You met her for coffee three days ago, after months of avoiding her. Her words, pointed but gentle, like the warmth in her eyes could soothe the sting, have been haunting you ever since.

Tony is your friend, nothing will ever change that. But he can’t be your therapist. He can’t heal you, much as it pains him, and it’s not fair of you to expect him to.

You’d snapped at her, affronted, embarrassed or maybe just plain furious, and Pepper had apologised—I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place—but she never took those words back. You don’t think she could have, even if she wanted to.

The worst part, that’s about the only thing you’re currently sure of, is that she might just be right. Pepper has an annoying habit of doing that. Of getting under your skin, cutting straight through your bullshit to the heart of the matter. It’s moments like these when you realise what Tony sees in her.

And it’s because of that nagging fear, that worry Pepper has awoken in you, that you’re here now, trying to work up the courage to enter the ordinary, unthreatening looking office building. Half the time you’re convinced that this is a stupid, pointless endeavour, but even if a session with one of New York’s leading trauma therapists isn’t going to change your world—an outside view might help you get some perspective on the mess your life has turned into. Might help you sleep through the night without second-guessing your entire relationship with Tony, at least.

It still takes you another week to work up the courage and actually schedule an appointment.

*

The first time you met Tony, you were six and he was seven and the two of you were at a charity gala of some sort, bored out of your minds. You got into an argument that devolved into a hair-pulling fight, because you were taller than him and therefore insisted on calling him a baby. After your parents separated you—and you got a scolding that made you cry, you still remember that one—Tony defended you and you’d been inseparable ever since.

Sure, eventually you were forced apart by the realities of the different lives you lived. Tony joined SI straight out of college, as was expected, and he loved it like you knew he would. You, on the other hand, went against expectations and joined the military. But even though you spent less time together, the two of you remained close friends.

Looking back you can’t even tell when exactly your feelings for Tony changed. It wasn’t love at first sight or any of those other ridiculously romantic notions though, that’s for sure. You don’t think there is a precise moment where it happened either. More of a gradual process maybe. Tony has been your closest confidant for so many years that you haven’t been able to imagine a life without him in a long time—yet, thanks in no small parts to your career choice, a serious relationship has never been an option you’ve considered.

You’re honest enough with yourself to acknowledge that you only admitted to yourself how you truly feel after Tony became unavailable. Maybe you’re just that much of a selfish bitch—or maybe it was yet another attempt to sabotage the most meaningful relationship you have left.

That’s one of the questions that pains you the most. And it’s also one Meredith—your counsellor—has been unable to answer for you. You can almost hear her amused laugh at that thought. ‘I can’t give you any answers. The best I can do is help you discover them for yourself,’ is what she would probably say if she could hear you right now—and you don’t know whether it’s a good thing or not that you know that.

You don’t know a lot of things, these days.

*

The sessions help. It doesn’t feel that way at first—still doesn’t, on your off-days. In the beginning, you barely had anything to say to Meredith. Everything just seemed—too much, too big to be put into words. But it’s getting easier—not easy, mind you, you doubt it ever will be—to talk now. Even though you sometimes describe the same event four times. It gets easier to find the words, to put them to use. To work through what happened and how you feel about it.

It’s not always a flattering realisation, and certainly there are thoughts that have never made it past your lips, have never left the privacy of your own mind. But there are things you can share, and those lose some of their weight over time. A progress so slow you don’t notice it until three months have passed and the dinner invitation Tony sends you no longer invokes that crushing sense of despair-disgust-hate-want-confusion-fear it used to.

You still decline but you’re working on not hating yourself for it. ‘Your recovery comes first,’ you repeat to yourself, words Meredith uses all the time. ‘Take whatever measures you need to feel safe and comfortable.’ They used to be nothing but a string of meaningless words, but lately you’ve found yourself clinging to them, seeking comfort in them.

Lately you’ve forced yourself to admit that for all that you love Tony, for all that he means the world to you—whenever you look at him, gun fire is tearing your eardrums apart, and whenever he smiles, you feel that terrible mixture of resentment-self-disgust-affection cracking you open from the inside out.

You love Tony. Maybe you always have. But right now, you need him out of your life. Right now, all he does—if unknowingly and unintentionally—is pull you down, down, down, chains you to the worst days of your entire life. And there are still doubts creeping up on you sometimes, but you’re starting to realise that that’s okay.

You’re starting to realise that when Meredith says you’ve come a long way, she means it.

*

The first time Meredith suggests going to a group meeting, you almost walk straight out of her office again. ‘There are groups specifically for veterans suffering from PTSD,’ Meredith’s calm voice says over the roar in your ears. ‘People with similar experiences. People you might connect to and from who’s own experiences and support you might benefit.’

You’re aware that what Meredith is really trying to say is, you are not alone. And you hate that you’re so freaking self-centred still, but in that moment those words don’t bring you the comfort they are supposed to. Instead all you hear is ‘you are not that special’ and despite knowing better, despite everything, it hurts.

That night, Tony calls you for the first time in over two weeks. That night, you take a deep breath that does nothing to lessen the tight feeling in your chest, and press Ignore.

You read about a fight at Tony’s birthday party in the newspapers the next day, and are too ashamed to call him back. Ashamed because you didn’t answer your cell. Ashamed because you forgot about his birthday entirely.

*

At first, the group meetings are torture. You don’t even know why you attend your first one. Meredith brings them up on occasion, but she never outright tells you to go—“You’re a grown woman, you can make your own decisions.”—and yet there you are.

You don’t say a word that first time, barely manage to look anyone in the eyes. You feel uncomfortable, out of place, put on a spot even though nobody is approaching you either. No surprise, given the very clear leave-me-alone vibes you’re sending out.

You come back the following week though, and the week after that, even though you’re not quite sure why. You start to recognise the faces, start to remember the names they give. Start to feel like a part of the crowd. When you speak up for the first time, it feels like a huge step that has your heart racing and nervous sweat running down your back. When you speak up for the second time, it’s a giant fuck-you to your own, scary-cat self.

After that, you do it more often. You share more. You stay behind after the meetings end a couple of times, exchange short conversations with other attendees. You get to know the regulars, start recognising first timers like you used to be.

You don’t think these meetings are supposed to help when you don’t even believe in them, but somehow it sneaks up on you. The dawning realisation that nobody went exactly through what you suffered, but there are many people out there who went through something similar, many people who might not know but can still understand.

Not being special doesn’t sound as bad as it used to.

*

You don’t find out how close you’ve come to losing Tony forever until long after the drama has died down. Pepper mentions it in passing one day, during your bi-monthly lunches together that you’ve started picking up again recently. You’re still working up the courage to face Tony again, when she drops a comment about the poison and his almost-death.

That night you wake up screaming for the first time in twenty-two days. The worst part is that even now you know you’ve made the right choice when you cut him out of your life.

*

It’s Tony who calls you, just like it’s always been Tony reaching out and you blocking him off since Afghanistan. That word has started to lose some of that shadow it used to cast over you, gets easier to think these days.

That’s one of the many, many reasons why you answer when he calls you this time.

“Are you watching TV?” is the first thing your best friend asks you, and it’s simultaneously the most inane and most Tony thing he could have said.

There’s an almost laugh forcing its way out of your throat, and in that moment it’s like you’ve never been apart. Like Afghanistan never happened, like you’re still twenty-two and giggling on your smelly couch in your crappy college room. “No,” you reply and hope he can hear the I’m so sorry you’re not quite ready to voice yet.

“Good.” Tony’s voice is rough, and because you’ve known him all your life, you don’t have to ask whether something is wrong. You already know.

“What’s going on?” you ask, but he interrupts you before you’ve even finished the question.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and those are the last words you’ve expected to hear, “I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m—this is—listen, just, things got a little out of hand and I’m kind of on a timer, just—damn, I wish I’d called you sooner.” Tony laughs and it’s not a happy sound.

There’s an urgency in his voice you’ve heard only once before and it punches the air out of your lungs like you’ve taken a hit to the stomach. “I never blamed you,” you say, don’t even know where the words are coming from—except, that’s not quite true, is it? You’ve been thinking them since you first woke up in that hospital to the shuttered look in Tony’s eyes, have swallowed them down ever since. Because back then it wasn’t true and Tony would have known. You don’t know when you started to believe them, but now you do, and you want, need him to know that. “For anything. It wasn’t your fault, Tony. You had no control over what happened. And saving me was never your responsibility.”

Tony makes a strange sound then, an almost pained keen you don’t know how to interpret, and when he speaks again he sounds like he’s in a hurry. “Watch your back, baby,” he breathes, the childhood nickname back from your first meeting falling as easily from his lips as it always did, “you’ve always done the best job at that, never needed anyone’s help with it. Just—do one thing for me, alright? Don’t turn on the TV.”

The line goes dead before you can get another word out.

You call Tony back immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail. Call him again as you cross your kitchen and walk into the living room. Again as you switch on the TV. And again. And again.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” Your voice is shaking and you think you’re crying, but you can’t take your eyes off the screen long enough to check. “I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t handle it, any of it. Afghanistan broke me—I let it break me, and I know you tried to help, that’s what you always do, but I couldn’t let you. Be-Because you made it out. Seeing you, all it ever did was remind me that you did what I couldn’t, that you were stronger than I was, that you were handling things better than I was, and it hurt. It hurt so much and I felt so useless. And-and after everything that happened in that c-cave, all that time I was completely useless, and when I finally got out I still was! I couldn’t take that—I—“

Your voice breaks, maybe you’re sobbing or maybe you’ve run out of air, but you can’t stop now. Just like you couldn’t stop acknowledging that you love Tony the moment you couldn’t have him, because that’s just your thing, isn’t it?

“I’m working on it. I’m getting better and I’m sorry for locking you out, I’m sorry for pushing you away without an explanation because you deserved one. I’m sorry for expecting you to put all the work into our friendship, expecting you to reach out and support me and hold me up. I should have thought about how difficult things were for you as well, but I just couldn’t focus on anything but me—and I can’t undo that now, but I wish I had at least told you.

“You know what the worst part is?” you ask hoarsely as you watch Tony—Iron Man—your whole world—fall out of the sky in slow-motion, “I love you. Isn’t that just the saddest thing?”

*

It takes you three weeks to get up the courage to drive to the Stark Tower. When you step out of the elevator, Tony is there, dressed in an old MIT sweatshirt and loose pants, and you pull him into a hug before you can stop yourself. You don’t want to stop yourself.

And you don’t have everything figured out yet—you aren’t twenty-two any more and you threw that smelly couch out a long time ago, you still wake up screaming every so often, you still go to meetings, and you still see Meredith, and Tony and Pepper are in some sort of limbo you haven’t dared to ask about—but Tony hugs you back without hesitation.

You’re best friends, first and foremost, and for the first time in a long while you believe that that means something. You believe that it means everything. You believe that the two of you will figure it out in your own time.

@thevanishedillusion asked for a Fem!ReaderxTony Stark story set in Iron Man 1, who’s been best friends since their early childhood and who was with him in Afghanistan. Also unrequited love on her part. Not to say that it’ll stay unrequited, Tony definitely loves her, but I didn’t want to make the jump from Pepper to her too quick–it would have only made his feelings seem less genuine. Again, I took lots of liberties with your prompt but I still hope you enjoyed my take on your concept :)

One last time, merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it and a happy Sunday to everyone who doesn’t!

#ReRe writes #Secret Santa #Secret Santa gift #gift fic #fic #Tony Stark #Reader #FemReader x Tony Stark #unrequited love #angst #mental health issues #PTSD #trauma #Iron Man 1 AU #therapy #recovery #hand-wavy therapy and recovery descriptions #support groups #happyish ending #friendship #Pepper Potts #everyone has issues #bad communication #later some actual communication but not under the best circumstances #man i got emotional writing this #feels

[footbaliimagines]

confession (a whoever-you-want-it-to-be imagine)

this is a sequel to my other imagine, ‘unrequited’ which you can read here.

----

He used to be a confident guy.

The funny one, the loud one, the life of the party with a permanent smile on his face who was always guaranteed to produce a laugh, an assured smile and a witty comment.

(I mean, just ask any of his club’s supporters or watch one of the many ‘top 10 funny moments’ compilations he had featured in, scattered around Youtube with thousands of views and hundreds more comments.)

Not recently, though.

Recently, smiling had become somewhat of a chore.

He had grown accustomed to feeling those familiar face muscles stirring every time he was in her presence, used to laughing and feeling like a giddy thirteen-year-old with his first crush every time she looked at him or he heard her voice, sweet, gentle, like a song he wanted to play on repeat. But now, the realisation of what could be (or perhaps, what couldn’t) was starker than ever and smiling was a forced, enduring, difficult task that was only to be attempted when a camera was thrust in his face or a fan approached him in the streets.

It was foolish and naïve of him to have faith that this time, things would be different. Surely it was far too optimistic for him to believe that meeting a girl that was so perfect for him would happen easily, to believe that things would miraculously change, like a switch had been flicked, and that his romantic life would suddenly be taken over by a director of a shitty rom com.

He probably should have known better, or at least expected something like this was bound to happen. Her fiancé (the word still left a sour taste in his mouth) was 28, after all, 4 years older than her, and had often expressed his desire to settle down and start a family as soon as possible. He was a soppy, sentimental guy, and he couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't want to be her husband.

(In another universe, he would have put money on the inevitability of their engagement had he not been so hideously over invested.)

And, to make matters worse, he can’t for the life of him think of how he was going to tell her. Start things as normal, exchange meaningless, empty small talk, maybe offer a congratulatory hug on the engagement and then shoot her down and ask her to leave her fiancé?

Probably not his finest idea. Back to the drawing board it was.

Maybe he should just tell her flat out. No frills and no embellishments, just a straight-out confession of his feelings and then taking things as they come from then on.

(But he’s nervous, more nervous than he thinks he’s ever been, and he thinks it might be a better idea to ease into things more subtly, dip his toe and then reassess.)

(Then again, one glance at her and his brain would probably turn to mush.)

It's unfair and he wants to curse the world and blame the universe for what they've done and what they’ve put him through. How fucking cruel, how bloody awful, to introduce somebody like her and to tease him with her presence so often only to tug her away at the last moment, right out of his grasp, eliminating any possibility of a chance with her in the future. Dangling her in front of him in a cruel, torturous taunt. 

(A ‘nice-try-you’re-almost-there-but-not-quite’, a ‘you-thought-you’d-be-able-get-into-a-healthy-happy-relationship-that-easily-haha-jokes-on-you’.)

It’s humid outside, and the sunset gives the whole street a warm, pinkish hue. The streets are busy and people are flurrying back and forward and his new shoes are pinching his toes.

He’s at his local florist’s. It’s the week before Valentine’s Day, so there are roses plastered up and down and across the walls and big pink signs displaying ‘3-for-2 on all Valentine’s flowers! Tell the person you love how you feel with one of our handmade, personalised bunches!’ 

He’s about to throw up.

“Engaged doesn’t mean married. Don’t give up.” The florist, a middle-aged woman with paint-stained dungarees and a kind smile, tells him.

He knows she’s not married yet, knows that just because she said yes to a dumb stupid romantic question it doesn’t mean that all roads will be closed off forever (I mean, he spent the better part of 2015 binge watching all 9 seasons of The Office, and is hoping something akin to Jim and Pam will happen for him), but it’s as close to terrible as things could probably be.

Nevertheless, he smiles gratefully at her and opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. It’s like his throat is lined with sandpaper. “Uh, thanks. I, um-“ He stutters, mind whirling and nerves getting the better of him, so much so that even choking out a broken sentence is too difficult of a task.

“Save your words for her, love, not me.” She says humorously, picking up the bouquet she had been assembling and handing it over to him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

He’s gripping the flowers in his right hand so forcefully that his knuckles are turning white and the stems are at risk of snapping if his grasp tightens any further. In front of her, he’s absolutely undone. 

And her ring, a shiny band adorned with a single, big diamond in the centre is the first (and only) thing he can focus on when she pulls the door open and grins, pulling him in for a hug.

(She smells like roses and their fingers brush when she takes the flowers from him.)

“Hey! Is everything okay?”

He nods quickly, too quickly. “I brought you these.”

“You didn’t have to bring us anything, you know.” She teases, smiling. “Come through to the kitchen, I’ll go and put these in a vase. Should I stick the kettle on?”

He can only smile in response, fearing that if he opened his mouth the words would just refuse to come. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Uh, water will be fine.”

She sticks the kettle on and pours him a glass, hoisting herself up onto a bar stool, swinging her legs and grinning at him. He mirrors her actions. She’s beautiful, and he’s always known it, but now he can’t look at her without having a weird feeling, a mixture of nerves and tension and nausea, swirling in his gut. He’s always been the kind of person to focus on small things and take pleasure in intricate details, but his enchantment with the tiniest things about her elevates things to another, astronomical level. 

“So, what’s up?” She asks.

“Uh, I was wondering if we could have a chat?” He scratches his jaw.

She quirks her eyebrows, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. “Sure. I’m all ears.”

“So, um, engaged?”

As if by instinct, she glances proudly at her ring and a serene smile fixes on her face.

(It makes the thought of causing everything to crash down in front of her even more difficult to stomach.)

“Crazy, right? Can’t believe it myself.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Always wanted to get married?”

To his immense surprise, she snorts and shakes her head. “If you’d told 18-year-old me that I’d be engaged at 23 I would have slapped you. Far more interested in jagerbombs and ways to get guys in clubs to buy drinks for me.”

“Hm.”

“I mean, I know he wants to get married soon because he’s quite a few years older than me, and all that. Maybe kids. Well, I think they’re definitely part of his future. But I don’t know.”

She shudders, and only then does it become glaringly obvious that she’s just not right for him. Four years’ age difference is a long time. It meant different goals, different aims, different time frames. All in all, a bad fit.

(He would be a much better match for her.)

“Do you not want that?”

“I don’t know.”.

“Any reason why?”

“No reason. It’s just…weird. The thought of marriage is weird.”

“Weird how?”

“God, are you interrogating me?” She teases, crossing her arms across the chest.

His eyes are darting around the room like wildfire and his face is burning up, unable to settle on her gaze. She feels her face turn hot. “No,” he splutters, humiliated.

She lets out a small, nervous laugh and is just about to reply when the kettle pings. “What did you want to talk about? Wait, no- please don’t ask for the proposal story. I’ve already told my mum twice and all of my female relatives and my girlfriends about sixty-five times. If I have to do it again I think I might commit.”

He forces himself to chuckle, gritting his teeth as he fights back from telling her that there is nothing he wants to do less than listen to the story of how that ring ended up on her finger. “Hey, um, can I speak to you about something? Properly, I mean?”

“Oh, now I know what this is about.” There’s a glint in her eyes and he cocks his head at her. “Is this about when you want to rematch me at 8 ball pool?”

He lets out a breath and chokes out a stifled laugh. “Because I’m totally up for that. We could do it now, actually, if you wanted to! I just bought a new cue, and since discovering back spin my game has improved drastically, and- ”

“I just…I…”

“Hm?”

It’s like his voice is caught in his throat. “I- I…I’m in love with you.”

Her mouth falls open just a fraction, and he can feel his eyes sting with tears.

It’s been silent for too long, she hasn’t even made eye contact with him yet and he can envision it all in his brain. Rattled off responses of how much she values his friendship, excuses as to why nothing can happen, rehearsed and bullshit cliché sentences about how he has no idea how much of a great friend he is and why she truly hopes they can move past this together.

And he wants to be able to prepare himself, to think of alternatives and solutions in his brain and ways that maybe this won’t end horrifically, but he’s hit a dead end and all he can focus on is everything crashing down in front of him.

(He can’t help but think that there isn’t any way, other than taking her in his arms and kissing her and making everything feel better, that this could end well.)

“What?” Her voice has been reduced to a whisper.

“I just….I can’t go another day without telling you. And I know this is terrible timing and I probably seem like a huge prick but finding out that you were engaged was fucking….fucking- fuck, I can’t even find the word for it. But it was shit, and it made me realise that I need you to know, more than anything. Regardless of the outcome. I just have to tell you.” His voice cracks and his eyes well with tears and she begins to fiddle with that stupid goddamn ring in front of her waist.

She falls silent again, chewing on her bottom lip as he watches her eyes well with tears. A single droplet gathers in the corner of her eye and threatens to fall down her cheek, and it takes all the self-restraint in the world to stop himself from reaching forward to wipe it away.

“Please say something.” He speaks hoarsely.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Something. Anything.”

“Look-“ She begins to speak and he can tell from her tone of voice it’s not going to end well. “You’re a great friend. To me, and to him. And I appreciate you more than you know, I swear, and-“

“I think I should go.”

“You don’t have to leave.” She reaches out to grab his arm and he leaps away from her touch as if being burnt. “Please, stay.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” He says, exasperated. “I just want an answer. Please.”

Her face breaks out into a soft, sad smile, and her eyes are welling with tears. She looks up at him and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for telling me.”

Her voice and demeanour changes. He drops his voice. “But?”

“I can’t.” She croaks.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t do this.”

He presses, “Do what? Be with me? Talk to me?”

“I can’t marry him.”

He feels his stomach drop.

“I’m really sorry. I think you should leave.”

 --

A.N.: i’m back!!!! finally written and uploaded the (much requested) second part of unrequited!! i really thought i’d be able to wrap everything up in one more piece but i couldn’t fit the above part and the ending (most of which is already written) into one piece and make it seem realistic at the same time if that makes sense. plus I really really really want this series (probably not the right word??) to have a happy ending (it will do, i promise!!!) and I wasn’t sure how to squeeze his feelings about the proposal & him confessing & her breaking it off with her fiancé & a happy ending all in one.

part 3 (jesus christ i’m dragging this on) should be up in the next few days because the bulk of it is already written!!!

(can you see how inspired I was by jim and pam and the office lol….took heavy inspo from pam’s response to jim and what michael said to jim too haha)

please give feedback as always and say hello or send in requests here & have a nosy at my masterlist if you can!!!

millie xxx

#my writing #football imagine #footballer imagine #football fanfiction #whoever you want it to be #whoever you want it to be imagine #right time to list as many footballers as possible lol #aaron ramsey #calum chambers #antoine griezmann #julian brandt #rob holding #hector bellerin