#and afterwards i sat there in the corner knitting for all i was worth. just repeating to myself 'not now. i am not killing myself now.'

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

if you struggle with mental health, one piece of advice i would genuinely give you is learn to knit.

or crochet: something repetitive to do with your hands, assuming you're capable of it. if you're like me and learnt to knit as a kid but let it lie fallow for a long time, it may be that starting a large, simple project (for me it was a cloak, but a blanket could work too) gets you back into it. or maybe doing something smaller, idk. i personally found socks really hard for a while because they felt smaller than my cloak but weren't getting Done quick enough for me. as i've sped up i find it more interesting to knit socks.

regardless, a repetitive task is great for emotional regulation (also see: autistic stimming), and something that you can look at and go hey i've done something, unlike simply using a fidget toy, can also help to pick your mood up when the brain is being cruel.

it's also useful as a conversation starter or distracter if you don't know what to talk about. if you're wanting to talk to older people also you're more likely to reel them in with knitting (i work better with older people, and 99% of people who ask what i'm knitting are older than me). it also gives you the opportunity to not make eye contact because you're busy knitting, even if you're still carrying on a conversation. if you're absolutely stuck for conversation you can count your stitches and people might stop bothering you.

if you have trouble focusing without doing something with your hands, you can knit! i knit a lot in church, and it helps me to focus on what's being said.

i probably have more reasons you should pick up knitting, but i can't recall them right now, so yeah.

#knitting #catkin knits #i remember one specific time back in october where i was sitting in Bible class utterly unable to stop the most horrible thoughts going #through my head. i was knitting as fast as i've ever knitted. no exaggeration to say i was knitting to stop myself from attempting to die. #and afterwards i sat there in the corner knitting for all i was worth. just repeating to myself 'not now. i am not killing myself now.' #and someone saw me in the corner frantically knitting and came to ask if i was ok. and asked how my mental health was. #must've been end of oct bc it was the first wednesday after i was out of psych ward. and i was having lots of thoughts about the method #i'd used for what is still my most recent suicide attempt. which was in october. and i had the means with me. #it would have been a horrible thing to do. to kill oneself at Bible class. with children around. but i wasn't in a particularly hinged stat #of mind at the time. that's approximately the only clear memory i have of that time in fact. #anyway idk why im thinking of that rn when im fine

[mianavs]

half agony, half hope

“you pierce my soul. i am half agony, half hope.” - jane austen

Oikawa x f!reader, regency!au, angst, romance, hurt/comfort

for @sakeomi​’s the chosen one collab

a/n: fueled by my love for jane austen and a bridgerton binge. some regency/nobility jargon but nothing too fancy. hope you like it :)

a huuuuge thank you to @tetsunormous​ for taking the time to look this over. you’re a gem!

wc: 9k+

Peering out the small window of your family’s carriage, you couldn’t help but scowl at the ridiculously nice weather you were having en route back to the ton. The weather had also been lovely the day you left society which you took as an affirmation that you’d made the right decision in leaving. Now, you didn’t feel that same hopeful sentiment you did back then and had hoped lousy weather would delay your return, but it seemed that your luck with the weather had run out.

The sun shone brightly and was accompanied by the perfect amount of white fluffy clouds amidst a beautiful blue sky. There was a light breeze that kept your bonneted head cool enough to prevent beads of sweat from trailing down your brow, and you were also positive that Henry, your footman, was enjoying the mild weather outside on his box seat as he escorted you from your family’s country estate back to town.

You drew back the small curtain and leaned back onto your cushioned seat before picking up the stack of letters beside you and thumbing through them until you found the first of many unopened ones. Setting aside the others—all mostly from your father demanding your return—you examined all twelve letters that bore an unbroken turquoise seal and were addressed to you from Toru Oikawa. They all had a date scribbled on the bottom right corner, with the first one dating back to six months after you left town. You successfully fought off the urge to open the letters and piled them up with the others before putting them away in a wooden box—a present from your late mother.

 It was hard to believe that a year had passed since you begged your father to let you retire to the country after witnessing an immoral scene no respectable person should ever witness—let alone the fiancée of one of the perpetrators. Looking back, you could firmly say it wasn’t the shame that drove you to abandon society and your fiancé but the heart-wrenching agony you felt from seeing the man you loved with another woman.

While love matches were a rare thing between members of the aristocracy, you had truly believed yours to be one of them, and it all started from the moment you first beheld Toru.

It had been the annual debutante ball hosted by the monarchy, and you, along with a dozen other seventeen-year-old ladies, were making your debut into society. The ball was strictly for the aristocracy only, and, as a result, only members of the nobility were able to mingle with each other.

While on the surface, it was meant to start the matchmaking season by introducing the newest line-up of ladies to the ton’s eligible bachelors and their mothers, there were other activities taking place simultaneously. Racy affairs took place under a cover of darkness in hidden corners or outside in the gardens, and business deals of all sorts were struck up in gambling rooms between men as they dealt cards and downed glasses of brandy.

Of course, being the naïve debutante that you were, thoughts on the covert activities taking place were beyond you. All you could think about was keeping your head held high, back straight, and minding your step as you walked to the dais where the royal family sat, to not trip over the hem of your new silk ball gown.

After a satisfactory curtsy and subtle nods from the King and Queen, you took your place next to your father, the Count. The butterflies in your stomach settled as you watched the debutantes with better curtsies, looks, and family backgrounds get asked to dance by eligible young men. After a couple of songs, apprehension ate away at your calm demeanor as you wondered if standing at the sidelines in the balls to come would be your fate. Beside you, the Count shifted uncomfortably, and you took notice of his knitted brows as he scanned the room for someone before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

Just when you’d resigned yourself to a dance-less evening and twiddled with your dance card, a pair of black boots stood before you and captured your attention. You looked up to find yourself face to face with the man that would become your fiancé—Toru Oikawa, the Duke of Seijoh.

He was everything a young man should’ve been and more. He was effortlessly charming and handsome with his velvety brown eyes that remained fixed on you throughout that evening, tousled brown locks that added to his boyish looks, and a roguish smile that never failed to take your breath away.

Toru remained by your side that entire evening. The two of you spent half of the evening dancing and the other half talking about your interests and hobbies. It didn’t take much for an innocent girl like you to fall for the first man that spared you any attention, so by the end of the evening, when Toru placed a gentle kiss on your gloved hand, you were already half in love with the man.

Toru spent a considerable amount of time wooing you during those two months prior to your engagement in your defense. He called upon your home at least three times a week, during which the two of you split your time in your drawing room conversing over tea, admiring your estate’s gardens, or promenading through the town.

It was during those times that you realized just how popular your suitor was simply from the jealous stares that ladies would send your way. At first, it was easy to ignore them, but as time went on and they grew bolder in their actions, you often found yourself biting back tears during assemblies or rejecting tea invitations to avoid subjecting yourself to their snipes.

While being the object of the Duke of Seijoh’s interest did ostracize you from the other ladies, you found that it was worth it as long as Toru’s charming smiles and warm words continued to fill your dull life with love. That was the belief you held onto up until that fateful morning when Toru arrived with flowers and an engagement ring before getting down on one knee. Besides your initial meeting at the debutante ball, the day of your engagement was the happiest day of your life, made even more special by one of the Count’s rare smiles and an albeit awkward embrace.

Unlike the fantasy you had already concocted in your mind, the reality of your engagement was disheartening to say the least. Toru stopped visiting your home altogether and avoided you at balls and other social events. While you hid away in corners, sipped on a glass of port, and made-up excuses for him, Toru fluttered about the assembly rooms chattering away with friends and dancing with ladies that never failed to mock you afterwards.

During those rare occasions when he graced you with his presence, any complaints you took up with Toru were shot down as petty jealousy. His smile would disappear from his handsome face, and his eyebrows would knit together as if you were submitting him to a torture session by just speaking with him.

“What other proof of my love do you need?” He would ask and raise your ring-clad hand for effect. “You will be my duchess and the mother of my children. That is all that should matter to you.”

You spent the majority of the fall and winter seasons planning for your wedding with only the guidance of the Marchioness of Niiyama. She had been widowed at the young age of twenty and had inherited her husband’s title, but above all, she was Toru’s childhood friend. While you found the Marchioness witty and extremely helpful when it came to wedding planning and understanding Toru, you found yourself missing your deceased mother more than ever and wondered what sort of advice she would give regarding your relationship.

The only time you saw Toru was during the Christmas celebrations and official events where the two of you were expected to attend as a couple. Other than that, you didn’t see or hear from your fiancé and spent your days wondering what went wrong while ignoring the conclusion you came to every time.

Those thoughts would continue to plague your mind until the last ball of the spring season when you decided to take a stroll in the gardens only to find Toru and the person that had been your confidante over the last couple of months—the Marchioness. Her long willowy arms were wrapped around Toru’s frame with her gloved fingers tangled in his brown locks as the two shared a lover’s kiss.

The sight was like falling into frigid waters. A numbness washed over, and you stood frozen in place while the air around you thickened until you couldn’t breathe. There was a disconnect between your body that remained still and your mind that was full of screaming thoughts demanding you move, confront them, or leave the premises altogether. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with the marchioness that the spell you were under broke, and you fled the scene with hot tears stinging your eyes.

That night was the first time you cried in front of your father since the death of your mother. It was also the first time you personally asked him for anything and, to your surprise, he acquiesced.

For the remainder of that night, the house was abuzz in preparation for your departure at dawn. You also didn’t sleep a wink that night and instead gathered all of the letters, dresses, bonnets, and gloves Toru sent and tossed them into the fire. With swollen eyes and still in your ball gown, you sat in front of the fire and watched the items you once treasured burn until the flames died out and only ashes were left.

In the end, you left for your family’s country estate before the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon but not before taking off the ring on your left hand’s fourth finger and leaving it on the windowsill of your bedchamber.

“Apologies for the delay, my lady, but we’ll be arriving in the evening.” Henry called out to you from his seat at the front.

“Thank you for letting me know, Henry.” You replied and continued to flip through the documents you’d prepared prior to leaving your country estate.

When your sorrow turned into indignation, you decided to do everything in your power to put an end to your engagement. What started as a simple letter asking your father to end things with Toru on your behalf snowballed into endless hours of research and lessons on all matters relating to your family’s properties, business ventures, and finances. The catalyst? Your father’s curt reply explaining the details of your engagement contract.

The engagement also includes a business deal the duke struck up with me that will save us from ruin. It cannot be broken off simply because you’ve fallen out of love with him. Stop this nonsense and come home immediately.

Your Father,

Now a year later, you returned with a vast amount of knowledge on your family’s businesses and the large debt accumulated from decades of bad business moves. It was a sheer miracle your family hadn’t lost your properties yet, and it was easy to see why your father had readily agreed to an engagement with someone as powerful as Toru Oikawa.

He had offered your father enough money to settle your family’s debts and then some to invest back into Seijoh’s multiple businesses. While it was a fair enough deal on the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder why Toru had chosen you. If it was purely to find a wife and gain a life-long investor, there were plenty of other families in dire situations with daughters of marriageable age that would’ve fit the bill. Whatever his reasoning, you made it your mission to find out during your inevitable encounter with him.

The tired whinny of the horses woke you from your slumber to an almost pitch-black carriage. Henry rustled outside while you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and straightened your bonnet. The door opened a moment later, and your footman greeted you with a weary smile and an extended hand.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

You took his hand and stepped down in front of your family’s estate, illuminated for the night. Although smaller than your family’s country estate, the imposing white stone building had been your family’s ancestral seat for generations and held memories that you either held near and dear to your heart or buried in the darkest corners of your mind.

“Rest well, Henry.” You said and gave your footman a small smile. “You’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Henry replied with a low bow before returning to the carriage.

Turning to face your home, the front doors opened, and a blanket of light from home illuminated the pathway before you. Almost immediately, a flurry of maids exited the building and made their way to you, wearing sheepish looks and emitting a cacophony of apologies for not greeting you properly. Walking into your home surrounded by bustling maids and butlers carrying your luggage, you took a deep breath and braced yourself for the mess that awaited you.

While a year ago, the sight of hundreds of lilacs would have brought tears of joy to your eyes, the pungent fragrance of your favorite flower that filled your bedroom made you nauseous the longer you remained. You raised a handkerchief to your face and picked up one of the dozens of turquoise name cards attached to the bouquets that, sure enough, had Toru Oikawa printed in gold.

Crumpling the name card, you turned to your maids. “Get these out of my sight. The smell is making me ill.”

The maids exchanged a confused look before one of them spoke up. “But, my lady, His Grace delivered these himself—”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” you replied, tossing the crumpled name card onto a bouquet. “But I still want them taken out immediately.”

“Y-yes, my lady, right away!”

As the maids went to work, a knock on the door caught your attention, and you found the head butler standing at the door. The sight was one you were accustomed to and, wordlessly, you approached the elder man already knowing what he’d say.

“Greetings, my lady. I hope your trip wasn’t too tiring.” He said with a slight bow

“I’m assuming father wants to see me?” You replied curtly.

“Yes, Lord L/N is waiting for you in his study. Please, allow me to escort you there.”

“There is no need for that. I will see myself there.” Noticing the weary look on his wrinkled face, you softened your tone. “You may retire for the night.”

After dismissing the butler and removing your travel coat and bonnet, you made your way to your father’s study on the other side of the manor. Standing outside the study, you straightened your dress and took a deep breath before knocking once on the large mahogany door.

“Come in,” a low voice rumbled from the other side, and you opened the double doors to reunite with your father.

The Count sat at a table instead of his desk and upon closer inspection, you noticed the array of pastries accompanied by a teapot and two cups. The refreshments caught you off guard, and you stood awkwardly trying to process the situation that was unlike any of the other meetings with your father.

While you were sure some fathers excessively doted on their daughters, the Count wasn’t one of them and only grew more distant after the death of your mother. He either remained locked away in his study or went on business trips. Family dinners happened only once a month, and even then, they were stiff affairs with him asking about your education and you replying with short answers. The only semblance of affection from him came in the form of gifts with short notes delivered to you by the head butler. It was in those notes that your father would awkwardly convey his affection by congratulating you on an academic achievement or wishing you a happy birthday.

“Sit, Y/N,” the Count stated gesturing to the chair across from him. “I had them prepare this fresh for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” you replied and took a seat, settling your hands on your lap.

The Count took a sip from his cup, and when you didn’t partake of the food, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Must you make things so complicated from the get-go?”

Any fondness you felt at the sight of your father and the display he prepared for you dissipated the moment he uttered those disgruntled words.

“I apologize if my wanting of a respectful husband complicates things for you.”

Your thinly veiled anger was somewhat of a shock to your father, who had never been on the receiving end of it. He cleared his throat and replaced his surprise with a look of disapproval.

“Whatever happened a year ago, I am certain that Oikawa has thoroughly repented. He’s been visiting me over the past six months for news of you since you never replied to his letters. He even spent the entire day waiting for your return.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest while a harsh, derisive laugh ripped from your throat. “Yes, I’m sure the lucrative deal the two of you made had absolutely nothing to do with his visits. Tell me, father, how much more did he offer you?”

The Count averted his gaze and lightly shook his head. “You’ve changed so much I hardly recognize you. Was his transgression so great to turn you into this?”

“I doubt whatever I say will change your mind on the matter.” You replied coldly and took a bite from a cookie. “I just hope whatever he offered didn’t affect our agreement.”

He took another sip from his tea and fixed his gaze on you, his own face undecipherable. You steeled your resolve under his scrutiny and held your breath waiting for his answer.

“If you can find another alternative, be it via marriage or not, that will provide our family with the funds needed to get us back on our feet, I will do everything in my power to annul the engagement.”

You exhaled. “Thank y-”

“But you must receive him when he comes tomorrow,” the Count concluded, setting down his teacup.

You finished your cookie and stood up. “I already planned on it. Thank you for the dessert. I shall take my leave now.”

The Count nodded his approval and you sank into a curtsey before turning your heel and leaving your father’s study. Once outside, you leaned back against the large double doors, relishing your small victory against your father.

Despite being completely worn out from the trip, you tossed and turned in bed only managing a couple hours of sleep as thoughts of Toru filled your mind. While it was relatively easy to occupy your mind with other things during the day, he was a constant figure in your head at night that  always invaded your dreams.

Toru Oikawa still resided within your heart, whether you chose to admit it or not, and your father’s revelation of his visits during your time away proved it. It had been a fleeting sensation but your heart had wavered in that moment.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, you had already bathed, dressed, and sat on your room’s balcony nibbling on a plate of fruit. It was all you could stomach while you waited for Toru’s impending arrival.

“Would you like me to style your hair, my lady?” The outspoken maid from the day before inquired hesitantly.

Raising a hand to your hair, you considered her suggestion for a moment before deciding against it. A year ago, you would have spent all morning primping for Toru’s visit, but the situation was different now, and there was no need for elaborate hairstyles.

“That won’t be necessary.”

You’d just finished your breakfast when you heard the faint whinnies of a horse that only grew louder. Rising from your seat, you were able to make out a male figure on horseback wearing a navy-blue tailcoat that approached your home. As the gentleman drew closer, his wind-swept brown hair came to view, and that was all you needed to verify his identity.

You wrung the cloth napkin in your hands before dropping it on your plate. “It seems we have a visitor to greet.”

The reunion between you and Toru was one that you’d played out in your mind many times over the course of the year. You’d memorized impassioned speeches and even practiced storming out of the room, yet nothing could have prepared you for the torrent of emotions that washed over you the moment you stepped into the drawing room where Toru waited.

He was on his feet as soon as you entered, tugging on his silver waistcoat as his eyes swept over your form. It had only been a year yet Toru seemed to have aged five. While still handsome, his boyish looks were gone and replaced with a weariness beyond his twenty-three years. Instead of the air of confidence he once gave off, the Toru before you appeared hesitant and—dare you say it—ashamed.

It wasn’t until his brown eyes locked onto yours that a glimmer of the light that used to radiate within his orbs appeared, and you felt your legs tremble with every step you took. A ragged breath left his lips that broke into a hesitant smile before he took a step forward that turned into another until he was able to take you into his arms.

“My love,” he breathed into the crook of your neck. “You’re back.”

You couldn’t breathe or move, as he tightened his hold around you. All you could do was stand there and feel every shallow breath he took as his entire body trembled against yours. He held you with a desperation that made your chest tighten and throat close up.

“I-I thought I lost you, Y/N,” Toru murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to make it all up. I’ll make you the happiest woman alive and you’ll never regret giving me this second chance. Oh, my love, I’m so happy you’re back that-”

Every word he spoke was like a needle poking and prodding at you until the pain became too much and you broke free from the trance you were in. A snarl ripped through your throat and you pushed Toru away with all of your strength.

“Let. Go!”

He stumbled backwards, steadying himself with a chair, and looked back at you as if you’d struck him across the face instead of breaking free from his suffocating hold. For a moment, you almost felt guilty for rejecting him when you saw the distress in his eyes, but the memory of his betrayal resurfaced and anger took ahold of you once more.

“You’re gravely mistaken if you think I have forgiven you, Your Grace. You and the Marchioness have shamed me in the worst possible way and I refuse to submit myself to a life of misery by your side. If I am meeting you today, it is only to put an end to this engagement. I’m sure you and your lover can find another girl to fool.”

Your voice quivered and tears stung your eyes, but you kept your head held high as the words tumbled out of your mouth like water bursting from a dam.

The color drained from Toru’s face as he stared at you aghast. His mouth opened and closed a multitude of times before it settled into a thin line. He tore his eyes from you, running a hand through his hair before a defeated sigh escaped him.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” He asked, facing you once again with the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes.

Your throat constricted painfully but you answered him anyway. “No, I didn’t and I refuse to do so. I’ve had enough of your lies and false proclamations of love-”

“I do love you!”

Toru’s declaration came out hurried, ragged, and desperate. It reverberated off the walls of the drawing room and echoed in your ears eliciting a shallow gasp from your trembling lips.

“I fell in love with you over the course of our courtship.” He admitted, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “It wasn’t what I expected. You...weren’t what I expected. Before I knew it, I found myself wanting to be by your side. You’re so beautiful, intelligent, and devoted and the moments I spent with you were the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life.”

“Why me?” You asked the question that had been on your mind for months, unable to wait any longer. “Why did you pick me?”

Toru’s shoulder’s drooped and dejection replaced desperation. “Your father’s title, your family name that is as old as the royal family itself, and your financial situation were all factors that singled you out as the best candidate.”

“Did…the Marchioness have any say in the matter?” Your voice was so quiet it wouldn’t have surprised you if he hadn’t heard it at all. There was a long silence and all you could hear was the drumming of your heart against your chest. Just when you were about to repeat the question, Toru spoke.

“She was the one that brought up your name.”

His words were like a slap to your face.

“Leave! At once! I cannot stand being in the same room with you.” You glared daggers at the man not caring if he was a duke and you the daughter of a mere count.

“Please allow me to explain the situation! It’s not what you think—”

“There is nothing to explain, Your Grace. Our relationship is over and if you don’t annul our engagement then I will find a way to do it myself.”

Your threat washed away the obstinacy in Toru’s eyes and a haunting hollow look glossed over them. His hand released the chair he’d been holding onto for the majority of your encounter, and he dragged his feet towards the door.

He surprised you by stopping beside you, and for a moment, you believed he would take you into his arms once again and beg you to forgive him. Only, he didn’t.

“Read the letters I sent you. They contain everything I’ve ever wanted to tell you. Only then will I agree to put an end to our engagement.”

His words haunted you throughout the day up until the evening when you sat at your desk and traced the turquoise seal on one of Toru’s letters. It would have been so easy to break the seals and read through the letters but the thought of falling prey to his pretty words stopped you.

The following morning, the plan to end your engagement and save your family from ruin started with a package from the investigator you hired back in the country. Within it you pulled out pages and pages of information on all of the families of the aristocracy. The reports included the names and ages of the members, the business endeavors of each of the families, and the properties they owned. Other details were also included like their financial status, list of acquaintances, and town gossip.

Over the course of a week, you were able to go through each report and compile a list of potential families you could strike up a deal with. The longer you delved into the background of every family on that list, the shorter said list became until one last name stood out amongst the rest—Kageyama.

According to the report, Viscount Kageyama had been successful in his business endeavors over the last couple of years and it was all thanks to his prodigal son. At the young age of twenty-one, Tobio Kageyama was racking up accomplishments left and right with no sign of slowing down. With a military background like his father, he was an excellent athlete and hunter and won almost all of the competitions he participated in. It was his eye for business ventures and investments, however, that caught your attention and made him a possible marriage candidate.

Over the past three years, he’d managed to turn his family’s failing businesses into prosperous ones and used those profits to invest in other groundbreaking ventures. That was the sort of advice you and your father needed to turn your debts into profits and it just so happened that Tobio wasn’t engaged to anyone.

You found that odd.

For a young man of his age with an acceptable family background and a natural talent for business to be without a fiancée was unheard of. The mothers of society would never let a man like him slip past their radars so you sought to find out why.

Rummaging through his family’s report, you searched for the list of acquaintances hoping to find a mutual one that might give you more information on him. Your eyes stopped on a last name that you’d recognized from an invitation to a tea party that would take place in two days’ time.

Turning away from the document, you called out to the outspoken maid that always seemed to be in the room when you needed her. “What is your name?”

“It is Akane, my lady.” She replied with a deep curtsey. “How can I be of service?”

You smiled, thoroughly pleased with how quick-witted she was. “Send word to the Yachi estate letting them know I will be attending Lady Hitoka’s tea party.”

Akane’s eyes flitted to the table then back to you before a small smile played on her lips. “Right away, my lady.”

Hitoka Yachi was somewhat of an outcast in polite society despite her caring and gentle personality. Her mother was an outspoken countess in her own right that had married for love and, and as a result, Hitoka was an heiress—something that was frowned upon by most. The two of you had bonded over the fact that you both had lost a parent at a young age; she had lost her father and you’d lost your mother.

Over the course of the year, you’d exchanged a letter here and there with Hitoka, and she’d been kind enough to reach out when you returned. While you initially hadn’t planned on attending social events until you’d broken your engagement, you figured rekindling your relationship with Hitoka while garnering information on her friend, Tobio, wouldn’t be too bad.

The day of the tea party, you dressed in a simple cotton dress with small flowers printed on the fabric and had Akane sweep your hair into a simple updo. Since the death of your mother, maids had come and gone under the head maid’s strict supervision, but none of them had stood out like Akane. You found her a smart and observant girl that worked as your eyes and ears around the estate. For that reason, you decided to keep her close and had her accompany you during your outing.

The Yachi’s manor was located in the outskirts of town and gave off the appearance of a large country home while less than an hour away from town. It was a beautiful home surrounded by gardens that, in the spring, bloomed exquisite flowers of all shapes, shades, and sizes.

You were escorted to the rose garden by one of the manor’s butlers where Hitoka and another young woman were already seated at a table filled to the edge with pastries, bite-sized sandwiches, fruits, and a porcelain teapot with matching cups and saucers.

“Y/N!” Hitoka exclaimed and leapt to feet and took your hands into hers. “Oh, it’s been far too long!”

“It’s nice to see you again, Hitoka,” you replied earnestly. “Thank you for your wonderful letters this past year. They were a great comfort to me.”

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks. “I’m glad my silly letters had such a wonderful effect.”

She drew you to the table where her other guest was standing by. Upon closer inspection, the young woman’s distinct black shining hair and stormy blue eyes triggered your memory and her name resurfaced just as Hitoka introduced you.

“Kiyoko, this Y/N L/N.” Hitoka said, gesturing to you. “Y/N, this is Kiyoko Sawamura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kiyoko.”

“Likewise, Lady Y/N.” She replied, her voice quiet but firm.

The three of you took your seats and Hitoka took the lead in the conversation cluing you in on what they’d been discussing. You caught a couple of words here and there but your main focus was on the woman to your left.

Three years ago at her debut, Kiyoko Sawamura had been declared a diamond of the first water by the Queen herself and had caused quite a stir amongst all of the eligible bachelors at the time. As the only daughter of the Duke of Karasuno, not only was she stunningly gorgeous but she came from a noble family whose wealth and power surpassed even that of the Oikawa’s. Her engagement to Yuji Terushima, heir to the Marquess of Johzenji, had been the announcement of the year—at least until the annulment three months later.

Rumors ran rampant that summer over what had actually happened but they all lead back to a cheating scandal involving Yuji and a maid from his household. Of course, Kiyoko faced the brunt of the ordeal since Yuji fled society like a coward along with his maid who ended up pregnant with his child, but she never succumbed to the pressure and kept her head held high with the support of her family. The last piece of gossip you’d heard regarding Kiyoko was that she’d found love with the son of Baron Tanaka.

To say you admired the woman was an understatement; she was everything you wanted to be but never could. Where she had braved society, you had fled to the country for a year like a coward.

Hitoka’s cheery voice broke through your cloud of dark thoughts. “…he’s been trying to get Tobio to attend more social events for the past two years, and he finally succeeded! Tobio will be attending Viscount Udai’s ball this Saturday.”

“I told you if anyone would be able to convince him it would be Shoyo. After all, they are best friends whether they admit it or not,” Kiyoko replied before taking a sip of her tea.

“Tobio Kageyama will be attending a ball?” You muttered, mostly to yourself but Hitoka heard you and responded.

“Yes! Are you acquainted with him, Y/N?”

“No, I am not,” you admitted sheepishly and made up an excuse on the spot. “My father mentioned him the other day and spoke of his achievements.”

“He is very talented when it comes to making money, but I just wish he would let people see the other sides of him. He’s actually a kind person underneath his gruff exterior,” Hitoka lamented before changing the course of the conversation.

“Will you also be attending the ball with His Grace?”

You plastered a smile on your face and prayed it looked genuine. “I’m not sure if Toru will be able to attend but I certainly plan on it.”

Despite your relationship with Hitoka, the real reason behind your leave wasn’t something you disclosed to her or anyone else for that matter. You had already dealt with enough ridicule from being Toru’s slighted fiancée and had no desire to add more fuel to the fire by revealing the details behind his betrayal.

“He must be awfully busy these days. It’s been months since he has attended any large social gatherings.”

Your friend’s revelation was shocking to say the least, and the smile on your face faltered. Kiyoko’s sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on your face, but her scrutiny only lasted a second before it was gone.

“Ruling over a duchy is no easy feat. My father is very strict with my brother’s education.”

“Oh, how is Daichi these days? I saw Yui the other day at the modiste and…”

Hitoka’s chatter faded into the background and her revelation of Toru’s absence in society echoed in your head. You had expected Toru to take advantage of your absence to the fullest and yet he hadn’t. A single thought amidst the storm in your mind stood out amongst the rest, and your heart wavered.

Maybe he’s truly become a changed man.

And yet, the cursed image that had been branded in your mind returned and dashed away that hopeful thought, replacing it with a more cynical one.

Or maybe he’s just showing his devotion to his true love, the Marchioness.

For the remainder of the gathering, your mind continued to drift to and from the conversation until the refreshments were cleared and the sun began to set. After bidding the ladies farewell, you returned to your carriage with Akane following closely behind you.

“Akane, do we still have some of the tea leaves I brought with me from the country?”

“Yes, my lady. I daresay there is enough to give away.” Akane replied and you smiled before turning to face your perceptive maid and ally.

“Good. Have some packed and sent to Lady Hitoka and Lady Kiyoko.” You paused before adding, “and save some for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

While you could have easily waited until the Viscount’s ball to be introduced to Tobio, time was of the essence and you needed to set your plan in motion prior to meeting him. If everything went as planned and Tobio proved to be receptive to an agreement—be it one of marriage or not—then the ball would be the perfect place to present your terms and come to a verbal agreement.

With that in mind, you started drafting a letter to Tobio introducing yourself as Hitoka’s friend and provided him with a brief outline of what you wanted, offered, and how it would benefit him and his family. You reread the letter thrice and debated including the possibility of a marriage between the two of you. From what you’d gathered, Tobio Kageyama was a straightforward man that valued honesty, so you added it in while making it clear that it would be one of mutual respect. You knew it was risky sending a letter to a man who was no better than a stranger but it was a risk you were willing to take.

The couple of days prior to the ball you spent preoccupying your mind with business and family matters to steer your mind away from Tobio’s pending reply. It wasn’t until a day before the ball that Akane interrupted you to bring you your correspondence. There was a sealed letter and one short message that you picked up and read without a second thought.

 I will not ask to escort you to Viscount Udai’s ball as I do not deserve that honor. I only ask that you not deny me the first dance as your fiancé.

Yours,

Toru

 As much as you dreaded the idea of being in the same social function as Toru, let alone dancing with him, you had appearances to keep up and would have to permit it for propriety’s sake. You tried not to dwell too much on his intimate farewell address and shifted your gaze to the sealed letter, which upon closer inspection, had the Kageyama family crest pressed into the navy-blue wax. With trembling fingers, you broke the seal and unfolded the paper, ever eager to read its contents.

 Lady Y/N,

I was very surprised when I read your letter simply because I did not know who you were. Now that I am more familiar with you and your family, I am interested in your offer and would like to speak with you more at Viscount Udai’s gathering.

Until then,

Tobio Kageyama

 A sigh of relief left your lips. Your gamble had paid off and Tobio was considering your offer. If you played your cards right during your meeting then it would only be a matter of time before you would be free of Toru Oikawa while saving your family.

Your eyes stole a glance at Toru’s note. While you should have tossed the note into the fire, your fingers ran over the dry ink until they stopped at the word before his name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took his note and placed it inside the wooden box that contained his other letters.

According to Akane, Viscount Udai’s ball was rumored to be the grandest event of the season and when you stepped out of your carriage with Henry’s help and peered up at the bustling and glowing manor, you found no fault in her statement.

The ballroom was brightly illuminated with chandeliers of glass. Curtains and elaborate tapestries of white and gold lined the walls. White flowers of all sorts hung from the ceilings, lined the doors, and wrapped around columns. The room was something out of a fairytale and the people that filled it had all dressed the part. Glancing around the room, you searched for a familiar face only to hear your name called.

“Y/N!”

Hitoka stood on the other side of the ballroom surrounded by Kiyoko and other gentlemen you didn’t recognize. One of the gentlemen turned his head in your direction and stopped when he saw you. Approaching the small party, your attention remained fixed on the man whose midnight blue eyes were glued to your face with an intensity that unnerved you.

Hitoka’s gloved hands reached out to yours and drew you into the circle of people. Now facing the gentleman, his gaze softened slightly before it shifted to Hitoka.

“Y/N, this is Tobio Kageyama. He’s the man I was telling you about the other day.”

Hitoka’s hand patted Tobio’s upper arm before addressing him. “Tobio, this is Y/N L/N. She’s the friend that just arrived from the country.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” You replied demurely and sank into a curtsey.

“Likewise, my lady.” Tobio’s reply was stiff but his bow was even stiffer and earned him an elbow to the ribs from the shorter man beside him.

Introductions to the other two gentlemen were made and you learned that the shorter man next to Tobio was none other than Shoyo Hinata, a famous jockey and son of a Baron. The man with a roguish grin next to Kiyoko turned out to be her fiancée, Ryunosuke Tanaka.

At that moment, the musicians took their seats and readied their instruments while the room exploded with young men and women finding their partners for the first dance. Your eyes swept over the room in a cursory glance, and to your relief, Toru was nowhere to be found.

Kiyoko and her fiancée left to the dance floor first. They were soon followed by Shoyo and Hitoka but not before the former shot Tobio a pointed look and gestured over to you with a tilt of his head. You found the jockey’s not-so-subtle indication amusing but played off having seen anything. Tobio cleared his throat and you turned your head to face him.

“May I have this dance, my—”

“No, you may not.”

Toru’s voice rang out from behind you. It had a hard-edged quality to it that you’d never heard and sent shivers down your spine. Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hip and hand. The intimacy of the gesture left you stunned and unable to reject him.

“My fiancée has already promised me her first dance.”

Toru’s warm breath tickled your exposed neck and set your face aflame. Tobio shifted his weight and the action garnered your attention. His brow was furrowed as his eyes searched yours for an explanation you couldn’t give him.

Still in your stupor, Toru drew you away to the dance floor. You opened your mouth to say something but the music started and the couples around you bowed and curtseyed in greeting before they began to move.

The muted chatter around you, the soft music in the background, and Toru’s eyes, darker than usual, drinking in your appearance left you speechless. He looked as handsome as ever in his black tailcoat, golden waistcoat, tousled chocolate brown locks, straight nose, and a pink inviting mouth. Completely mesmerized by him, any ill-will you bore him became non-existent. You drowned in his dangerous pools of brown that disarmed you and left you bare. His touch burned through the fabric of your dress and gloves, branding you with his hands.

It was like the first time you ever danced with him only it wasn’t. Where butterflies had once fluttered about in your stomach, waves of something now swirled within you and pooled at your core. It was terrifying and yet you wanted more. So when the piece came to an end and Toru’s ragged breath fanned on your face, you tilted your head hoping he would close the gap.

Except he didn’t. You didn’t let him because across the room was the face of the last person you wanted to see—the Marchioness.

Her face held no malice as she watched you but she looked almost relieved and it shook you to your core.

“My love.” Toru’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “W-what is it?”

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes remained fixed on the marchioness. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly before turning towards one of the doors. She took three steps before turning back to face you and then she continued until she disappeared from the ballroom.

Toru reached for your hand but you side-stepped him and dashed out of the room; your name blending in with the music and chatter the further you got.

The corridors were dimly lit compared to the ballroom but you could still make out the marchioness’s silhouette in the distance. Her pale face turned to you before walking further away and entering a room. You bounded down the hallway until you reached the room and found the marchioness standing before a large French window. The room was dark except for the moonlight that spilled in and illuminated the center of the room.

“Close the door.”

You hesitated before reaching for the double doors and pushing them until you heard a click. Turning around you found the marchioness already watching you. She was as beautiful as ever with her porcelain skin, golden curls styled fashionably, and rosebud mouth. Her cat-like eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before—not even when she pretended to be your friend and ally.

“Why did you appear before me? What do you want?”

“Technically you appeared before me. This is my home after all,” She replied, a hint of mirth in her voice.

You staggered back. “W-what do you mean?”

“I remarried and am now Viscountess Udai.”

“I-I don’t��why?” Your feet took you forward until you were an arm’s length away from her. “What about Toru? I saw you with him…the two of you…that day.”

She sighed and turned her head, fixing her eyes on the wooden desk beside her. “That is the reason I had you follow me here. It’s high time I confess my sins to you.”

Her eyes looked back at you and the whirlwind of emotions swirling in them left you stunned. In the months you got to know her you knew her to be a charming but cold woman, so seeing her so vulnerable shook you to your core.

“Since I was a girl, I had always envied Toru. He had two parents that adored him and did everything in their power to ensure his happiness. My parents were the exact opposite and sold me off to the highest bidder when I was just sixteen. My late husband was a beast of a man that was forty years my senior. He had poor health but an even worse temper and wouldn’t hesitate to beat me until I passed out from the pain. It was then that Toru lost his parents in an accident, and I started to use him to make myself feel better. I tried manipulating him into thinking I was the only person who could be by his side. That I could be his friend, lover, and family. It worked for a while but when Toru started drifting away from my hold…”

Her voice that had been growing thicker with emotion broke down. Sobs wracked from her body as she slipped off her black lace glove. Under the moonlight you could make out pale scars on the underside of her forearm.

“I started to hurt myself and that kept him by my side until he met you.”

Your chest tightened painfully and tears stung your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“He needed a wife to fulfil his mother’s wish and I picked you for him. I believed he would remain loyal to me, but I was wrong. Day by day, Toru fell more in love with you and left me behind. When he received your father’s blessing to officially propose, I was so desperate to hold on to him that I lied to him. I promised to let him go after your marriage if he neglected you during your engagement. But that night in the garden, he declared his unyielding love for you, and I did everything I could to kill that love.”

She wiped away her tears while you let yours fall. She took a couple of deep breaths whereas a ball lodged itself inside your throat and blocked the air.

“I dare not ask for forgiveness. I only ask that you not blame Toru for my sins.”

Unable to utter a word, you managed a solemn nod before turning your heel and leaving the room. The darkness of the corridor left you hollow, the noise from the ballroom rang painfully in your ears, and the air around you was stifling. Everything about the place was suffocating, so instead of returning to the ball, you rounded the corner and left.

Upon exiting your carriage, you ignored everyone and bounded up the stairs to your bedroom before locking the door and forbidding entry for anyone. Heaving from the exertion, you lunged for the wooden box on your nightstand and set it on your desk with a thud. After taking a seat, you lit a candlestick and took out the first of twelve letters.

With trembling hands, you finally broke the turquoise seal and unfolded the paper to read Toru’s side of the story.

After you read the letters once, you sobbed into your hands until the candlestick burned out. You reread them and cursed yourself for being so oblivious—so blind—to the pain in his heart. The third time, your heart swelled with affection for your father who did everything he could to ensure you would be happy with Toru prior to allowing the proposal to take place. The fourth time, you pulled out a piece of paper and wrote to Tobio rescinding your offer and offering your most sincere apologies. By the time you finished rereading the twelfth letter for the fifth time, the birds outside were chirping signaling dawn.

You stood up abruptly and glanced out the window to find the rose-colored light of the sun’s rays peeking over the horizon.

I have to see him.

After washing your face, you discarded your ball gown in favor of a simple cotton dress and a woolen shawl. You picked up the letter addressed to Tobio and opened the door.

Akane, who had evidently been sleeping at your door, tumbled backwards and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Oh! A-apologies, my lady, but I waited to see if you needed anything and…”

You crouched down and helped the girl up to her feet. “Thank you, Akane, for everything you do. You are my most treasured ally.”

Her caramel-colored eyes welled up with tears that she wiped away with her sleeve. “H-how can I help you, my lady?”

You handed her the letter. “Have this sent to the Kageyama estate as soon as possible. Also let my father know that I will not be cancelling my engagement.”

Akane’s eyes lingered on your coat and a smile played on her lips as she replied, “right away, my lady.”

Outside the confines of your home, you breathed in the cool morning air and bolted down the white stone steps, setting off for Toru’s estate. Trudging through the grass and kicking up the rocks of your front lawn, you were full of energy despite not having slept a wink. The negative emotions that had weighed you down since your engagement were lifted and all you could think about was Toru. You wanted to drink in the sight of him, touch his face, run your fingers through his hair, and wrap your arms around him never to let go.

Your front gate eventually came to view, but before that, the backside of a man standing near your family’s fountain appeared and your breath caught in your throat.

Tall, broad shoulders underneath a black coat, and wind-swept brown hair, you knew who it was before he turned around.

Toru’s velvet brown eyes widened and his lips parted at the sight of you. He looked perfectly disheveled in his plain white shirt, unbuttoned, and exposing his chest, and grey trousers that looked like they’d seen better days. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer until he was in front of you.

“I-I had to see you,” he admitted. “You disappeared from the ball and—”

“She told me…what actually happened.”

His eyes widened. “I must tell you—”

You reached for his hands, not able to hold back any longer. “You already have.” You brushed your thumbs against his knuckles and felt his pulse quicken. “I read your letters…multiple times.”

“I’m sorry, truly,” he breathed.

“I know, and I’m sorry as well. I should’ve given you a chance to explain. I should’ve read them sooner.” You released his hands and stared into his eyes, lips trembling. “If I’m too late an—”

His mouth descended upon yours in a kiss that silenced the words on your tongue. His oh-so- soft lips felt like satin on yours and you melted into his arms that wrapped around you and drew you closer to him. The swirling heat in your core returned and you wrapped your arms around his back, eager to see where the sensation led you.

Toru broke away from the kiss first, leaning his forehead against yours and taking in shallow ragged breaths. A whine escaped your lips and the embarrassing noise set your cheeks aflame. Toru laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Patience, my love. We have the rest of our lives for this.” He assured you and drew you into a loving embrace.

His sweet words sounded like a promise to your ears and tears of joy prickled your eyes from simply imagining your future with Toru, the man you loved and had never stopped loving.

#oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #toru oikawa x reader #hq x reader #oikawa angst #chosen one event! #pb's collab event! #long af bc i changed the ending #and bc oikawa deserves 9k words #navs.hq

[otome-crow]

Warmth

Rated: SFW

Fandom: A3!

Characters: Azuma Yukishiro

Genre: Fluff/Character Study

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: This was supposed to be a simple drabble based off of a basic prompt of “crafting” but I wound up taking it too far, like I always do.

Tags: @astryia

He no longer remembers the name of the client who suggested it. She was one of the first to venture into what was, at that point, his brand-new business. During their first meeting, she sat on the other end of her couch, hands clenched, and he hadn’t been sure if she was simply nervous about hiring a cuddler or if the anxiety was a part of her life she wanted his help in easing. He’d tried to soothe her with his gentle voice and calming nature, knowing his own charisma would open the conversational door when she relaxed just a little.

As she finally started to talk to him about her new job and new responsibilities, she asked him what he did to deal with times of anxiety and he spoke to her of his coloring books and how soothing he found them. It didn’t matter if they were geometric mandalas or smooth, swirling, organic designs - something about the mirroring of them across the page calmed him. And the action of coloring them in was a gentle meditation. It stressed neither his brain nor his body. It was one of the only times that, even when alone, his soul wasn’t restless or afraid. Or was, well, less restless and afraid.

Of course he didn’t say all of that to her, but she got the gist. Her troubled face smoothed out just a little and her voice softened.

“That’s how I feel when I knit,” she murmured. “Even during the worst times. It doesn’t fix things, but it makes them bearable, you know?”

Azuma did know, yes. He knew about things that couldn’t be fixed, and he spent his life finding ways to make them bearable. Finding things that kept the shadows in the corners of the room. Working with her was one of those things, after all.

She’d asked him to bring one of his favorite coloring books and colored pencils for their next session. When he showed up, she took the books from him and filled his now-empty hands with yarn with a mischievous smile. She taught him to knit and he taught her the finer points of shading, blending, and color combinations. Their sessions afterwards always started that way, the cuddling and chatting eased into while they sat contentedly on the floor, leaning on each other, practicing one or both of the crafts.

There was some initial frustration with the learning process, but he found he liked knitting. With the basic stitches mastered and the right pattern in front of him, knitting had the same meditative effect as coloring, and the sensual feeling of soft, smooth yarn winding through his fingers was a feeling that colored pencils couldn’t replicate. There was an almost animal pleasure in running his fingers through an especially soft skein or rubbing his cheek against a finished piece. And the colors, oh, the colors - as bright, as saturated as his markers, but shining with silk or comfortably blurred with a fuzzy halo of angora or mohair.

He almost gave up knitting when that client moved away for her job, but found his now-rare solo nights more lonely than ever. You couldn’t color while waiting for sleep; you needed to think too much. Color choices, color combinations, balancing the entire piece. Not to mention the bright light needed to choose those colors, to stay in the lines. But knitting - he could lay in bed with little more than a nightlight and go through the basic stitches. He even taught himself how to knit simple stitches in the dark. It made it easier to knit during movies, but also to fall asleep. He could (and often did) knit with his eyes closed now. More often than not he fell asleep with his project in his hands and a row half-completed. True, he would wake up in the morning with his yarn tangled around his body and a few stitches popped off his needles - but it was worth the time involved in fixing everything when he realized his sleep was better than when he didn’t knit at all. And it was better for him (and his skin) than the alcohol he was finding himself relying on to make it through the night when he was alone.

Even now, while living at Mankai, he surrounds himself with yarn and projects. He wears the winter scarf he’d made for himself every year. He occasionally throws one of the light-as-air cashmere shawls he’d made around his neck and shoulders for fashion - or comfort. What he’s made in the past has mostly been plain things, things he can knit while falling asleep, and he finds that it translates nicely to his current life as well - a plain triangular shawl for Misumi, a beanie for Taichi, a pair of fingerless gloves for Kumon. Hisoka asked for a blanket once, but Azuma just laughed and said that if Hisoka was willing to spend a hundred hours or so making it, Azuma would just teach him to knit and he could make it himself.

Omi had tried to expand his repertoire by teaching him lace not long after he arrived, but it was just too complicated. All the counting and fussiness obliterated the soothing nature of the task for him. It was one of the only times anyone in the dorms ever saw Azuma flustered. After counting, triple-checking the pattern, and finding himself with the wrong number of stitches on his needles - for the fourteenth time ON THE SAME ROW - he dropped his skein of expensive hand-dyed yarn at Omi’s feet and walked out of the room. The failure frustrated him because the pattern was pretty and he would have loved to wear or gift some of the delicate shawls and gloves he found online. Maybe someday, he thinks, he’ll try again, but for now he chooses to be content with simpler fare.

These days, gives away most of what he makes. Partly because, to be honest, how many shawls and hats and gloves does one person need? But mostly he gives his things away because it makes him happy. He tried giving little things away to favorite clients before Mankai, but many of them assumed that the gifts came with a romantic intention, so that had to stop. For a while, he accumulated. Eventually, he began donating some of the older or less frequently used items. When he began living in the dorms, however, he not only gave away much of his old stash, he began knitting deliberately for his new friends.

For his new family.

It gives him warm satisfaction to see Tenma tug the fuzzy cowl Azuma had given him for Christmas over his head before trudging off to a shoot in the snow. To see Tasuku wearing a homemade hat when he comes in from a run. Tsuzuru’s coffee mug cozy, Sakyo’s business-black scarf, Omi’s fingerless gloves that let him keep warm and continue to use his camera outside.

And yes, Hisoka, bit by bit, he begins knitting squares to weave together into a blanket for the couch in the common room. He considers it his contribution to the cohesiveness of the dorm. Unlike his usual habit of buying expensive yarn, this he is making out of high-quality acrylic found at a local arts-and-crafts store. Firstly, acrylic comes in an insane amount of colors, which suits the purpose of this project perfectly. Secondly, he knows the blanket is going to get coated in food and dropped on the floor and stepped on. And someone, thinking they were being kind, would chuck it in the wash. One ruined shawl early in this hobby had made him aware of how easily a single wash cycle destroyed natural fibers. So, acrylic it was.

The squares are usually his sleep-knitting now. Even though it’s dark and he can’t see the colors, he knows each one. Deep sage green for his roommate Guy (Guy, who seems to love the rhythmic sound of the needles for some reason), dark and troubled blue and teal for Tsumugi and Tasuku. A vibrant magenta to match Homare’s hair, creamy marshmallow for Hisoka, a sunflower-yellow for Tenma. Heavily saturated dark pink for Sakuya of course, a heathered lavender for Masumi, a soft seaweed green for Tsuzuru, and a strange rainbow-vomit of colors to represent Itaru’s games. Yuki, who bummed a ride with him and Tasuku to the yarn store once, casually chose his own color (no one else seems to know what he’s knitting, but Yuki’s no fool). He includes some neutrals for the tech crew and Matsukawa. And a delicate blush-pink for their beloved director.

As he knits each square, he appreciates the person it represents to him. He smiles about something they said recently or frowns over their troubles. Sometimes, if someone in the company is having a particularly rough time, he’ll switch over to their color for a few days. In the same way he grew his hair as a prayer, he knits prayers for his friends. Each stitch is a thought, each thought a hope for a better tomorrow.

It’s only after he finishes the squares for everyone in the dorms and the company that he thinks to count them. Realizing he needs a few more squares to make an evenly rectangular blanket, it occurs to him that there might, perhaps, be one missing color.

And, with a little trepidation, he goes back to the store and selects the palest silver with the barest blush of lavender, the color of a winter cloud at dusk. One missing color, he thinks, one missing person - but maybe not missing anymore. Maybe. Maybe it’s time to knit up some new prayers, and some new thoughts for tomorrow. He slowly casts on the silvery yarn, almost as slowly as when he first learned to knit years ago. And, sitting in the common room, laughing at the antics of the others, he begins to knit himself into the warmth of the riot of colors that is Mankai.

#a3 #a3 fanfic #a3 fan fiction #yukishiro azuma #azuma yukishiro #oc.txt #ocrow writes #fluff #a3 fluff #fuyugumi

[xbunnybunz]

I Could Save You [Dark Link x Reader]

Summary: You’re an unwilling hostage in Gannondorf’s castle. One day you hear his deadly creation stumble back, gravely injured. You help him despite your fears.

Genre: Fluff

Date: February 19, 2014

-----

You woke up with a jolt. Something had just stumbled into the castle, and whatever it was, it wasn't quiet. You lay motionless in your old, rickety bed; your eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and terror. The only thing that allowed you to see into the dark crannies of the room was a half-melted candle that you had smuggled from Gannondorf's room. Gannondorf had kidnapped you a while back and had worked you like a slave, ordering you around like one of his lowly servants.

In return for your hard labor, you had gotten a cramped room with no windows and a moldy bed. In your opinion, it was quite a horrible bargain; working your butt off in exchange for a ratty room was definitely not worth the effort. However, you presumed that it was better than nothing. You guessed that the room would appear to be uncomfortable to most people, but after time, you found it cozy. (Or- at least however cozy as it could get under the care of Gannon.) In your room, you could put your back against the wall and know that you were safe; that no one was going to sneak up from behind and kill you. The reason for this paranoia is because almost everyday, Gannon is throwing one of his servants out of the castle and into the lava pit below for one reason or another. The workers in this castle soon realized that in order to survive, they had to be one of the Dark Ruler's favorites- thus begins the bloodshed. One after one, servants disappear "mysteriously," but no one seems to care- not even the Dark Lord himself. Although you were pretty sure that Gannon knew what was going on, he didn't do anything to stop it. In fact, he seemed to like watching his servants kill each other off to compete for his favor- it was almost like some kind of sick entertainment for him. Even though more than half of the servants have been killed off, there were two people that the workers wished to get rid of the most. You, and another human-like boy your age. His name was Shadow Link. He was always dressed in black and whenever you two happened upon each other, he'd simply sneer and turn his head like you were nothing but a piece of dirt. Both of you knew this wasn't true. Even though Shadow Link had nabbed the prize for being Gannon's absolute favorite, you followed close behind. Perhaps, even a little too close for your sake. Being the only female in the castle, Gannon looked to you for not only free labor, but... For his sickening relief. You miraculously managed to slip out of it each time, though. You'd excuse yourself to pour him a cup of tea (which, more often than not, you'd add sleeping potion to.) and afterward,  if he was still awake, you'd give him a short shoulder-rub, hoping to lull him to sleep. Discreetly, you'd slip away before anything else cold happen. After these sessions, you'd scrub your hands until they were raw and red. For days on end, you'd unconsciously rub your palms on your shirt to wipe off the reminder of Gannon's ghastly massages. The little competition of winning Gannon's favor soon began to get out of hand, freaking you out a bit. In the past month, you had to throw out nine good meals because the Stalfos who had brought it to your room added something that smelt funny into it. A few days ago, you spent hours retching up some kind of rodent-control pills hidden in your eggs. Yesterday you cut your tongue on a small but sharp razor put into your apple. The attempts to kill you were only getting more and more frightening, and you were beginning to get paranoid. See, you would've gone downstairs if you weren't so frightened. Who knew what it could be? It could be some kind of trick to lure you down there so that they could kill you once and for all. With these attention-seeking ghouls, anything could be possible. There was no way you were going down there. You heard the person downstairs stumbling around like a drunkard, knocking over some pots and slamming into the wall. Even from your room, you could hear heavy panting and clumsy footsteps. You held your thin covers closer to your body, wishing for the noises to stop. Couldn't they just shut up before you changed your mind and went down there? You were beginning to believe that there really was an injured person down there, and that maybe it wasn't a plot to erase you from the castle. You listened carefully, debating whether or not to go downstairs. It could be an innocent stranger who went into the wrong place to look for shelter. It could be someone sent from your village coming to rescue you. Then you heard it. You heard someone groan. It was slow and agonized, as if they were in terrible pain and all hope of living had been sucked out of them. You sat up in your bed, eyebrows knit together. It sounded so human. Another pitiful moan echoed in the castle, bouncing off the cold, brick walls of the mansion. A wave of pity washed over you, and you grimaced. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be acting. The little whines of pain sent cold shivers up your spine, and you felt the pitiful noises pulling at your heartstrings. That was it. You couldn't take it anymore. Slipping on a coat to cover your nightgown, you decided that you'd just take a quick peek to see what was causing such a ruckus. You picked up your flickering candle and stood up quietly, not wanting to wake anyone up. You tiptoed out of your room and down the torch-lit hallway. Sounds of suffering get louder and louder as you quietly descend the stairs and you find yourself wincing at the heavy breathing. When you reach the bottom of the winding staircase, you hear something crash onto the floor, making you jump a few feet into the air. The groaning stopped. You narrow your eyes and peer around the corner of the staircase divider, making sure to be extra sleathy. You raise your candle slightly to give yourself a better perception of the thing laying on the floor. When you realize what- or who- it was, you nearly drop your candle in shock. There, on the cement floor, laid a passed-out Shadow Link. It was the first time you had seen him so helpless and defeated, every time you had ever encountered him, he looked so confident and powerful. Now, he was reduced to nothing but a bloody, mangled mess. Honestly, you considered just leaving him there to rot. He always treated you like a dog anyway. Just looking at him, though, made you feel like a horrible person. No one deserved the pain he was enduring. Plus, if he died, the only person those servant freaks would devote 24 hours of constant attempts to kill was YOU. You weren't really looking forward to anything like that. From your point of view, you could see knives embedded in his legs. A large puddle of blood was gathering around his unconscious body and seeping into his dark clothes. Surely there were more injuries, but you couldn't locate anymore of them from where you were hiding. You bit your lip and decided to take the risk. If he was going to kill you, at least you'd be able to escape the hell that you had to endure for the past few months. Besides, you'd rather not deal with the wrath of Gannon after finding his "perfect creation" dead in the middle of the castle floor. Quietly, you stepped away from the stairs and inched toward the shadow warrior. You kneeled next to him, cautiously placing your fingers upon his neck. You breathed a sigh of relief when you felt a faint pulse. Slinging one of his limp arms over your shoulders, you grunted and stood up. For a shadow, he was pretty heavy. You took a few steps toward the stairs, tottering this way and that before finally balancing him next to you. You felt his bloodied clothes stick to your coat and you grimaced, trying to ignore it. You managed to haul him up a flight of stairs and onto the second floor before you realized you had no idea where his room was. Brilliant. For a moment, you stood there awkwardly, supporting the tall male, unable to figure out what to do next. You didn't have the heart to leave him, but you sure as hell weren't bringing him into your room. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. The candle in your shaking hand was growing dimmer with every passing moment, and you knew that you had to make a decision soon. You chewed on your lower lower lip, eyeing your door with a thoughtful gleam in your eye. Creak You whipped your head toward the end of the hallway, eyes wide. "Oh no..." You groaned, hearing the clattering sound of bones inside of a rusty piece of armor. There was a servant Stalfos, and although it hadn't spotted you yet, it was headed in your direction. Biting your lip, your eyes darted back and forth between Shadow Link, your room and the approaching Stalfos. Making a small noise of distress, you blew out the candle to cape the two of you in complete darkness. Using this to your advantage, you slipped into your room and silently closed the door behind you. You placed Shadow Link on the bed and listened carefully for the Stalfos. When you heard it walk right by your door, you sank to your knees and breathed a sigh of relief. You tossed the candle onto your nightstand and dug into the drawers, looking for matches. You spent a minute searching before you gave up and instead, tried finding your scanty collection of medical supplies. After scrounging around, you found some gauge, a clean towel, a couple of adhesive bandages and a bottle of alcoholic solution. Shrugging at your lack of supplies, you quickly got to work. You started at the lower-half of the Shadow's body, surveying his knife wounds with sympathetic eyes. Gingerly, your fingers traced the handle. If he were awake, it would be impossible to get this out without causing him severe pain. You carefully wrapped your fingers around the bloodied handle, bracing yourself. With a single, fluid motion, you yanked out the knife. You felt sick to your stomach once you saw the knife. It had little hook-like teeth embedded on the edge of the blade, and you couldn't even imagine the pain for a second without becoming wanton. You heard rustling, and looked up. Shadow Link's face was as calm as the night sky, and you would've believed he was asleep, but you saw hands clenching the sheets until his knuckles turned white. He had been awake. For a second, you were petrified. He could easily lash out at you and kill you. Although you were both favored by Gannon, you were just an errand girl; everybody knew that. He was a fierce warrior and a trained killer, no one dared to mess with him. Then another realization dawned upon you. He had trusted you enough to let you pull a knife out of his leg. Perhaps it was safe to continue. You tried to steady your trembling hands, gently putting the knife on the floor before dabbing at his gaping wound with the towel. "Well, well, well," He choked out, his voice scratchy and guttural. "If it isn't the Dark Lord's little whore." You felt a stab of pain when you realized that most of the workers here probably saw you like that. "I never did anything with him." You mumbled quietly, pouring a cap-full of cold alcohol onto his wound, making sure to get plenty inside the gash. Even though it could be seen as an action of hostility, but you just wanted to make sure he wouldn't get an infection later. Shadow Link tensed noticeably, but made no noise as you added another dose of the searing liquid to his injury. "You'd think I wouldn't know that?" He hissed, pressing his head into the pillow. "You need to hide those bottles better. Try the incinerator instead of the good ol' garbage." You moved to the next leg, ignoring him and wondering if the knife had the same hook-like teeth as the last one had. Grasping it tightly in your palm, you pulled it out as quickly as possible. Like last time, Shadow Link didn't even blink an eye. You heard a small ripping sound, and shifted your gaze to his hands. His nails had torn through the blanket. You pursed your lips and glanced at the knife. Although it didn't have teeth, it looked equally as menacing as the last one. The metal blade was about as long as your forearm, and you steeled your guts when you became aware that the knife had most likely gone straight through his leg. You repeated the procedure of sterilizing his leg, and sat back. You heard Shadow Link's labored breathing, and you couldn't be sorrier. The alcohol may have done him well in the long-run, but you knew that it must've felt like hell right now. You saw that his hands were still prying away at your bed. You guessed it was a silent way for coping with the pain, but you couldn't afford to have him break your only bed. You clasped your hand gently over his arm, removing it from the the covers. Only then did you realize his arm was covered in blood. You blindly felt his gloved arm for a gash, but couldn't locate one. "I..." You stuttered "I can't see." Shadow Link grunted, and although you could barely see his face, you knew he was glaring at you; making you ten times more nervous than you already were. He shifted his arm, holding it so that his palm was facing up. "...Do you have a candle?" You nodded and hastily grabbed the abandoned candle off the table, holding it out for him. Without warning, a fire flickered up in his palm. The small flame danced in his hand, stunning you. Although you had heard about the Shadow's powers, you had never seen it in person. "What are you waiting for?" Shadow Link asked, his voice strained and impatient. Before you could catch the flame with the candlewick, he gasped and his hand wavered for a second as the fire went out. You sensed his shuddering, and you began wondering if he was as strong as people said he was. Why was the legendary Shadow Link so impacted by a few knives in his legs and arms? He steadied his arm again, igniting a steady, blue fire with his hand. This time, you quickly swooped in to catch the flame with the candle. Shortly after you did this, he dropped his arm as if it took a big effort just to keep it up. You shone the light over Shadow Link's arm. Although it was covered in blood, with the glove on, you couldn't see anything. "...Sir, may I take off-" "Link." He intervened, his eyes screwed shut. You were about to retaliate. He wasn't Link. He would never be the courageous warrior or light, but you decided against it; for both your sake and his. "Link," You let the name roll off your tongue, experimenting with it. "I think I need to take off your glove." He only nodded, not sparing you a glance. He mumbled something, but you didn't catch it. "What?" You asked dumbly. He moved his head so that his face was turned away from you, and in the light of the candle, his silver hair shone. "I said, Cut through my leggings so that you can bandage my leg as well." You blinked at the back of his head. Was the renowned Shadow Link being shy? With a small smile, you moved to his legs again. You held the candle over him, picking up the knife that had impaled him before and cutting through the thin fabric until you could roll it up to the gash. It was worse than you thought. You were right when you said the knife had cut clean though his leg, but it looked like it had been twisted and tugged at. The skin around the wound was burning hot with what you hoped wasn't an infection. Grabbing the gauze, you wrapped a generous amount around his calf. You repeated the procedure with his other leg, cutting through the thin layer of cloth and wrapping the white bandages around it. You moved back to his arm, holding the candle close. You couldn't see any visible cuts. "Link?" You whispered, inspecting his arm, "Where's the last cut?" He didn't respond to you immediately, but he slowly moved his arm over his stomach. You moved your candle over his stomach and grabbed the edge of his tunic with careful fingers, looking at him for permission. He didn't move a muscle. daintily, you lifted the black tunic high enough to see his injury. It had taken all of your willpower not to puke right then and there. Closing your eyes, you realized what had happened to him. All that time stumbling around and gasping in pain was an understatement of what pain he was going through. You were shocked that he could even stand. His lean stomach bore a horrid hole, as if something had stabbed him multiple times in the same place. That wasn't the only thing wrong. It looked like the skin around the wound had been charred, as if whatever had stabbed him was searing hot. "How...?" You asked, your voice almost inaudible to even your ears. There was a pause that hung in the air before he answered, "Master Sword." Ah, yes. The Master Sword was deadly to anything that wasn't part of the light. You took a glance at the bottle of alcohol sitting next to you, feeling scared for the Shadow entity. Would he be able to handle such immense pain? You shifted the candle so that the light flickered over Shadow Link's face. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and he refused to open his eyes. He looked like he was trying to block out everything around him. Gently, you brushed your fingers around the burnt flesh. The reaction was immediate. The Shadow shuddered, arching his back off the mattress and groaning. "D-Don't..." You retracted your hand with eyes full of empathy. Reaching behind you for the bottle of antiseptic and the towel, you poured half the bottle on the towel. You knew that pouring the liquid directly onto Shadow Link's cut would cause immense pain, so dabbing the slash was the best you could do. You held the candle higher, and brought the towel down to Shadow Link's stomach, wincing when he started clawing at the bed again. This time however, you didn't bother stopping him. You pressed against the gaping cut, eliciting a low groan from the Shadow. He tossed his head to the side, hiding his pain-contorted face in the pillow. You set the candle down on the nightstand and in a moment of sympathy, you touched his hand with yours. Urgently, he took your hand in his, grasping it as if he was holding onto the last shred of his life. This surprised you, but it Shadow Link was probably suffering so much that even his own thoughts were cloudy. You pressed against the wound and made sure that there would be no chance infections, and your face distorted when you felt Shadow Link envelope your delicate fingers in a vice-like grip. He tried to control his shallow, uneven breathing in vain. After what seemed like hours of this torture, he gave one last shudder before his grip on your hand became limp and his body fell from it's tense position. You sighed, giving him kudos for being able to withstand the pain for so long before passing out. You finished sterilizing the fatal laceration, used the rest of the thick gauze to wrap around his stomach three times. You peered at the Shadow Warrior and brushed away some of the hair that stuck to his face due to sweat. He was actually quite charming when he wasn't scowling. His breathing had gone back to normal a while after he fainted, and his features were no longer twisted with misery. You yawned, eyes drooping. It would only be fair to give the Shadow the bed, so you left him there. You moved to pull the covers over him, but realized that he had practically ripped them apart. Without a second thought, you shrugged off your warm coat and placed it on him, covering as much of him as you could. Leaning over to the candle, you blew it out quietly. You settled next to the bed, slipping your hand in his again, and drifted off to sleep.

#legend of zelda #fanfiction #reader insert #dark link #dark link x reader #old work

[thewhitejournal]

“The Intern” Part Six

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series

(not my gif)

hey guys! i know i haven’t been active in awhile and i apologize, but i hope this final chapter (unless y’all want like an epilogue or something of that nature) of ‘the intern’ makes up for it. i’m so sad to see this series go because it was one of my favorites to write but we got more series, one shots, and all that good stuff on the way!

please enjoy my loves :) <3

content warnings: cursing, super fluffy and sappy towards the end

thewhitejournal’s masterlist

“the intern” masterlist

-

The past four weeks have flown by quickly. You were out of the cast and back on your feet in the bullpen. You were helping out everywhere; between running errands for Garcia and helping out with the rest of the team, you were dead tired by the end of the day. But it didn’t matter to you. You were finally getting a taste of what you loved, even with school and classes still a part of your daily routine. You were eternally grateful for the geniuses you had on hand when you were doing homework in between tasks. Everything be damned if you didn’t take advantage of it.

A groan slipped from your lips, filling every nook and cranny in Garcia’s office. It broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, other than the sound of her fingernails clicking away on the keys at record speed.

“What’s a matter, babe?”, she asked, gaze never wavering from the work in front of her. Your head now rested on your arms on the table in front of you. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I hate math.”, you stated simply, earning a chuckle from her. She rolled her chair over next to yours, placing a gentle hand on your back.

“Let me see it.” You sat up so she could look over your work. The page was littered with dozens of scratch work equations that were slightly visible from having been erased. Most of the questions had half-completed answers or none at all. She shook her head.

“You should ask Reid. Why do they change the way people do math every year?” You sighed again as she rolled back to her desk. You gathered your book and assignments up in your arms and carried them out into the bullpen, eyes falling on Dr. Reid scribbling away on a file.

“I’m glad I caught you here, I need the help of a genius.”, you explained, pulling an empty chair up to his desk after having sat your things down on it. He looked taken aback by your sudden approach. He didn’t say anything at first, not meeting your eyes. “If you’re too busy right now, then don’t worry-“, you started, but were cut off by his stammering.

“N-no, I’m not too busy for you, (Y/N).” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say a slight blush crept upon his cheeks. “What’s the w-work?”, he asked you, clearing his throat and meeting your eyes for only split seconds at a time. You smiled and shook your head at the awkward doctor, letting him take a look at the papers. He quickly realized what you were working on, then tried helping you, going on ramblings about the equations and variables you didn’t understand. Eventually, you could form answers to your questions on the pages.

“You’re a lifesaver, Spencer. Thanks.”, you said, flashing him a bright smile. He offered you a small smile and minimal eye contact. You just turned and left, satisfied with the completed worksheet. You returned to Garcia’s office to see Hotch there, standing over her. They were talking about something; pictures of criminals and crime scenes flashed the screens on the walls as she clicked around and typed. You froze in the doorway.

Aaron Hotchner was a wonderful boss and an amazing man; he thought of you as an outstanding addition to the team, so you had no reason to be so intimidated by him. But you couldn’t help it. Maybe it had something to do with the way you’d seen him interrogate suspects so intensely, or maybe with the fact that you had a bit of a crush on him. You’d never admit to the latter though. It was unprofessional and wrong, but it felt so right all at the same time.

Almost as if he could sense your presence, he called you in the room without ever turning to face you. You moved towards him, setting your things down on your desk. You stood next to him in the already small, getting smaller space. His body heat radiated onto your skin, cologne filling your senses. You swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t hear it.

“(Y/L/N), see if you can help Garcia find a connection between some of these victims. If you find anything, just drop by my office and let me know.”, he stated, turning to face you. There were only inches between your bodies; you couldn’t meet his eyes. You could feel his gaze looking down on you, so you looked up, ready to maintain composure.

His brown eyes looked black in the minimal light of the room. “Yes, sir.” You could hear your voice waver slightly and you kicked yourself internally for it. You couldn’t help but think that if Garcia weren’t here, this would be a very different story. He looked in your eyes a little longer than might’ve been necessary, then gave you a smirk before leaving. He shut the door behind him.

You exhaled immediately, nearly doubling over. You hadn’t realized you’d barely been breathing.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), I’m surprised he didn’t fuck you right against that wall!”, she hissed under her breath, in case he was still in earshot. You gasped.

“Garcia!”, you exclaimed, lightly slapping her shoulder.

“You could cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a knife!”, she retorted. The two of you made eye contact.

“Really? It’s not just me?”, you asked with full sincerity.

“Hell no! You need to get on that, (Y/N).”, she said with a knowing smile, sending you a wink. Your cheeks flushed hot red and you rolled your eyes.

“Garcia, I can’t do that. You know it’s wrong.” As much as you wanted to pursue anything with Hotch, you were telling her the truth. It was wrong. You walked over and sat in your seat, sighing and starting to work on your homework again.

“Honey, love is never wrong.”, she said in that soothing and comforting voice. You knew that, on some level, she was right. You dropped your pencil, unable to focus on your work. You swiveled to face her.

“Yeah, cause that argument would go over well with Strauss. Or whoever is above her.” She sighed. She knew you were right, too.

“Just don’t count him out yet. You two…deserve happiness. I think you could give each other that.” You knew she was serious. She placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it.

“Thanks, PG.” You gave her a half-smile. She shrugged.

“What’re friends for?” She flashed you a huge smile, and the two of you returned to your respective workloads.

-

Nearly four hours later, you’d long ago finished your homework, and now you were helping Garcia with the workload provided to the two of you by Hotch. The two of you agreed with each other that you’d need some eye bleach after this; the images flashing on the screen were those that most people could never stomach seeing.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking afterwards. Your eyes physically hurt from staring at the screens for hours. Suddenly, a pattern caught your attention. “Garcia, do you see that?” Your finger prodded the screen. She pulled her glasses so that they’d rest on top of her head, and leaned closer to the screen. She pulled a window from the top left corner so it would sit next to the one you two were looking at. Then, she pulled another picture from the fray of images and documents.

“A signature…”, the two of you muttered in unison. You locked eyes and shared a laugh.

“We finally found a pattern!”, you exclaimed, the life returning to your body as the joy flowed through you. Maybe it was because you were new, but making a connection like this and getting one step further to a solution felt so good. Garcia chuckled. You knitted your brows, looking over at her. “What?”

She gave you a sly smile. “You know you have to report to the boss, right?” Your heart sank in your chest. She was right. Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall.

“It’s kinda late, do you think he’s even still-?”

“(Y/N), you know damn well he’s still in his office. If he could, he’d live here. Now go!” She ushered you out the door, almost by full force, but not before trying to undo a button on your top. You swatted her hand away and left the room, the sound of her laughter fading with every step you took forward.

Entering the bullpen, there were few agents left for the night. Dr. Reid still lingered, hunched over and lost in his paperwork. He looked up when you walked in, eyes following you as you walked and ascended the stairs to Hotch’s office. Not that you knew his gaze tracked you; you were too nervous about being alone with Aaron in his office to notice anything other than the floor beneath your feet.

Your knuckles rapped softly on the door and you heard him call you in from the other side. You exhaled, trying to get yourself together. It was ridiculous, the effect he had on you. You wondered if he knew.

You turned the knob, pushing the door open and shutting it behind you. The desk lamp illuminated a stack of papers, his pen scrawling what was likely his signature on the bottom of a sheet of paper. He looked up momentarily, then his gaze fell back on his desk. “(Y/L/N). Did you and Garcia find anything?” The sound of your heels echoed in the room as you carried yourself to his desk. You took a seat in the cushioned leather chair that sat spaced evenly from his desk and another chair that looked exactly like it.

You cleared your throat before saying, “We did find a pattern, a signature on all the victims.” He perked up, raising an eyebrow at you. You presented your findings to him, careful to keep your voice steady and not make eye contact with him for too long. It then occurred to you there was really no reason to try to hide your feelings around him; he was, after all, one of the best profilers the BAU had ever seen. You were sure he already knew. Worth a shot to try and keep it hidden, though, you figured.

After your rant was over, he nodded approvingly, a small smile on his lips. “Great job, (Y/N).” Your heart pumped quicker in your chest at the sound of your first name on his voice. But his voice was different than usual, so was his tone. He was tired, resulting in his voice being barely an octave deeper. Which didn’t help your nerves settle.

“Thank you, sir.”, you said with a twinge of confidence in your tone. It made you happy to impress him; his validation made it feel like you were getting better at your job every day. He suddenly chuckled, and you weren’t sure why, until he spoke up.

“I told you, (Y/L/N), you can call me Hotch. Or Aaron, if you’d like.” He leaned forward in his chair more, dark amber eyes burning a hole through you. Did he ever offer anyone else to call him Aaron? You weren’t sure you’d ever heard anyone else call him that – not to his face, anyway. Other than Rossi, maybe. But they were close friends.

“Thanks, Hotch.”, you spoke softly, stifling a small yawn. You’d play it safe for now, but the gesture itself meant everything to you. He smiled, almost satisfyingly so, leaning back in his office chair. He raised his right wrist to look at his watch, noting the time, before meeting your eyes again.

“It’s late, (Y/L/N). You should head home. You’ve been a lot of help today, as usual, of course.” You would never get used to hearing him compliment you. Your eyes flickered between the stack of paperwork and him. You’ve spent enough time at the BAU to know that those files needed to be reviewed, signed, and done by the end of the weekend, which crept closer with every passing second. As amazing at his job as he was, there was no way humanly possible he’d finish it in time and get a wink of sleep at the same time.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.”, you noted aloud. He nodded, likely knowing where you were going with the words that would follow.

“It is.” His eyes narrowed at you, a small smirk playing on his face as he awaited your question.

“You can’t finish all of that and still have time to sleep.” He was silent. He knew you were right. “What can I do to help?”

Hotch just chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll burn yourself out, you know.” Nevertheless, he passed you a black ink pen, your fingertips brushing each other’s hands in the process.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He chuckles deeply and shrugs. You smile to yourself, successful in making him smile, which is a rare accomplishment for most.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as hours pass and the pile dwindles to only three or four files. The two of you migrated to the leather couch in his office, a more comfortable place to work on a tedious assignment for hours. You’d lost count of the yawns you’d let slip from your lips. Even Hotch seemed to have trouble staying awake. You glanced at the time. You’d been in his office for almost four hours. Your mind wandered to what Garcia will have to say about ‘what really happened last night’. The time slowly crept into the early morning hours of the next day.

“(Y/N)”, Hotch begins, breaking the silence. You look up at him, waiting on him to continue. “I’ll drive you home if you’re too tired to drive. And a ride back to the office in the morning for your car. But you can’t oversleep.”, he jokes. You hit his arm lightly.

“I don’t oversleep!”, you exclaim, trailing off. “That often.” You stifle a yawn before answering, “Let’s just finish these last few and I’ll drive myself home. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

His mind was filled with one thought: “How could you ever burden me, (Y/N)?”. But he didn’t answer you. He just handed you a file and took one for himself, the two of you finishing the workload quickly. On your last one, it took all your strength to focus on the words on the paper and your handwriting. It felt like the couch was pulling you in. The cushions wrapped you up, softer than how you’d imagine a cloud would feel. You didn’t mean to, but your eyes fluttered shut and stayed that way as you drifted to sleep.

Aaron didn’t even notice at first that you’d fallen asleep. He continued working, lost in the papers and his mind. He got so enveloped with the case, he hadn’t noticed the slow rise and fall of your chest and your body relaxed into his chest. Once he did notice though, that he wasn’t just being used as a cushion, it was all he could pay attention to.

It wasn’t that you always looked stressed, but it was a nice sight to see you so relaxed. He kept thinking about how you deserved it, what you might be dreaming about, even. Thinking about if it might’ve been him. A dread grew within him, knowing he’d have to wake you. He didn’t want to; you just looked so peaceful, angelic. Beautiful.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he draped a blanket – which he happened to have, thrown across the back of the couch, in case he had a late-night himself – over your resting form. He made sure to cover you fully, from below your neck to your toes, without waking you. Another thought soon crept into his head: he couldn’t just leave you here, overnight, alone.

He evaluated his options. He could try to sleep in his office chair, which he’d done before. It wasn’t the most comfortable. There was no room to lay down on the couch, for obvious reasons. He had a couple of chairs in the office, but…

His gaze fell upon you again. Was it risky, waging a war with fate in the chance that the two of you might be caught snuggling on the couch together? Absolutely, it was. But he was willing to take that chance. Besides, who could tell him, their boss, that he was wrong? Sure, the two of you may never quit hearing about it, but he wouldn’t mind. And something told him you wouldn’t either.

After doing a quick scan of the bullpen for remaining agents, and finding none, he shifted his weight ever so slowly, letting you fall gently onto the couch. He stepped quietly over to his desk to flick the lamp off, then closed the shades slowly, and shut the door, careful not to let the door handle click too loudly. He shrugged off his suit jacket and shoes, draping his jacket over your already-covered body.

He got as comfortable as possible on the cushion that he’d previously occupied, slowly, as to not shift the cushions and risk waking you. His eyes were trained on you; you never moved as he settled himself down. As cliché as it was, he seemed to fall asleep faster with you in the room.

-

The sun woke you up, in a disorienting way. The simple fact that the sun had woken you was strange in itself since the sun rises on the other side of your apartment complex. Suddenly, you remembered, you weren’t in your bed. The surface you were lying on was comfortable, but not your bed comfortable. The strangest thing was that your pillow was uneven. And warm. With a pulse.

Your eyes opened, and you instantly snapped them shut. Bad idea. The sun hurt your sensitive eyes, and a groan involuntarily slipped from your lips. You sat up, stretching out all your limbs. You looked over at your ‘pillow’, putting a heartbeat, chest and a smell to a face. The blanket and jacket you were covered with smelled of him, so you didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was.

“Aaron?”, you asked in a sleepy voice. Your eyes finally focused, the sun losing its effect on you. He was awake. How long had he been…?

“Good morning, (Y/N). If you want a ride home to change out of yesterday’s clothes, I can drop you off on my way home.” A small smirk danced on his pink, soft-looking lips, the sun sparkling in his eyes like rays of light through a glass of whiskey. You started panicking. What if the team caught you like this? Would they tell Strauss? What if you lost your job?

“(Y/N).” You’d broken eye contact with him. He knew you were freaking out. You met his gaze again. “Nobody’s here. It’s eight o’clock, on a Sunday morning. Calm down.” Regret started flooding his mind. Should he have just taken you home? You exhaled a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. “Are you okay?”, he asked you.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” You rubbed your eyes, realizing too late you were wearing makeup, smearing it over the rest of your face. “Oh, shit.” You looked down at your hands, laughing at yourself. “I probably look a mess.”

Hotch laughed. “No, you don’t.” The words slipped from Aaron’s tired lips, no thought behind them. But it was true, it was how he felt. A blush crept up your neck and to your cheeks. Suddenly it was harder to meet his eyes. You chuckled nervously.

“Thanks, Hotch.” You wrung your fingers through your hands. A truthful atmosphere fell over the room, it seemed. “That was the best sleep I’d had in a while.” Hotch was a little taken aback at your honesty but flattered. He blushed a bit himself. He cleared his throat, then laughed.

“Me too, honestly.”, he muttered in a deep morning voice. Your eyes met. There wasn’t much space between the two of you in the first place, but you could’ve sworn he leaned forward to close the distance. His huge hand gently caressed your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. You could feel the blood rushing to your heart; you wondered if he could feel it running through your veins against his fingers.

His lips brushed against yours when suddenly, the alarm on his phone went off. The two of you jumped back like you’d been shot, your heart rate climbing. “Jesus Christ, Aaron.”, you exclaim, laughing to try and hide how startled you were. You hear him curse under his breath, digging his phone out of his pocket and silencing it. He sighed, shaking his head. He chuckled at himself, you assumed.

“I’m sorry.”, he said lowly. The apology wasn’t very specific towards anything; if it was, it wasn’t clear to you. How many things was he apologizing for? What thoughts were running through his head? He was hard to read, but maybe he liked it that way.

“For what?”, you asked softly, scooting closer to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your hand, then relax. He looked up at you.

“For ruining that…”, he trailed off as his eyes met yours. He searched your face, trying to understand exactly what feelings you were experiencing. Hopefully, he knew you weren’t upset with him. Your hand snaked down his arm, taking his hand in yours. Now it was your turn to cup his face in your hand; you felt his five o’clock shadow prickling against your fingers, but his cheek was soft as you smoothed it under your thumb.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”, you whispered. His eyes were a dark brown, despite the sunlight coming in. The rays were softer now, an orange color. His dark eyelashes shone under the light. He was enthralling in every way. You felt yourself falling harder and harder for him every second, especially now, but you’d never change that.

Your thumb lightly brushed over his lips, taking him in. He watched your every move, just as entranced with you as you were with him. You felt his hand behind your neck, pulling you closer to him until your lips finally touched. His lips on yours were better than you could’ve ever anticipated. He was slow, soft, gentle, like rain in the spring. Then again, there was a need behind it. A longing; he’d been waiting for this as long as you have, maybe even longer.

You wanted to kiss him all day, be in his arms and wrap yourselves up in each other. You were falling, hard. Harder than hitting every branch on the way down, harder than the way the first boom of a firework echoes in your chest.

Both of you were breathless by now, but neither of you seemed to care about the lack of oxygen. The kiss was deeper now, hotter, needier, messier. You’d thrown a knee over his lap, your hands fisted in his white button-up. His hands rested on your sides, dangerously low past the waistband of your pants. His lips suddenly broke from yours, the sound of your heavy breathing filling the room. He never stopped for a breath; his lips were making up for lost time, trailing from your chin, down your neck. He took his time with you, as you’d always imagined he would.

You’d barely caught your breath when you whisper his name in his ear. He stopped, pulling back. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” His concerned eyes searched your face. You didn’t answer him with any words, just by kissing his lips again but only for a moment. The single kiss took a lot of your self-control, but you knew you were moving fast.

“I’ve never been better, Aaron. But…”, you said in a low voice, trailing a finger down his neck until you hit the first button on his shirt. “I want to take it slow with you, Hotch. I want to know all your little quirks and I want to be there for the stuff that you don’t do in front of anyone else because you trust me that much. I know how sappy it sounds…”, you paused, watching for his reaction through your spill so far. He watched you move and speak like you were the most important thing he’d ever had to pay attention to. And that’s exactly what you were to him. “Aaron,” you started again, running one of your hands through his hair, “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you. And here you are, everything I’ve ever wanted, right in front of me.”

How did he feel? He answered you with a kiss, one more passionate than any from earlier – if you could believe it, that is. “(Y/N)...you’re everything I’ve been waiting on. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without you.” You chuckled, earning a small smile from him.

“Well, good luck getting rid of me now, Aaron Hotchner.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

-

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#fanfic #fanfiction #literature #romance #original story #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds oneshot #david rossi #emily prentiss #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x y/n #hotch fanfiction #hotch imagine #hotch x you #hotch x reader #agent hotchner #spencer reid #penelope garcia #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #thewhitejournal

[hyperfics-ation]

(6 Underground fic. idk what to call it. shameless oc insert.) *Police brutality mention*

Films: 6 Underground 2019

Word Count: 1,752

Pairing: billy!four/oc

Description: You were Arianna's first friend in New York City which is why One helped you fake your death when you get into trouble. It's never stated in the story but that's why.

Without anywhere to go, he gives you a home at the base while he assembles his team. Eventually you meet Four and he makes "dying" worth while. 

When One cut all ties to his old life it was because he had a mission. A purpose to fulfill. Same goes for the rest of the team. Each member was handpicked.

Except for you.

You were never part of the plan so you didn't get a number.

Obviously this made introductions a little complicated when One introduced you to Two.

The CIA spook, already dubious about One and his motivations, raised one eyebrow and sized you up quickly.

You smiled awkwardly, sensing that a formal handshake was out of the question. "Just call me Zero," you joked halfheartedly, trying not to fidget under Two's critical gaze.

Just as you broke out in a nervous sweat, Two finally looked away and motioned for One to follow her out of the trailer. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted to discuss privately.

Did One seriously believe it was a good idea to involve a civilian on what was most likely going to turn out to be a suicide mission?

What did a nobody like you really bring to the table, skill-wise?

You didn't have a good answer to either of those questions and honestly neither did One.

Anyway, faking your death had been an experience™ and the adjustment period after had been hard. One hadn't been the most sympathetic. Not outwardly. After all, you were never a part of his grand plan. You were the wrench that got thrown in the plan. You felt kinda bad about that sometimes. 

···

When One was ready to go recruit Two, he thought it best you stay behind. 

"Sure. I'll be fine," you reassured him with a soft smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. 

The expression on his face made it very clear that he did not believe you. But he said nothing, already behind schedule. 

You woke up the next morning bracing yourself to face the next couple of weeks on your own. Except you weren't alone. A big ass dog sat patiently at your bedside, tongue wagging and panting softly with a note tied to his collar. 

Take care of the dog while I'm gone. P.S. Don't let him eat my stuff.  -One. 

You named the dog Wally. 

···

Three's arrival was really something. 

He was the complete opposite of Two. His easy going nature actually reminded you a lot of One. They were alike in a lot of ways, but maybe that's why they did not get along very well. Honestly, you could only stand the both of them in the same room for so long. 

But he was nice. And he talked to you. Your conversations weren't anything particularly deep. One's rules forbid any of you from revealing personal details about your old lives. Mostly you discussed movies and TV shows. 

Regardless, you lived for those benign conversations. They provided a brief intermission to the insane turn your life had taken. 

···

One could tell you were struggling. 

Wally the dog was only so much company.

You were adrift with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. 

Your old life was gone and the only people left in your life was One, Two, and Three. They all had their own issues and it wasn't like you had any shared life experience with the older adults. 

So maybe One had an ulterior motive when he recruited Four. 

The first day the Skywalker showed up with his still healing bruises and luminous blue eyes, you laughed until your face turned red. 

"Skywalker? We're not seriously going to call him that are we?" you wheezed in One's direction, swiping tears from the corner of your eye.

One opened his mouth, the perfect retort poised on his tongue before you swiftly cut him off. 

"Is he a fucking Jedi? Are you are Jedi?" 

Your raucous laughter had faded into barely stifled giggles as you looked at Four. 

He sighed. "Are you done? I need a drink." 

He brushed past you as you were still reeling from the spine tingling deep tenor of his voice paired with that accent. Now your face was flushed for a different reason. 

"Hey, be easy on him. He just watched his own funeral, which was somehow more depressing than a normal funeral should be," One told you, making you feel like a dick. 

···

Five was a godsend. Though, if One ever heard you admit it, you were sure his ego would explode at being compared with a god. 

You were just happy to be around the closest thing to a civilian. 

“You like him, don’t you? Number Four?” she asked you with a knowing grin. 

Almost immediately your face went red. “I don’t know what you mean. Who? Me?” 

Wow. Real subtle, you thought, cringing. 

Yeah, you weren’t fooling anyone, especially Five. You wondered if any of the other ghosts knew about your crush on Four. 

They did. But no one said anything. 

···

Six figured it out within hours of meeting you and proceeded to tease you relentlessly. 

So much for millennial solidarity.  

The longer he was around, though, he  became like an older brother to you. You couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him.

···

With One’s team of ghosts finally assembled, Two insisted on a mandatory training exercise to assess how well everyone worked together. You had no fucking idea why she wanted you to attend this exercise. One had already made it very clear that you were not part of the mission. But you suspected she was actually trying to do you a favor. 

The self defense pointers were useful, you supposed. Being paired with Four was… embarrassing and definitely Two’s idea of a joke. 

On the other hand, you were finally seeing a different side of Four. A more arrogant, carefree side that made you laugh not to mention pine a hundred times harder than you were before. 

Just when you were starting to have fun throwing Four around on a mat, Two steered you towards a makeshift gun range.

It had been a while since you held a gun and considering what happened the last time you did…

Needless to say you were pretty shaky afterwards, teetering on the verge of spiralling into a flashback and Four couldn’t help but notice. 

···

Later, when you were hunkered down in One’s office mindlessly rewatching Leave It To Beaver episodes Four surprised you by joining you. 

He didn’t say anything for a while, content to just sit and watch the little TV as you tried to ignore him. 

"So how did you get pulled into all this, really?" he spoke up, finally as the credits started rolling. 

You took your time answering. That was the billion dollar question that One had repeatedly forbid any of them from answering. Except, you wanted to tell someone if only to justify being a ghost. If you could get anyone on the team to believe that someone as unremarkable as you wouldn't be here if you had a choice. 

You steadfastly avoided looking into his curious green eyes. 

"I grew up in a small town. I was fairly popular in school. Got good grades. I was accepted into a good University in a big city..." 

Oh boy, you were veering into monologue territory and you could feel the old wounds tearing open. 

"There was… this cop. At a protest. He assaulted me and it was... bad. I woke up in the hospital with this guy telling me to keep my mouth shut. He… he threatened me. For weeks. Him and his buddies. Painted me as a criminal even though I didn’t fucking do anything wrong.  Finally I just said 'fuck it' and made a whole video about what this asshole did to me. Which turned out to be a mistake. Shocker, I know. He cornered me the next day and he was drunk-" 

You bit your lip hard, desperately fighting back tears. Four’s gaze burned where you could feel it on your face. God, what was he thinking right now? You wanted to know. He had been silent so far, listening intently as you told him about the worst moment of your life.

“Fucking pigs,” he muttered under his breath, his lip curling in disgust. 

Swallowing the lump of emotion building in your throat, you continued, "I defended myself. And that's how One found me. Over this cop's dead body. I was going to go to jail because who would ever believe I killed a cop in self defense? So, One helped me fake my death and gave me a second chance. To this day, I still have no idea why he was there when I needed him the most. It wasn't even to recruit me. He just helped me because he could. The whole Turgistan thing came later."  

At last, you glanced at Four from the corner of your eye to see his reaction. 

His brows were knitted together and he had a serious expression on his face you weren’t accustomed to seeing him sport before. 

“I’m glad One was there to help you or I might not have ever met you.” 

This boy was too good to be true. 

“I'd like to get to know you better, if that’s alright.” 

You were quietly crying at this point, but you nodded, smiling through the tears. “I’d like that.” 

Read Part II here

#6 underground netflix #6 underground movie #6 underground #billy #four #four!billy/oc #four!6underground/oc #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy/oc #ficlet #ben hardy x reader #four x reader #billy x reader #four!6underground x reader #four!billy x reader #posted on a03

[knittingdreams]

Fireheart - Chapter 8

Okay, let’s quickly give you all the links to the previous chapter while I *cof cof* work on a *cof* masterlist :D

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

If you’re new to this story, Fireheart is a HS AU from the TOG saga. (I love and hate abbreviations so much, lol) It’s centered around Celaena joining High School when she’s 17, to try and find clues on who killed her parents. 

Sam (my baby, my love, my little beam) has a lot of protagonism in this story, and you’ll see his POV quiet often (like on this chapter, yayyy)

WARING: Almost every chapter will have physical violence and blood. I will do my best to remember and add other pertinent warnings on each chapter (sorry if I don’t, I’m still pretty new to publishing my work and sometimes forget about this things. Don’t hesitate to let me know if I forget, so I can make sure to add them up and save any readers a bad time, which is the last thing I want <3 I want my writing to entertain you, sometimes to break your heart a little, but only to fill it back up with mushy feelings afterwards n_n)

On the last chapter.... We left Celaena in the office, the door knob slowly twisting....

CHAPTER 8

A thanks would do

The dance floor was still packed, the same as it had been since the start of the night. People came and went, but the crowd never diminished. Sam had been dancing to the side of the room for a while, trying to talk with as many people as possible while keeping an eye on Celaena. He hadn’t been surprised when he saw her walking up the marble stairs, and had made sure to start a counter on his wristwatch. 

It was sitting on eleven minutes when Sam started to get fidgety and walked closer to the stairs’ landing while dancing with a girl called Ansel. She was so incredibly full of energy; Sam was almost struggling to keep up. 

“This party is lit!” The girl said as she raised her arms in the air and started spinning around in circles.

Sam used the distraction to leave the girl behind and move closer to the stair, casually lingering around the landing while fake sipping from an empty plastic cup. By the twelfth minute Chaol Westfall, the one he had learned to be Dorian’s best friend, headed up the stairs. He waited until the guy was almost to the top before he rushed up on silent feet. The staircase ended up in a long hallway stretching to the right, and a dead-end to the left. Sam peeked through the corner, watching Chaol walk halfway across the hallway and stop in front of a door. His hand sat on the knob for a moment before he looked to the side, towards the end of the hall, and kept walking.

“For fucks sake,” Sam murmured under his breath.

He tiptoed the first half of the hallway and once he was there, Chaol’s hand on the knob of the last door, he purposely tripped with the carpet and cursed out loud. Chaol almost jumped up as he turned around, his brows tightly knit together.

“What are you doing here?” The student president asked in a stern voice.

“So- So sorry, mate,” Sam half slurred. “They-Someone… told me there was a- agh- toilet up here,” he finished as he scratched the back of his neck, holding himself against the wall with one hand.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” Chaol said as he walked towards him. “There’s a bathroom downstairs you can use.”

“There was a - agh - really long - que… queue,” he finished as he stretched an arm and rested it on Chaol’s shoulder for extra support. “I’m really... busting.”

“Come here, I’ll show you the way to the secret bathroom out back, Dorian will kill you if you puke up here,” he continued. “He will get the place professionally cleaned up before his father is back in town, but still, he hates when people sneak up.” Chaol kept talking almost to himself as he walked Sam down the hall and towards the stairs. 

Sam looked back just in time to see Celaena peeking through the door before they turned the corner.

“You owe me,” he said under his breath, low enough for his voice to be lost under the music that was already reaching them from below.

***

All everybody was talking about on Monday morning was how amazing Dorian’s party had been. But all Sam could think about, was how close of a call it had been. He was sure Celaena had a plan B and could have gotten out of it, but any kind of suspicion could have ruined her plan. They were lucky no one had found anything out, and Celaena had shown back in the middle of the dance floor minutes later, dancing around as if she had never left.

He hadn't told Arobynn about the incident, he was too scared he would have scolded Celaena for being careless and almost getting caught. He was risking his neck by keeping that information to himself, but it was worth the risk. And obviously, Celaena hadn’t thanked him for the help. She hadn’t even spoken a word to him since the party.

Once lunchtime came over, Sam was feeling restless after thinking for so long. He needed something to do, he was probably just not used to the quietness. He had had a really busy weekend training for the fights to come, and sitting still wasn’t resonating with him. The tournament was set to start in a month, but he had a fight on the weekend to win his place in the competition, which meant he had trained hard, his muscles still aching from the strain he had caused his body.

He looked up at Celaena, who was eating her lunch with the exchange student again before he decided to go for a walk. He hung his bag from his shoulder and started circulating the hallways, pretending to be mindlessly walking while he tried to catch on anything unusual. He hadn’t studied the building as much as Celaena had, and he was always glad for any spare time to get to know the place better.

The halls were almost deserted and fairly quiet, which was probably why he heard the soft sobs coming from one of the classrooms. He headed straight towards the sound, opening the door slowly and finding a girl with her head hidden between her arms. All he could see was a mass of dark brown hair spilled onto the desktop. 

“Are you okay?” He asked as he approached the crying girl, carefully placing a hand on her forearm.

As the girl looked up, her emerald eyes made Sam’s gut twist at the sadness behind them. Her eyes were red-rimmed, with tears pooling in the corners. She looked puzzled for a moment, as if unsure of what to say.

“I’ll be alright,” she said in a small voice. “Just… leave me alone, I didn’t think anybody would find me here.” She turned around, hiding her face between her arms again.

Unsure of how to proceed, Sam sat on the floor next to her, his legs crossed.

“I think I’ll stick around in case you want to talk to someone, I promise I won’t bother you, but you shouldn’t be alone while you’re in pain,” he said. “I’ll be quiet,” he added.

She looked down at him with fresh tears running down her cheeks. “Why would you do this? You don’t even know me,” she said between quiet sobs.

“I don’t need to know you in order to care, Lysandra,” he said. She didn’t seem surprised that he knew her name, but why would she? Everybody in school knew who she was.

“Sorry, I don’t even know your name,” she said as she wiped her tears and tried to smile a little.

“I’m Sam, Sam Cortland.” He extended his hand, and Lysandra shook it with a chuckle.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You’re distressed, I know I would like someone to be by my side if I was in your position, so here I am. I can listen to what’s troubling you, or I can just sit here in silence. If you like it better, we can chat about the weather or any other non-important matters to keep your mind off whatever is troubling you,” he offered.

Lysandra wiped the remaining tears with the palm of her hand, seeming calmer after Sam’s little monologue. She took out a small mirror from her bag and opened it up. 

“Don’t think I’m superficial, but I rather people not notice I’ve been crying,” she explained as she fixed her makeup, adding some mascara and then concealer under her eyes.

“Here, look at me,” Sam said as he pushed her chin lightly to make her look his way. “Hmmm, I can’t even tell, your eyes look brighter if that’s even possible, but you look as good as you do every day,” he concluded with a smile as he let go of her chin and stood up, offering her a hand. “Would you like to head back to the cafeteria?”

Lysandra accepted his hand to get to her feet but shook her head in denial. She smiled warmly at him for a moment, and then looked down to her feet.

“That would only lead to trouble, and the bell is probably about to ring. I’ll head straight to my next class, but thank you, Sam Cortland,” she looked up as she said his name, and started to walk towards the door.

“I’m always here to help,” Sam said as he followed her towards the door.

Lysandra walked through the threshold and turned left almost at the same time that Sam went out the door barely a step behind her, and turned the other direction. He was watching the girl walk away, and didn’t notice the small group of people coming back from the cafeteria already, making him bump straight into someone’s chest.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he took a step back and looked up.

“Look where you’re going, you fucking newby!” The guy he had bumped into said. Sam took an extra step back, feeling the angry energy that was emanating from the guy. He knew his kind, and he could tell anything he said would be used as an excuse to start a fight. 

There were already a few curious eyes looking their way, making him confirm his suspicions that the guy meant trouble.

“Sorry mate, my bad,” Sam said with his palms raised, trying to look smaller than he was as he rounded his shoulders inwards.

The guy standing in front of him took a step forward. He wasn’t taller than Sam, maybe even an inch shorter, but as the guy cracked his knuckles, Sam realized he wasn’t alone. Two taller guys were towering behind the first one, keeping watch.

“What were you doing, getting out of a room with a taken girl?” The bully said loud enough for the whole hall to hear as he pointed at Lysandra as if looking for an excuse to get mad at him. Sam looked over his shoulder and found the girl frozen in place only a few steps behind him.

“Leave her out of this,” Sam said, taking a protective step forward. “She’s got nothing to do with whatever is going on here.” He pointed to the narrow gap in between them. 

The guy closed that gap, grabbing a fist full of Sam’s shirt by its collar. He ran his other hand through his short black hair as a chuckle escaped his lips and his equally dark eyes bored into Sam’s golden ones. 

“What is going on here, is that you're about to get a black eye for being a smart ass,” he spat on his face.

“Look, mate,” Sam said with his hands still lifted in front of him, showing his palms. “I don’t even know you, sorry I bumped into you. Now, let’s just be mature about this and move on.” He smiled then, and he knew straight away that was the wrong thing to do. He knew the type all too well, the guy in front of him was going to have his head just for existing, just because he could feel a different vibe coming out of him; just because he felt threatened. 

He wished he could explain he was no competition to him.

“I’m Rourke,” the guy said with a grin. “And now that we know each other, junior, let’s teach you a lesson.”

Before Sam could even blink, Rourke’s fist collided against his jaw.

I’m so sorry my baby bean Sam T_T I love you! <3

Isn’t he the most adorable thing?? <3

#throne of glass fanfic #tog fanfic #tog fandom #throne of glass #sam cortland #celaena #chapter eight #fireheart

[writingbakery]

“the ballerina & the nutcracker”🩰

this is a work that’s very dear to my heart that i’m finally releasing to the world! i abandoned it for a while, but my heart has returned - as has my love for the story. loosely based on several versions of the nutcracker, and heavily inspired by the ballet classical soundtrack; i highly recommend listening to it as you read. if there’s enough interest, this will become a chaptered fic!

wherein reader is a lonely, lost ballerina, thrust into a world where rats don’t only talk, but wield swords - and is that their toy nutcracker, alive and fighting? this adventure has only just begun, and the reader will go on a journey of love, friendship, tears, and laughter to find out just what the meaning of courage is ✨

[pairing; nutcracker!kirishima x gn! ballerina!reader]

[warnings; violence, magic, rat soldiers, flowery language, crude language, implied child abuse, implied bullying, romance]

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

chapter one; an enchanted evening ✨

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

┊ ┊ ┊ ✫

┊ ┊ ☪︎⋆

┊ ⊹ ┊

✯ ⋆ ┊ . ˚

˚✩

┌────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┐

“after you, clara.”

“oh nutcracker, stop bowing. we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“always, clara. always..”

The Nutcracker Prince (1990)

└────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┘

snow falls delicately outside the large, frosty window, rivulets of ice clinging to the outside wooden frame. the streets are quiet with winter emptiness, piles of glistening white snow covering everything within sight & softening the normally bustling street corners. inside, just beyond the twinkling glass, a person sits, hand tucked under their chin as they watch the snowflakes grace every available surface, eyes a little sad.

you sit so still that for a moment, any passerby making their way through the cold that chanced for a moment to peer up at your frosty window would think you were a doll. you were delicate looking from the waist up, features rosy & small, handcrafted in glass. the only part of you that seemed alive were your eyes, dancing amidst the snowflakes as they made their slow waltz to the ground.

your name is [y/n] [l/n], & your adventure is only just beginning.

leaning back from your perch along the windowsill, you let a gentle sigh escape, cold fingers carding through tousled hair as you set about to begin your day.

you work your way through a half hours worth of gentle stretches, ensuring you’d shaken off the lingering silks of chill deep in your bones before dressing hurriedly & making your way to the academy.

the treasure academy for gifted persons was a dance academy first & foremost, one you had been attending for most of your years. you’d known you were in love with the art the first time your parents had brought you to the ballet, the soaring dancers trapped behind your eyelids whenever you so much as blinked. you’d sat stock still in between your mother & father that night, enraptured by the graceful, yet powerful movements. afterwards, you’d stood amongst a small crowd as the ballerinas poured out one by one, special praise being heaped upon the male lead for his incredible strength in lifting so many of the others through turns & spins. it had confused you greatly at the time, rose clutched between small hands as you told the female lead that you’d thought she was twice as powerful. she’d done pirouettes & leaps twice as fast as the others, pushed her body beyond its limits & you couldn’t understand why no one would acknowledge it. the pretty ballerina had simply laughed, kneeled down to your level to accept the rose. “not everyone sees strength the way you & i do, dear,” she whispered to you before making her way out of the crowd, leaving you with a fluttering heart, a kiss pressed to your forehead, & the urge to dance hollowing out your bones.

that night had transformed you, sending a lithe little child soaring through the air in poor imitations of pirouettes & plies, tumbling over two left feet until your mother had relented, & enrolled you in ballet. your father had been disapproving, as always; always worried about what the neighbors would think. the [l/n] family was well off enough that they could bend the social status quo to their liking, but your father had always been fickle, a perfectionist. he couldn’t bear the thought of being seen as lower in any way, & a child that preferred ballet slippers to books and studies was shameful in every way.

until you danced.

even as a child you’d had incredible skill, raw talent in your every movement & it was breathtaking to watch. every dip & turn was fluid, marked with a steady gracefulness that usually came from years of study. exercises that took even the most skilled of dancers weeks took you days; by the end of your first year, you’d landed the lead ballerina role.

you hated it.

your instructors see you as nothing but talent with too much time to think, absurdly harsh on you; they demand perfection, take every scrap of effort you give & hungrily scrape your bones for more. you’re nothing but a means for them to succeed, a way to relive their own glory.

the ballerinas are kinder, more gentle. but they themselves are a beast all their own, wound up in tight insecurities & tighter diets, something your toned, strong thighs cannot sympathize with. they must be fragile as glass with the strength of concrete; a constant push and pull. the ballerinos get slightly more lee-way, less pressure, but you’re caught between both worlds, & so you bear both of their weights on your shoulders.

you are alone, but not lonely. so long as you can dance, you will never be lonely.

the music rushes towards you with every arching step, the melody whittled from your bones & thrummed from your skin. they become one, perfectly intertwined, two halves of a whole not yet separated. it’s where you feel complete.

most days, it takes a heavy combination of overwhelming exhaustion, late hours, and concerned fellow students to get you out of the studios. today, since it’s christmas eve, you’re out by lunchtime. you don’t want to disappoint your mother by being late, and you’re sure to take a long soak in the bath to wash away the residual stink of sweat and never being good enough.

you dress comfortably for the evening, simple trousers and a warm, red knit sweater. as you dress you can hear the loud, overeager shouts that can only come from children at christmas time; your cousins have arrived, their noisy cheer infecting the quiet house. it brings a smile to your face, makes facing your family a little easier.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

dinner is early, a simple affair when the clock strikes four and everyone’s made it to the dining room. you push roast potatoes and chicken around your plate slowly, soak in the bragging speeches and subtle jabs. you just want it to be nightfall already, curled up alone in your living room and watching the snow pile up as the clock strikes midnight.

after dinner everyone crowds into the parlor, your cousins bouncing around the tree excitedly - they want to open their presents, and no one can deny them. your uncle carefully hands out each prettily wrapped gift, the shine of their ribbons almost hypnotizing in the firelight. each child gets a small pile, full of little tin men and wooden trains, glossy eyed stuffed dolls and hair ribbons. you’re content to watch their enchanted smiles, curled up on the far sofa, and so your surprise is evident when your uncle places a small, delicately wrapped box in your lap.

uncle had always been a tad eccentric, your mother’s brother’s wife’s brother, or something along those lines. he was a toymaker by trade, careful hands crafting the most beautiful painted dolls and puppets, casting little fierce soldiers from tin molds. your father hated the man, but indulged his wife, as he was the only relative on your mother’s side that lived close enough to visit for holidays.

he handmade every child’s present, spending months before the holiday painstakingly crafting every toy to perfection, and he’d done so for as long as you could remember. it was sentimental and sweet, but you had been too old for toys for several christmases already.

still, you’re intrigued by the prettily wrapped present, taking it with careful hands and working open the ribbon. you gasped at the cherry wood box, poking through the tissue paper to reveal a handsomely painted nutcracker.

it was about the length of your forearm, built of sturdy wood and richly painted, glinting in the firelight. it was almost handsome, a hand stitched uniform covering its wooden form - it almost looked regal, like the little nutcracker was royalty.

“thank you so much,” you whispered, looking up at your uncle in awe. you’d never owned something so sentimental, so carefully crafted. it made you feel warm somewhere deep in your chest, blossoming through your body as you stared at the elegant nutcracker.

the moment is shattered immediately; it’s almost expected.

“and what use do you think [y/n] should have for that?” your father asked crossly, leaning over to rip the nutcracker from your hands. “they’re no longer a child, you foolish man. or have all the paints in your shack of a shop finally corrupted your mind?” he twisted the little nutcracker back and forth, digging a fat finger into the wooden jaw. it comes apart with a sharp crack, and so does your quiet patience.

you snatch the nutcracker back with a panicked gasp, anger building low in your stomach. after ensuring that all your father’s done is pop out the nutcracker’s lower jaw, you turn on him with a furious expression.

“why must you always ruin things that make me happy!? why can’t you ever let me be happy?” you shout, the parlor deathly silent. running up the stairs, you can hear your mother’s angry scolding and your father’s flippant excuses, overlapped with the whispers of your cousins.

you ignore them in favor of searching your room, letting out a triumphant little yell when you find it; a frayed ballet ribbon, torn from your old pointe shoes. carefully holding the nutcrackers jaw in place, you lace the ribbon underneath its chin and tie it into a little bow atop its shiny wooden head.

“there, aren’t you handsome again? nothing a little ribbon can’t fix,” you say softly to the doll, smiling warmly. you can’t help it, you almost feel like… it’s listening to you, encouraging you with a hidden twinkle in its painted eyes.

“father’s always so brutish. he breaks everything he touches, physically and verbally. don’t expect an apology from him either, my little nutcracker prince. he’s insufferably stubborn,” you continued, fixing its gold stitched jacket as you spoke.

“i hate him, sometimes. i must love him, of course - he’s my father. but i do not have to like him, and i won’t, not as long as i live. he’s always ruining things.” you let out a weary sigh, adjusting the little ribbon carefully.

“sometimes, i wish i was a bird, so i could fly far, far away,” you confess to the little nutcracker, eyes suddenly a little wet. “far away from father and the instructors and everyone.”

you set the nutcracker down next to you on the bed, curling up to wait until everyone’s gone to bed. “far, far away,” you hum, pulling the duvet over yourself.

next to you, the nutcracker shines in the lamplight, a mischievous glint to its eye.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

as the clock neared twelve and the house grew silent once more, you crept down the stairs, tiptoeing into the empty parlor. sighing a bit, you rest your little nutcracker at the base of the christmas tree, sitting amongst scattered tin men and abandoned dolls - your cousins leaving their toys long forgotten on the wood floor.

for a moment, the room stands completely, utterly still, silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock and the dying embers of the fireplace. everything is peaceful, the room sparkling from the christmas lights and the flickering, fading flames.

you smile, content.

the sharp, heavy banging of the clock striking twelve jolts you from your stupor, and as you glance back at it you can see the looming shadow of your uncle, smiling in the dim light. “uncle? what’s happening?” you try to ask over the din of the clock, but it feels as though your voice is getting smaller and smaller, the room beginning to spin in a dizzying display of christmas lights and shaky flickers. everything seems to grow larger and larger, the soothing voice of your uncle surrounding you at all sides. “relax, my child. your present reveals itself,” he says, a fond smile to his lips before he disappears into the shadows.

when you open your eyes again, the room is massive. the tree towers over you on one side, the grandfather clock looming on the other. for a moment, you think that you’re dreaming, shaking your head to clear it.

this time, when your eyes open, you’re in the middle of battle.

tin soldiers yell from all sides of you, slashing their bayonets fiercely into the darkness. dolls swing their fabric fists at an unseen enemy, discarding shoes and capes everywhere.

you also realize you’re naked, shrunk into a pile of your now too big clothes. you scream.

around you, the battle rages on, the enemy becoming clear in the dim lamplight; rats, dressed in military uniforms, fighting with rusted swords. you’re confused and terrified, watching as they fight in dizzying displays of violence.

a tin soldier strikes down a squealing rat, moving from your line of sight, and in the newly exposed space a familiar face emerges. you gasp, recognition flooding your features; it’s your nutcracker.

only now, your little nutcracker is taller than you, broad shouldered and snarling as he battles a large, fierce looking rat. it has a crown perched atop its unsightly head, the clanging of swords overpowering every other sound in the room. as you watch, the rat gains the upper hand, slashing the sword from the nutcracker’s grip - he is defenseless.

you move before you can even think, reaching down to pick up a stray doll slipper and lobbing it at the dirty rat’s head. you immediately regret that decision, the shoe smacking the rat directly in the face - and focusing its attention on you.

just as he’s stepping towards you, malice in his face, the nutcracker lunges, holding a sword to the rat’s neck.

“leave, rat. our battle will not end here,” he commands, voice rich and deep. it has the authority of a leader, the cadence of a king.

“this won’t be our last meeting, nutcracker. you will not win,” the rat growled, before letting out a shrill, low whistle; the fighting rats immediately still, before racing into a tiny, unnoticed crack in the wall. the leader shoots one last venomous, poison glare at the nutcracker, before following after them.

suddenly, the room is quiet, the dolls and soldiers regrouping and collecting themselves. you watch as the nutcracker makes his way through the mess, a smile on the - interestingly handsome - wooden face.

“now that, little ballerina, was quite brave.” in the lamplight, the nutcracker looks human, warm and familiar.

you manage to stammer out a weak “thank you”, shyly yanking up the collar of your sweater to cover your naked form. it’s more than a little embarrassing, meeting the very doll you’d ranted to a few hours earlier. you’re still not convinced this isn’t all a dream.

“i am kirishima eijiro, the prince of the southern isles. the creature you just saw was the rat king, forceful overtaker of the southern isles. my isles. he cursed me into this wooden form, to prevent me from taking back my throne,” the nutcracker explains, leaning down to gather a few stray garments. he hands them to you with a wry smile, giving a sly glance to your sweater covered form. you blush brightly, snatching the clothes and waiting for the nutcracker to turn around to tug them on. a silky, short sleeved leotard, silk shorts, and a tutu, all in a pretty blush pink. there’s even a matching pair of little pointe shoes, and you’re surprised at how well it all fits. you feels rather like you fit now, in this wild fever dream that has no end.

“how was he able to do such a thing? surely there’s some sort of….. actually, never mind.” you’re beginning to realize that nothing about this is normal, and you aren’t sure how to feel. the nutcracker sighs, running a hand over his face. weariness seems to haunt his every action, and your heart softens.

“i was a fool then, full of reckless youth and insufferable invincibility. i thought i could defeat him all on my own. my only hope now is to find the sugar plum princess, and enlist her help to break my curse. but in order to find her, i must travel back to my kingdom, and find the sugar plum fairy. she is the only one who knows exactly where the princess is. she also may be able to… fix this little predicament of yours.” despite the heavy words, there’s a teasing lilt to his tone, and you can’t help but find it endearing despite the circumstances.

for a moment, you’re filled with a flurry of panic, uncertainty. part of you wants to run, hide away in your bed and hope for it all to end. but you steel your nerves, shaking off the fear in your heart. you can’t show weakness now, not here.

“well, if she can make everything as it was before, i suppose we’ve got some traveling to do,” you say with all the confidence you can muster, holding your head up high. the nutcracker smiles, holding out his hand; you take it carefully, sealing your fate in this new adventure.

together, you both step into the crack in the wall, and you can only hope you make it home in one piece.

#bnha kirishima #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #kirishima eijiro x reader #nutcracker au #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha fic #boku no hero fluff #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero fanfic #evywrites #ballerina & the nutcracker

[foreverwayward]

“Happy Birthday, Dean”

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1764

Warnings: fluff, smut, and language 18+

Summary: the reader surprises Dean with a very “special” birthday gift.

Prompt from @gypsyjucar

Dean sat on the couch of the motel room, fidgeting with his hands in the silence. The cream sofa smelled of old leather, but it was the cheap kind that had a hint of a plastic scent.

In his sweats and a black knit long sleeve, the hunter picked up the outdated magazine on the side table with an exasperated sigh. He flipped through the pages not even really paying attention to its contents. After only a minute with it, Dean tossed it back onto the countertop.

The bottom of the bathroom door lit up with the light illuminating from inside, and Dean could see the shadow of movement block its glow.

“Hey!” he called gruffly. “You comin’ out any time soon? I’m gettin’ antsy over here.”

A sweet chuckle came from the bathroom in response. “Dean...you can wait a couple of minutes.”

“‘A couple minutes?’ Woman, you’ve been in there for way too long.” Dean stood and huffed. “It’s my birthday and you said I was gonna get my present. Don’t make me come in there.”

The door slowly opened and Y/N stepped out, leaning against the frame wearing nothing but black lace lingerie. The thong panties revealed one of Dean’s favorite parts of her body; the teddy top revealing her stomach and breasts. Her hair fell in soft curls down her shoulders and back, her bare feet shifting on the ground.

Dean turned in her direction and froze. His jaw slightly fell in shock and arousal as he studied her from bottom to top. Once his eyes found hers and seeing them filled with lust, Dean melted. His brow creased and he exhaled heavily.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

A deep rumble filled the hunter’s chest. “Oh, fuck me…” Dean drug out.

“Oh, we’ll get there.” Y/N sauntered in his direction, never breaking eye contact. Though they had been together countless times before, Dean felt like a teenage boy as his heart raced with anticipation. Her hands seductively reached up to his firm chest and she hummed as she took pleasure in the look on his face. “I sent Sam out for a couple hours, so...looks like it’s just gonna be us for a while.”

“Thank god,” he moaned as his arms wrapped around her tightly, pressing her against him as his lips crashed into hers. Dean’s hands roamed her body hungrily. It was as if he had never touched Y/N before; like he was exploring her for the first time.

Dean guided them both toward the bed, backing her up as he laid her down. His warm body immediately crawled on top of her with one hand around her back to keep her close. The Winchester’s free hand cupped the side of her head as his fingers laced into her locks.

It never ceased to surprise Y/N how he could be so soft and gentle and yet so dominating all at once. Dean’s touch always made her core ache and the sound of him moaning into her mouth made her panties wet.

Pulling away, but only slightly, Dean looked her over once more. He eyed the ribbon that kept the teddy together and smiled mischievously. As his fingers danced over the strip of fabric, he bit his lip. “Think it’s time I open my present.” Y/N giggled with a sultry look before Dean leaned in. Grabbing the ribbon in his teeth, he slowly tugged it untied. He reached up and parted the top one side at a time revealing each of her breasts. Dean’s tongue shot out over his bottom lip as he basked in all that she was. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured finding her lips again.

With firmer hands, Dean cupped her right breast and Y/N melted into his touch. His free hand reached down and covered her mound as she bucked up in response. Dean felt the slick between her legs and nearly growled. “This for me, sweetheart?” he asked intently.

Y/N panted as Dean’s finger teased her slit through her panties. “It’s always for you…” A devilish grin crept up the hunter’s face and he pushed aside the fabric keeping him from the warmth between her legs. Y/N’s head fell back and her mouth dropped agape as he teased her aching clit. “Dean…”

“That’s right. Say my name again, Y/N…”

“Dean…”

Dean’s finger painstakingly rubbed down until it teased her entrance. “Say it again…”

Y/N gasped. “Dean…”

As he pushed his large digit inside, he leaned into her ear. “Again.”

“Dean!”

“Mm. I love that sound.” A pleased chuckle came from his throat as Dean began to move deeper inside her.  The wet from her pussy dripped down into his hand as it squelched from his movement. He grinned. “But, I think that sound might be my favorite,” Dean whispered with a growl. Y/N moaned in pleasure and her hips began to move against his hand as another finger filled her. With a wiggle of his fingertip, Dean brushed against her sweet spot. “There baby?” And with a deeper push in, Y/N inhaled sharply. “That’s my good girl.”

Dean’s eyes went dark as he quickly pulled out from her and made short work of pulling up her hips to yank off her panties. Y/N squealed unintentionally as Dean hooked her legs over his shoulders.

Before his mouth reached her soaked center, she panted. “It’s your birthday, Dean. Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”

His gaze flickered up to her as Dean returned his fingers to their rightful place inside her. He watched her reaction before telling her, “today, I get what I want. And what I want, is to eat you until you scream my name.” Dean’s mouth immediately went to work and Y/N grasped at the sheets. his warm lips and tongue sending her on a high like nothing else.

“Oh, my god…”

Animalistic sounds of hunger came from deep in his throat as he gently teased her aching core. Dean lapped up every bit that dripped from her like a man starved.

It didn’t take long before Y/N felt her orgasm begin to build. The high was like the climb of a roller coaster before the drop and she awaited it with the same anticipation. Feeling her tighten around his fingers, Dean pulled away to ask, “you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

Y/N whined and began to shake. “Oh, god...I’m so close.”

“Let go,” he commanded.

His deep and intense voice sent her over the edge as she screamed his name just like he intended. “Dean!”

As she rode out her orgasm, Dean continued to swallow everything she gave him. “That’s it, baby. Keep going.” When she began to squirt, he moaned and wrapped his mouth over her, consuming his prize. Y/N cried out with the intensity of her climax and shook as Dean held her still.

She twitched as he began to lick and kiss her softly, cleaning up his mess and letting her come down.

“Fuck,” Y/N whispered through her rapid breathing.

Dean licked his lips. “Oh, Y/N/N...you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He stood to undress, never taking his eyes off her glistening body. Once bare and his erection aching as it sprung free, Dean reclaimed his spot on top of her.

Cradling her head, Dean looked deep into her eyes. Once the tip of his hard cock reached her entrance, Y/N’s eyes closed awaiting his thrust. “Look at me…” he said gently.

As her eyes opened to stare into his hunter green gaze, Dean’s hips snapped up as he filled her completely. Y/N moaned feeling Dean so deep inside her; the intensity of her first orgasm making her far more sensitive.

Dean grunted feeling her swallow him whole. “Fuck...you’re perfect.” He stayed in position as he let Y/N adjust around him and slowly began to grind into her.

“You feel so good,” she cooed. “Don’t stop.”

Dean answered with a sexy laugh. “I don’t plan on it.” His speed and intensity grew as he found his pace.

“More,” Y/N cried. Every time she was with Dean, she craved all of him. The ache afterward would be worth it and serve as a reminder of where he had been. The tension in her belly grew once more as Dean’s dick slid in and out of her, touching every nerve. Y/N whimpered feeling that climb once more.

The hunter seethed through his teeth as she squeezed around his thick shaft. “Mm, you already there?”

“So...close…”

Again, Dean hooked her legs over his shoulders, driving himself deeper into her. Y/N’s breathing became erratic and she scrunched her face in bliss. The sweat from Dean’s chest dripped onto her and he dove in to get lost in her kiss once again.

With a hot breath over her lips, Dean heaved a euphoric sigh. As he plowed into her, Dean gritted his teeth as he locked eyes with Y/N. “Are you mine?”

“I’m yours, Dean…”

“Then be my good girl and cum with me.” The two saw stars as Dean’s final push sent them both into ecstasy. He held himself deep inside as they rode out their orgasms; small squeals falling from Y/N’s lips as her pussy grasped him tight.

Once their moment had passed, Dean fell onto the bed next to her and closed his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. A content chuckle rumbled from him. “Happy birthday to me.”

Y/N laughed and licked the sweat from her lips. “Sure it wasn’t my birthday?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You aren’t ready for your birthday gift.” Dean’s face softened as he pushed her hair from her face. A coy smile tugged at the corner of Y/N’s mouth as she turned onto her side and leaned on her hand. “You know I love you, right?”

Y/N leaned in to capture his lips with a soft and tender kiss. As she pulled away, she smiled. “I love you too.”

Another kiss followed that deepened quickly and Dean stopped to stare at her with a sinful expression. “You know, we still have hours before Sam’s back.”

Y/N grinned as she stood from the bed. “You exhaust me, Winchester.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” As the two shared a playful glare, Dean hopped off the bed and ran towards her. “Hey!” Y/N squealed and laughed as he chased her into the bathroom. “I’m not done with you yet!”

------

Forever Taglist: @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @crystallstaircase @da5haexowin @flamencodiva @salt-n-burn-em-all  @spnbaby-67 @sandycub @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @akshi8278 @maddiepants @deansenwackles @lauravic @mrsjenniferwinchester @sea040561 @sister-winchesters99 @rosey1981 @titty-teetee @a--1--1--3 @winchestergirl82 @screechingartisancashbailiff @my-proof-is-you @x-waywardaf-x @deans-baby-momma @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @jensendeanlover317 @iamabeautifulperson18 @alwaysdreamingforthebest @monkeymcpoopoo @calaofnoldor @chiara00221 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @jesseswartzwelder @becs-bunker

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #dean winchester #dean #dean x reader #reader insert #dean x you #one shot #gif #fluff #winchester #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic

[certifiedskywalker]

Academic Misgivings (Part Seven) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

What will happen now hmm? With Y/N continue to fight her growing feelings towards Peter or let herself let go? You’ll have to read to find out.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX

Whether it was what had happened the day before with Peter or the fact you had added an extra layer of clothing, the walk to school felt a little less cold the following Thursday morning. The warmth that had followed you from the Parker’s home stuck with you all throughout the school day, only intensifying when you caught a glimpse of Peter. Across the hall in the morning he had smiled at you, the kind of ‘hey-I-see-you’ type of smile that had once made your stomach curl. It still did, only now it tickled more than it made your insides cramp.

Now you found yourself longing to see him in between classes when, in the past, you would have kept your head down. Throughout the day, whenever the bell rang, you scanned the seas of your peers for Peter’s face. When you never found him, you were disappointed.

That blunder turned to nervousness as you sat at a table in the library, the rest of the academic decathlon team sitting idle around you. Mr. Harrington shuffled through papers full of questions and announcements, a habitual action he performed whenever he was about to start a practice session. Wearily, you flicked your gaze to the library doors then back to the table, as if that, if you wished hard enough, Peter would simply apparate out of thin air.  

As you tore your eyes from the door, you caught a glimpse of Flash. He was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head and a smug smirk on his face. The sight made your blood boil. Flash was still going ahead with the plan, at least his part in making Peter late to practices, and you still had to tell him you wanted out. Just when the courage to pull Flash aside and remove yourself from his scheme, the creaking of a door reached your ears.

“Hi, hey, sorry,” Peter greeted the team. He rushed over, gave you that signature smile and pulled the empty chair out at your side. A wave of relief washed over you as Peter sat down. With a contented breath, you glanced up at Flash whose thick brows were knitted tight with confusion. 

“Alright, great,” Mr. Harrington cleared his throat, “now that we’re all here, we can start with some announcements. Betty, I believe as our student council representative, you have something  to say.”

Much too eagerly, the blonde stood up from her chair with her skirt effortlessly flowing along in the motion. Betty prided herself on her polished appearance, just as you thought Peter had when you had been so consumed by jealousy. She glanced over the table with a condescending smile and a smack of her lips before she began her speech.

“As you all may know, the Winter Formal is coming up and all school extracurricular organizations have been asked to participate in fundraising for the dance!” Betty clapped for herself, but the sound was muffled by a loud chorus of groans. “We have pamphlets and posters, the Culinary Club is making cupcakes for a bake sale!”

Mr. Harrington raised his hands in a calming gesture. “How about you all partner up for this activity to split up the workload? Maybe ask your families, local businesses-”

“You want us to ask for money to fund a premature mating ritual masked as a high school cliche?” MJ’s question, as per usual, stunned Mr. Harrington into silence. His mouth opened but a dull sound of confusion was all that answered her.

“It’s not….that,” Betty grumbled, “it’s a nice dance!” MJ rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the book held tightly in her hand. 

The table fell quiet as Mr. Harrington passed out fundraising packets to the team. Peter handed you the papers, fingers brushed lightly against your own as he did. The soft touch sent a shiver down your spine, one that you tried to hide as you passed the rest of the packets down.

“Also, the person or partners who raises the most money get a surprise at the dance!” Betty beamed happily, her already bright blue eyes sparkling with school cheer. No wonder she didn’t get along with MJ very well.

“What kind of surprise?” Ned pressed, his eyes scanning over the packet.

“Well that would ruin it, now wouldn’t it?!” Betty plugged with an overt optimism that had you send a glance at Peter. He met your gaze and smiled in a way that told you that, he too, found this wholly unappealing. 

“So partner up,” Mr. Harrington said once Betty had sat back down. “Once you have a partner, make sure all the donation forms are in your packets and get busy.”

“No...no practice today?” The question slipped from your lips without you even thinking about it. It was an instinct to question any disruption in your routine. You heard two or three snickers directed at you, a whisper entailing an insult, but you hardly cared. 

“Nope, just fundraising,” Mr. Harrington replied with a half-hearted thumbs up. Your face fell but you were quickly overtaken by a sudden bustling about the table. People were scrambling to find partners, including Flash who was making his way to your seat. No, no, no...

Nearly tipping out of your chair, you turned to face Peter with wild desperation holding you in place. “Pete, do you want to be partners?”

You didn’t even notice the nickname, how natural it felt falling from your lips. Your attention was enraptured by the way Peter smiled when he heard it. The softness of his features warmed you, stole you away from the present in a whirlwind before Peter decided to reply.

“I...y-yeah! Yeah.” His brown eyes darted across the peaks of your face as if reading a map. Before he could reach the end of your lips, Flash came up to you in a blur of a gaudy patterns on his shirt.

“So that surprise huh? What to win it with a guarantee?” Flash smirked at you and, as if he thought you might change your mind, Peter frowned.

“Peter and I are working together, Flash,” you growled out his name and pointed your brows at him. Silent message received, Flash sent you a wink.

“I guess I’ll see you on the dance floor then.” Flash grinned as he turned around, knocking his shoulder against Peter’s still sitting form. Despite the impact, Peter barely moved and in a rush, Flash spat out an insult to aid in his recovery, “you too, loser.”

“Ignore him,” you sighed and locked eyes with Peter’s for a split second. Where he used to look offended when Flash was rude, he just looked annoyed. Slightly miffed, he glanced over his shoulder to watch Flash as Betty strode away from the black-haried boy looking grossed out.

“I wish I could,” he replied and the exhaustion in his voice made your heart hurt. When Peter turned his gaze back to yours instinct told you to pull your eyes away. With the slightest hesitation, you did.

“So, fundraising?” You grabbed your packet and began to stand in the hopes that movement would drive your muddled feelings towards Peter away for the time being. As much as you were happy to have him in your life, some strange part of you missed the days where you hated him. It was so much easier than dealing with ...real feelings.

“Fundraising,” Peter sighed, “we could hit the coffee shop, ask for donations there?”

“That’s a good idea.” You pulled your bag over your shoulder and Peter mirrored the action with his own before you both started towards the door. “Plus then we can study there afterwards.”

“Oh, uh, I can’t today, Y/N,” Peter stammered as he opened the door for you. As you walked through you gave him a strange look. Just the day before he had been brainstorming ways to tutor you in confidence, now he was backtracking. You had overstepped, you must have, at some point. Your confession yesterday evening was a lot to ask anyone to handle let alone a teenage boy.

“Oh, okay.” Your tone dropped and you hated how disappointed you sounded. 

“Yeah I got like internship stuff and-and...uh...dog walking...around the city.” You quirked a brow at Peter as you walked. He had fallen into step at your side, giving you a perfect view of his profile and reddened cheeks.

“Dog walking? You walk dogs?” Peter glanced at you with a look of worry before smiling nervously. He was no good at hiding what he felt and you liked it. Peter wasn’t hard to hate nor was he hard to read; he was an open book even if he was lying.

“Y-yeah, dogs are g-great and gotta get some cash somehow, right?” He let out a breathy little laugh and before you could question him further, he opened the school’s front door for you. “Anyway, I can help you at the coffee shop but then I think I should get going.”

“Okay, I’ll probably stay there late and study anyway if you want to join in.” The afternoon cold nipped at your skin and sent a shiver down your spine. Although you weren’t sure if it was entirely the breeze or the impending loneliness of the rest of the day.

“That’s cool, but Y/N,” Peter started as you both made your way to the cafe, “you should do something else.”

“Something else?”

“I mean, what I was saying yesterday, you should find things you like other than studying. Something you can do even if it’s just for you.” You both stopped and waited for the traffic to slow at the end of the block. The sign for the coffee shop was just within your sight as you mulled over what Peter had said.

“What should I try?” You pondered aloud and Peter shrugged.

“There’s a whole world outside of your walk between home and school. There’s that old bookstore on Birch Street, a seamstress on the corner-”

“A seamstress? You want me to try sowing?” Peter shook his head at your incredulous look.

“I mean, if you might like it, it’s worth a try right?” The traffic let up and you both crossed the street. “If you learn how to sow before the dance, you could get paid to like fix dresses and stuff.”

“I’m with MJ on this one,” you groaned and you heard Peter hum with interest. “I have no inclination to go to, as she said, a ‘premature dating ritual’. I didn’t even go to homecoming,whenever that was.” 

At the mention of the dance, Peter fell into an unnatural state of silence. Not a quip or optimistic comment passed over his lips. Instead, his face hardened and jaw clenched. Whatever nerve you had inadvertently stepped on, you wanted to smooth it over.

“Didn’t you go with Liz? She was nice...” You weren’t lying, not really. You hadn’t really known Liz, only that she was older than you and Peter and very active in Midtown High. When she left, the decathlon team underwent reorganization that put Peter at the top of A team and started your one-sided sense of rivalry. 

Or was it always jealousy? Your envy and twisted disdain towards all-things-Peter had started with Liz. The disgusting, love-struck glances. The thought of Peter’s puppy eyes towards her made you cringe just thinking about it.

“Yeah...she was,” Peter’s voice cut through your reflection. You spared a glance at him and saw, he too, had been ruminating too. “But uh, you’re not going?”

“To the Winter Formal? No, probably not.”

“Me neither,” Peter agreed, “I don’t think I want to go with Ned. The last time we went to a dance together was in eighth grade and he wouldn’t stop-”

“Doing the Cupid Shuffle,” you finished, “I remember.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, “I feel like things were easier then.” 

You nodded at his words, as you both walked. It truly had been an easy part of your life; less worries, less confusion, but less Peter. That trade off didn’t seem so appealing as it once had. You snuck another glance at Peter and saw that his softness had returned.

“Yeah, it was but I like things now,” you murmured.

“It is pretty cool,” he agreed. “What if someone asked you though?”

“What?” You stopped when you reached the front windows of the coffee shop. From the view, it didn’t look terribly busy inside. “Asked me what?”

“To the dance,” Peter explained. He stood by the entrance but he faced you, brown eyes searching your expression. “Would you go then?”

“I...I don’t know.” It felt like your brain had ceased to function, little sparklers of delight gave you a sense of lightheadedness. “Maybe?”

“I thought that...did...did Flash not ask you to go?” Your eyes widened and felt a wave of slight disgust wash over your shoulders at Peter’s innocent question. Suddenly your mind was once again grounded in the moment and horrified at the thought of going to a dance with Flash when you wanted to go with ...a speeding car drove by with music loud enough that you couldn’t hear the finished thought.

“W-why would he?” 

Peter’s cheek turned a bright pink and he scratched at the back of his neck. The movement made the sleeve of his plaid button up fall to the middle of his forearm, where the veins spilled into his hand. The detail held your attention much too long for your liking. You turned your eyes to the bustling road to your right. 

The area of Queens that surrounded the school always had traffic in the early evening. The roar of the train on it’s stacked rails was almost drowned out by the activity on the street below. Despite the congestion of cars, plant life in the form of small bushes and aromatic pink pansies sprouted up from cramped corner lots. Even with the world around you demanding all your senses, you felt some string of your being pulled towards Peter the moment he spoke up.

“I don’t know, you guys jus’ seem close so I figured that-”

“No, no, no,” you began to shake your head. “No we’re not....Flash is, arguably, the worse.” Your vehement denial made Peter laugh lightly, a sound that soothed over the burning embarrassment that rose up from your skin. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I think I’ve met worse though.” Peter opened the door to the coffee shop for you and you walked by him with a disbelieving look.

“Really, huh?”

“Really.”

“Well that was painless,” Peter joked as you walked towards a table nestled in the corner of the shop. “And we got to meet who made those awesome cookies last time.”

“Yeah, he was nice,” you said as you rubbed your head as you recalled the baker. The blonde, middle-aged owner of the restaurant had agreed to give a small donation to the school’s fundraiser. After she had, in full detail, rattled on about her fitness journey and the revolutionary results of the keto diet. “Ms. Ferguson was chatty though.”

“Do you really think bread is the root of all evil, like she said?” You glanced over at Peter as you took a seat and shook your head.

“Bread is man’s greatest creation, Pete. That’s just common knowledge.” That nickname again. You had to watch it before it got out of hand. 

“Is that a decathlon, scholastic grade fact or are you just saying that?” Peter stood beside the table, not sitting because, as you remembered, he would have to go soon. The thought of him leaving made your stomach drop but you smiled anyway.

“I’m being dead serious,” you fired back with a grin. Peter laughed and adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. “You still have to go?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed and you frowned slightly. “sorry, Y/N, but I-I, I’ll text you later if I think I can make it back here. I don’t think I can, I have a pretty busy night. Just let me know if you leave.” You smiled softly at his rambling.

“Okay, have a good night, Pete.” He smiled at you which cut himself off from talking anymore than he had to. 

“You too Y/N, and hey, maybe try something new?” You gave him a lazy nod and, seemingly content with that, Peter walked out of the cafe. The moment his form disappeared, you let your little smile drop. He was right, you should try something new, but you wanted to do so with Peter. Any memory worth making would have him in it.

But, the drive to not disappoint him picked you up from your seat. You walked over to the counter of the coffee shop where an overwhelming array of brewing machines and smells invaded your senses. Luckily, Ms. Ferguson, the shop owner, wasn’t working the front. Instead a younger girl stood, waiting to help you with your order.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” When she smiled, her lip ring slanted to the side in a way that made you wonder if it was poking the inside of her mouth uncomfortably. 

“Uh..what do you recommend?”

“Well we have a new white-chocolate latte that’s pretty good, but, personally, I like the hot, peach-ginger tea.” You snuffed the cringe that threatened to crawl it’s way on your features and nodded at the pink-haired girl. It was something new.

“I’ll take the tea then,” you replied and began to pull out your wallet. 

“Will that be all?” You glanced into the display case until your eyes found the strangest pastry within: a pistachio and rose scone. It was definitely something new. 

“And I’ll take one of those.” With a kind smile, the girl picked out the oddly flavored scone and set it on a plate. “Thanks.”

Hours later, the same scone sat on that same plate as you flipped idly through the pages of your textbook. However, there was no tea left to run cold. In the later evening, the coffee shop was silent. The brightly colored girl that had helped you at the counter was gone, replaced by a tired looking college student. 

His perpetual frown had made its way on your own face, your lips downturned as your eyes danced along the page. Your mouth would move every now and then, form the question then the answer in the hopes it would better stick in your memory. Yet nothing seemed to keep you focused. Every few seconds, your mind would drift to thoughts of Peter only to scramble, steady your eyes back on the pages opened before you. 

After a few more minutes of battling with the content of your intrusive thoughts, you felt a new war begin. Tired eyes began to droop and your neck ached in the angle you been holding it at since you had began studying. Sleep had begun to drag you into its depths, threatened to drown you in a silent escape from your mind. Before you gave in and let your head fall to the cold surface of the table, you hurriedly packed up your things. 

Lazily, you shoved your books back into your bag overcome with the haze of tiredness. You were so captured by the feeling that you nearly tipped over as you threw your book bag over your shoulder. However, the weight of the books was nothing compared to the heft of your muddled feelings towards Peter.

Due to the slightly longer walk from the coffee shop back home, you were able to reflect on the confusion such emotions had left you in. You were...friends now, so it seemed. Thanks to his unwavering kindness, you had been able to let go of your misgivings but some piece of you still screamed at you: you can’t like Peter Parker. You liked him, there was no hiding that, but you couldn’t like him. Yet, with each step, it became  more clear that you did.

When your apartment complex came into sight, you were flooded with relief. You were a street width away from the swaddled comfort of your own bed. With your mind solely focused on the image of your bed, all warm and inviting in the quiet of the apartment, you stepped out onto the road. Between your hunger for comfort and the still-clinging lures of sleep, your senses were horribly dulled.

So dulled in fact, that you didn’t notice the car that drove towards until you heard the roar of its engine rushing towards you. One of it’s headlights was out, but it was still enough to pull your eyes towards it as you crossed the street. You felt your blood run as cold as the air around you but you were too frozen to shiver. Brief, fleeting moments flashed before your eyes, Peter’s face among them as the vehicle barreled towards you. A single ‘honk’ reached your ears and suddenly, with eyes closed, you felt weightless. 

The physics of a car crash evaded you in the moment but you were either pushed or pulled backwards. Some soft fabric of your clothes licked gently at your skin as you propelled back and up into the air. Not an inch of pain had rattled your form which was now numbed to the bitter Autumn chill. The dark behind your eyelids welcomed you, the air hugged you tight, and you gave greeting to the end. Only, after a second, you could find that you could still open your eyes.

City lights, from the distance you were at, looked more like fireflies. Little dancing speck of illumination as you rose above the tops of the buildings across the street from your apartment complex. Terror, sudden and piercing washed over you, sent numbness through your limbs that could only be felt in a scream. 

“I got you! I got you!” The street outside your apartment complex shrank as you were pulled up and up and up. Suddenly you were upside down, pushed by the sharp breeze as you cried out. Hopeful hands grasped at only at the air around you, nothing to halt your unexpected flight. Before you dared to glance at whatever winged beast had come to your rescue, you feet brushed against solid ground.

“What the f-”

“You’re okay, Y/N! You’re okay!” Large, almost diamond shaped, white eyes invaded your vision. The familiar splashes of red and blue detailing Spiderman’s suit pulled you back, quite literally, into the world of the living. 

“You? You again?” The mask’s eyes almost seemed to squint at you and Spiderman’s head cocked to the side.

“You’re not happy to see me? That’s not normally the response I get,” he quipped. Your legs gave way and you sat soundly on the ground. Only it wasn’t the ground; the scratching surface of the apartment complex’s roof on your legs. As you sat, Spiderman darted towards you, hands holding you steady as you took a seat. 

“Whenever you’re nearby some is on the verge of death and for the past few days, it has happened to be me.”

“Well, you didn’t die this time,” he said and sat at your side. “I’ll always catch you...or pick you up, I guess.” 

You laid your head in your hands in an attempt to calm your still rattled nerves. “Ha, yeah, you guess.” 

A moment of silence passed as you collected yourself. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the image of the single headlight still glowed when you closed your eyes. As you opened your eyes, to avoid the daunting sight, you felt a rubbing motion against your back. Spiderman’s hand soothed calming motions into the fabric of your sweatshirt in an entirely human gesture.

“Th-Thanks,” you murmured and met the masks eyes. 

“You’r-You’re welcome.” Another moment of silence and you rested your hand at your side. Your fingers brushed the outline of your phone, tucked safely in your pocket and you thought of Peter once more. 

“Shit, I have to call someone,” you muttered as you heaved yourself to your feet. Spiderman followed the motion and you realized what you said. “Not about you, just...my friend...I need to tell him I left, that I made it home. Pete-”

“No!” Spiderman raised his hands at you as you pulled your phone from your pocket. You glanced at the suit-clad figure and quirked a brow. “I mean...I got your letter!”

“You...you did,” you breathed out and slipped your phone back into your pocket. 

“Y-Yeah I-“ he cleared his throat and, in a deeper voice, he continued. “It was uh, sweet and I uh…”

“Sweet?” You had to bite back the scoff that threatened to crawl up and out your throat.

“I mean, the fact you wrote it in the first place, I-I ...hold on.” Before you could even blink, a shot of white web whizzed by your ear and when you looked to see where it landed, you only saw a shadow.

“What do you-” The spot where Spiderman once stood was now empty. 

“I’ll be right back!” A boyish shout caught your attention and you shuffled your feet as you waited. The wind was more powerful as you stood on the roof, the chill more intense. Numbly, your fingers itched for your phone and traced the outline of your phone in your pocket. You wanted to tell Peter about Spiderman, about everything about how, for the second time within a manner of weeks, you had almost tasted death again. Most of all, you wanted to tell him how you felt even if the contents of those feelings still puzzled you. 

You were a few seconds away from texting him, to tell him everything. Luckily, Spiderman was true to his word and was back, standing before you with a piece of paper gripped tightly in his gloved hand that stole all of your attention.

“I was going to uh, leave this at your window but...here.” He lifted his hand, the piece of paper held out towards you to take. Spiderman cleared his throat as you took the slip of lined notebook paper from him. It seemed that even superheroes had a need for the most mundane office supplies. 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you stammered out. You met the angular form of the masked man before you and you couldn’t stop the question that spilled off your tongue. “I didn’t ask in the letter but...what were you doing in Chicago? It felt ...”

“Yeah, odd for me-” he coughed and with the same low voice as before continued. “I was thinking about a change of scenery. New York has just so many other superheroes y-ya know?”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, but even with the mask covering the mystery man’s face, you can feel the anxiety emanating from his form. Try something new, Peter had told you. Sharing banter with a superhero certainly felt new enough. “I just thought you liked me.”

Spiderman let out an eerily familiar, nervous laugh in an attempt to hide the widening of the white eyes of his suit. “Well, that too.”

“Oh,” you replied as you hadn’t expected a true answer, let alone an answer in his ‘normal’ voice. You bit your lip and turned your gaze to your feet. The space between you and the neighborhood web-slinger grew thick. The chords between you, the ties of fate that tied you close were pulled taut. 

“Ha, yeah, uh, I better be going.” His voice lowered again, almost comically so, “got to fight some crime.”

“Okay, yeah,” your murmured, “stay safe.” You watched as Spiderman walked backwards towards the edge of the roof. He gave you a thumbs up and despite not seeing his face, you could feel the frown masked beneath the fabric.

“I could say the same for you!” You smiled at his effort to diffuse the rigidity but as soon as Spiderman webbed away, you let your lips fall. When you curled your hand, you began to accidentally crumpled the crisp edges of the paper. 

A renewed sense of curiosity, the drive to know that had thrust you into the world of academics, overwhelmed you. With slightly panicked hands, you unfolded the paper. Scrawled in a childish font was your name and a greeting.

Y/N,

You’re very welcome, for the rescue. I’m just glad I was there that day. Stay amazing.

-Spiderman

P.s. The person behind the mask ...I like that.

You smiled, but not because you had received a note from Spiderman. No, you smiled because your free hand reached for your phone, still tucked away in it’s pocket-sized sleeping bag. Smiled as you pulled up Peter’s contact and sent him a text.

YOU: Pete, I left the coffee shop so don’t bother swinging by, but I saw him! 

When he didn’t respond, you made your way to the door that lead into the apartment. The metal of the door knob was bone chilling as your fingers wrapped around it. The damp warmth of the complex hit you right in the face, the stench of wet newspaper that mingled with stale cat urine was wholly unwelcoming. Yet, you made your way down the flight of stairs.

When you reached your floor, with the overhead lights flickering, you sighed with bittersweet relief. Your being ached with fatigue of coming down off of adrenaline. A single text ping broke through your zombie haze as you unlocked your apartment door.

PETER: sorry,  got caught up. saw who?

YOU: Spiderman! He gave me a note

PETER: oh really! cool ha

YOU: I’ll tell you about it tomorrow

PETER: alright, good night Y/N :)

You smiled again, the lightest of smiles that had ever graced your features. Charm that once infuriated you brought warmth to your cheeks and set your wrecked nerves at ease. Just the comfort of having Peter to talk to made you giddy. What was his secret?

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[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 89

It would have been nice to have just been enveloped by darkness. To just not be aware. Awake. You’d been allowed to slip for what must have been only a handful of precious moments. Moments where you were no longer present. Blessedly just… gone. But there were voices nearby. You were awake again- 

And something was nudging your side- 

Would it be a kick this time? You felt the chill of sweat dripping down your forehead as you shot up, inching away- 

But this was not his house. This was not his domain. And the man looking at you was not him. 

“Easy, honey, easy…” The comforting voice you’d longed for, for far too long. Tony’s hand reached up, easing your hair off your forehead, and an ache bloomed inside you. 

“No one was at the address. House was completely empty.” “He can’t have gone far. By all accounts he should be pretty injured.”

Voices in the hallway. Voices that frightened you once clarity returned. “No-” You struggled to get the word out. 

“Honey-” 

“No- please- they can’t-” They were going to try and find him. He’d hurt them. Take them, like he had you. 

“She awake?” Fury’s voice rose from the murmurs and he stepped into the room. “You get a read on this guy? We need you to tell us everything you know. We’re losing time.” 

“Step back.” Tony was just a touch beneath growling. One more push would get him there, you were sure of it. 

“Stark-” He angled an iron gaze up at Fury to silence him. “I said step back. Leave her alone.” 

Fury crossed his arms. “Don’t be foolish about this. We get it. She’s fragile, but she needs to step up right now because every second we lose is another mile this guy is further out.” He leaned in closer to you. “You want what happened to you to happen to somebody else? What did this guy look like? You get a name?” 

Tony practically jumped off the bed, putting himself up in a solid wall between you and Fury. He held a hand up to Fury’s chest. Tone icy. “You push her on this again and I’ll have security throw you off the deck. You can figure out your own landing after that.”

Fury scoffed. “Here I thought you said you’d take this guy down for what he did. Now I know that was all talk.” But Tony stood still. Firm. Not another word. Staring Fury down until another disappointed noise left him, then he turned to walk from the room, shutting the door hard behind him. 

Was Fury right about this? Should you just get over it and start talking? Or was it in everyone’s best interests… to let that man continue to wander around? How could they stop him anyway? If they found him- and maybe they already had, and had just been sent away- what if they pushed him too far. What if he didn’t just want to escape. What if the next time they found him he really started using his powers. And started ordering SHIELD agents to go cause havoc. Ordered the Avengers to start murdering each other in cold blood- 

“Honey, look at me… breathe.” Tony had sat down beside you again. You’d realized too little too late that your thoughts were spiraling you into panic. Barely able to catch each breath as your lungs squeezed. 

As his hands came up to touch the sides of your face, you covered them with your own, sinking into the feel of his warmth. But the tears had already started. “If they go- if they find him- Tony he’ll kill them- he’ll-” 

“Take it easy… don’t worry about that right now- just- breathe for me, honey…” You allowed him to pull you in, resting your face against his chest, remaining energy escaping in thick waves as you sagged against him. So many things had happened to you. And you’d fought through them all. But this?

You’d just run away from him. He was out there. Somewhere. 

“I should have- I should have done more- I should have- tried harder- I should have-” 

His hold tightened. “You did everything you could.” Feeling the heavy weight of his head atop yours, as just about every part of him was clinging to you, just as you were to him. “You’re here now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

You were home. Tony had you. You were safe. “I love you…” It came out in a tremble, something weak and pathetic, as you buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. 

“I love you, too… I love you, too…” Rocking back and forth slowly. 

You allowed him to lull you back into blissful sleep. In your bed. In your home. A tower full of people looking out for you. Protecting you. Him most of all. For the first time in a long time, you were safe. 

                                                    ------

The next few days you drifted in and out of sleep. You were so hot that you were sweating through clothes and bedsheets, yet chills plagued you constantly. It felt like you were sick- but could that be? Tony had confirmed you’d been running a high fever- but that made no sense. Didn’t your healing factor protect you from sickness? 

Then again- you had been sick. Infected. With that man. Maybe your body was just learning how to readjust to normal life again. Not being controlled. Forced. In your daze you really had little time to think about it. Like before, with Killian and his Extremis- you were rejecting everything, and it was making you sick.

There were moments that you’d open your eyes, and Tony would be there. Wiping your brow, or sitting by your bedside working on something. Brightening as he caught your gaze, readjusting your covers, bringing you water… just there. Taking care of you. He’d murmured sweet wonderful things more than once- about as much as you were conscious. But his voice sounded so foreign and far away. 

It was just the feeling that made you understand. He was worried. And scared still. But so resolved. So strong. And he loved you. Almost overwhelmingly so. 

Relief was in there, somewhere. Glad to have you back. It seemed hard for him to leave your side. Even when other people came in to talk to him, their voices were just as unrecognizable. They’d talk and then he’d shoo them away, and come sit down next to you again. Not quite like the shooing he’d given Fury. Never that angry again. Just… telling them to leave the two of you alone. 

It was dawn, on the first Monday in August- as the display on the nightstand told you- when you finally felt… not normal, or even good- but just… not as you had. Sitting up wasn’t as much of a chore. Your thoughts weren’t in an immediate panic. The room was dimly lit, soft blue glows from tablets and screened littered throughout the bedroom making it almost as if you had fairy-lights strung about. 

There was one in Tony’s lap, reflecting a pale shade onto his even paler face. He was half slumped in the chair he’d been sitting in this whole time, glasses sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose. Dozing. He didn’t look even remotely comfortable. Carefully you reached out, brushing the backs of your fingers over his face. 

A bare groan escaped him, something low and rocky, just before his eyes blinked open. Fog clearing to center on you. “Good morning- ...I assume it’s morning…” His voice was rough and scratchy, and he practically melted into your touch. 

“Good morning, handsome.” You might not have felt normal, but this was. And you were soaking up every moment of it. 

He slipped off the glasses he’d been wearing, rubbing lightly at his eyes afterward. Both the specs and the tablet got discarded on the nightstand. “How are you feeling?” Attentions placed back on you in full afterwards, reaching over to gingerly touch his hand over your forehead. 

“I’m okay.” You lied. Easily so. It just wasn’t worth trying to explain that you weren’t, but that that was okay. Not yet. Guilt wracked your heart. He looked an absolute mess. Probably same as you. “I’m sorry… for- everything. All this. For worrying you.” 

His brows knit together before lifting, a quirk of a tired smile on his lips after. “Honey, I’ve been in a constant state of worry for two months straight. A few more days wasn’t gonna kill me. But a week- I don’t know. Getting dicey. Heart’s still healing, you know?” His hand turned over, holding your face in his palm again. Such a gentle and comforting gesture. One you’d grown to love. Even more so, now. “-and for the record, you got nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I let him get me.” A different sort of guilt touched you then. 

“That’s like saying the people down on Lex let a space whale fall on their building.” His voice lowered, and he shifted out of his chair to sit closer to you on the bed, taking your face in both his hands then. “You went out. Someone took you. That’s not your fault.” 

He was talking like it was simple- like you were simple- but you weren’t. You weren’t a regular person. That happened to people like M-... to people like… what was her name? Melissa? Mackenzie? 

...you couldn’t remember. 

“Honey? You still with me?” 

Why couldn’t you remember her name? A brief panic fluttered through you. What was her name? 

“Honey-” “I’m not like them.” You had to practically force the thought out. You could no longer remember her. Not what she looked like. Not even her name. But- “That’s not supposed to happen to me. I’m-” You were supposed to be stronger. Better. An Avenger. What were you now, that someone could just take you off the street? 

“You’re a person. Same as the rest of us.” He cut your frantic thinking off, pulling your attention back. His thumbs brushed just underneath your eyes, catching a few stray tears. “If it had happened to Cap, I’d say the same thing to him. There’s always someone above your paygrade out there. Doesn’t matter who you are. That doesn’t make it your fault. I’m sure you fought like hell to get out of there- in fact, I know that- because you’re here now.” 

But his assurances weren’t true. Your eyes lowered and then closed, but he still held on to you. “He didn’t- chain me- or tie me up or- anything- he just… he just told me to stand in a corner. So I did. He told me to do things I didn’t wanna do- but I did them anyway. Because I wasn’t… I wasn’t strong enough to stop him… and I…” 

Pain rushed up to greet you. Yours- and then Tony’s. His arms came around you, holding you to him as you allowed yourself yet another moment of weakness in all this. Crying. Again. “You don’t have to force yourself to explain it- when- if you wanna talk about it- I’m here. But honey, please listen to me… there’s not a damn thing I wouldn’t have done to get you back. Just like I know there’s not a damn thing you didn’t do to get yourself out of there. You’re as normal as the rest of us, believe it or not…” 

His hand reached up to thread his fingers through your hair, rocking you slowly. You sunk into him. Allowing his gentle touch to wash over you. He was sad. Devastated. Same as you. But there was a peace in all this. Holding you steadied his world. And you allowed the feeling to cycle back. 

“You can’t invalidate what happened to you, by saying you didn’t do enough. Or that it shouldn’t have happened to you. Or that you should have known better, or been better. It happened. But you fought. And you’re here. And that’s what matters.” 

It occurred to you a little too late- where these words were pouring out from. His heart. The same one beating steady beneath you. Still healing. And aching. That had thought about something like this for a long time now. Longer than you’d been gone. Longer than you’d been together, technically. 

Once upon a time, a long time ago it felt like now, Tony had been taken, too. A thought that had floated into your awareness, when you’d been stuck in that house. And one that was ringing in your ears, now. 

“You don’t have to do this alone.” 

Shifting back with a sniffle, you rested your forehead against his, eyes opening to see his own. To see the deepness of his gaze. The care there. The love. “You did.” 

“I had you.” Was that true? Not in this capacity, sure but… was that true? You two had spent a lot of time together. You’d cleaned up messes so he could focus on himself. You’d spent mornings with him. And evenings, sometimes, too. Back then… “So let me return the favor, alright? We’ll get through this.” A soft little noise caught the both of your attention, as Dvahli jumped up on the bed and cut between you, coming to sit in a curl in your lap. “Oh. Yeah. She helped, too. While you were out. Promised I’d give her credit- but. Not as much as I did.” 

The levity was very much appreciated. As he sat back, letting go of you, you let your hands fall to the ball of black fur now purring away in your lap. “Thanks, Li.” Petting her softly between the ears. “JARVIS, could you open the shades, please?” 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s good to have you back.” 

Tony found another smile for you, then. Something encouraging. Loving and kind in a way. He placed his hand on the back of your head, pulling you in for a careful kiss to your forehead. “I love you.” Stepping back to give you some space, he took the tablet off the nightstand and started typing on it. 

“And LUNA-” 

“Yes, ma’am? I’m glad you’re back.” 

This needed some serious addressing. “Thank you. For not listening to me.” 

Even though perhaps Tony didn’t know- maybe he did- he huffed out a laugh, back turned to you. “Please. Second the signal came in there was no stopping me- which, by the way. Smart thinking. Maybe you should be in charge of some of the AI emergency protocols division… but next time it’d be nice. To know that I’m waiting for a sign before the sign comes.” There was a small undercurrent of pride here. 

Proud that you’d taken initiative to put security in place. It had been the one thing that had saved you, in the end. 

...really it had barely been a conversation between you and LUNA, a little while ago. But. If Tony was proud of you… and if it had meant something- if it had brought you home in the end… 

He turned back, and the both of you smiled at each other. “Sorry.” A little sheepish. It had been such a small idea. You’d thought it wasn’t really important. Had thought you wouldn’t need it. ...until you did. 

“I’ll forgive you. If you tell me the passcode. I get the whole 1-800-LUNA stuff. But she told me there’s a specific set of numbers. Wouldn’t divulge. What are they? You know. Just in case I need to toll-free myself out of a situation.” 

Lightly snarking you. Something you loved. Right now, anyway. It brought back that sense of normalcy that you’d lost. That you still didn’t have yet, but… maybe soon. “Four-Six-Nine.” 

A slightly puzzled look came over him. “Any significance?” 

At this your smile really did just evolve into something so broad it almost hurt. “I-N-Y.” 

As soon as he heard it, he blinked a few times. Right before a returning sunny smile blossomed across his face. “Right.” Coming close again, he leaned down. This time you met him, tilting your head back. The kiss was sweet and simple. All the things you needed right now. “Makes sense.” 

“I love you, Tony.” It was good to be home. It was good to be free. 

“I love you, too.” A quiet murmur. “More than anything.” 

More than anything. 

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Eighty Nine

[too-old-for-fangirling-but-idc]

My little Squeaky Toy Pt.5 (Tom Hiddleston x Reader)

Title: My little Squeaky Toy Pt.5

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: In which Tom and you finally have dinner together in an Italian restaurant.

Warnings: fluff, romance, kissing, a lot of blushing, clumsiness, shy reader, Tom Hiddleston is a ridiculous gentleman and sweetheart, embarrassing situations

Notes: I’m not really satisfied with this part, I’m sorry.

            (Y/C) = your city

Word count: 2008

Previous Parts: Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4  

Requested by: @eye106

The restaurant was small. A tiny building so far off the main streets that it was no wonder that it was pretty much empty. Tom’s hand lay on your lower back as he guided you into the even smaller room. It felt good, though, his grip was neither too strong, nor was force put into it. You could barely feel his fingers on your back, so light was the touch.

It puzzled you, how you had survived the car ride and the permanent side glances he had thrown at you, without going insane. Well, you had been in some sort of daze the moment you had landed in his arms and had just managed to snap out of it when you had arrived at the restaurant.

Tom talked to a waiter, who quickly took your jackets and led you to a table in one of the corners, far away from the entrance or anything that could make noises which would interrupt or distract you. In a hurry he lit the candle in the middle of the table - it was a small one in a glass - and pulled out the chair for you to sit down. You were a bit flustered, but concentrated only on the beautiful human being, that was just getting comfortable, in front of you. He really was beautiful.

The candle light and the smile, that was plastered to his lips, didn’t make it any better. Talking about it… said smile grew until a row of perfect white pearls was being revealed. How did he even manage that? Keeping his teeth in such perfect condition?

“Are you okay, darling? You look a bit flushed.” He sounded concerned, but the grin on his lips told you something different. He was teasing you on purpose.

“I have never felt better.” That wasn’t a lie. Internally, you were screaming in pure excitement and joy and you couldn’t remember the last time you had to suppress a grin with such force. The smile was everything you let slip. At least, he should know that you enjoyed yourself.

One of Tom’s eyebrows shot upwards when you took the menu from the waiter, smiling at the middle-aged man shortly in thanks. Then your gaze was fixed on Tom again.

The light in the restaurant was dim, although it was still bright daylight outside. It made you wonder about how in the world Tom had managed to spot this place without having directly passed it on his way into the city.

Small shadows were cast along Tom’s soft features, his sharp cheekbones and tender throat highly accentuated in contrast to his cheeks and the crook of his neck. He wore a dark-blue button-down shirt, that almost seemed black, with rolled up sleeves. The light linen – seemingly crinkled at the sleeves and near the buttons – caressed his body in a way you had never seen on another man before. Basically, and honestly, Tom could wear whatever he wanted, and you would still drool over him, no matter how messy he would look.

“Do you already know what you want to drink?” The moment he spoke, your eyes were drawn to his lips. God, what was wrong with you?

“No – I mean yes. Yes, I do.” Could it possibly get any more embarrassing?

By the way he smiled at you, you could tell that he had caught you staring and apparently, he found that rather amusing. Just seconds later he leaned a bit forward and propped his chin on one of his hands.

“What are you going to take?”

“I’m – uh…” You stammered and internally applauded yourself for such an intelligent statement.

“You didn’t choose anything, am I right?” He flashed you a cheeky grin. “What about Pinot Noir? It goes really well with pasta.”

You assumed that Pinot Noir had to be wine or something similar. At least it sounded like it was. Maybe red wine. Actually, you weren’t someone to drink alcohol, but that was a special occasion and one single glass couldn’t be that bad after all.

“I’m sorry.” Concern showed on his face, his brows knitted slightly. “I didn’t even ask you if you liked wine.”

“Depends. What is Pinot Noir?” You answered truthfully, causing Tom to laugh heartily.

God, he was so beautiful like that.

“It’s red wine. Trust me when I tell you that it is worth trying.”

“Okay… How much is it?” You meant the price, because, considering the name of that wine, it might be expensive, and you weren’t exactly rich.

“Don’t worry about the price, Darling, I’m paying.”

Of course, you should have known that he would offer that. But now you were sitting in front of him, agape at his kindness and just didn’t know what to say, completely surprised, although you should have known. You felt your cheeks flush and, considering how hot your face was at that moment, you were probably as red as a tomato.

Tom tilted his head slightly upwards and then down again, smiling gently at you, no judgement to see in his eyes.

“You are beautiful when you blush.” It sounded so innocent and soft, coming from him and it just made you blush all the more.

“Thank you?” How were you supposed to react to something like this? His stare was intense enough to make you shift nervously and curl a strand of hair in between your index finger and your thumb.

His smile grew wider and he leaned back slightly, obviously looking you up and down. Normally, you wouldn’t have noticed, but that was different. It wasn’t just some guy, it was Tom.

And apparently, he did it with the knowledge of you noticing what he was doing. Hopefully, he would stop soon. Not, that you didn’t like having his attention, you merely didn’t want to be blushing for the rest of the evening. He chuckled and looked down, studying his hand, while you were studying him.

His glasses were sliding down his nose, just a bit and they definitely wouldn’t have fallen down - they stopped mid-way - but you couldn’t resist the urge and leaned forward, gently pushing it up again. Then holding his gaze, you wanted to sit down again, but his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, as he gently pulled you forward. And suddenly you felt overwhelmed by his presence. Before you knew what was happening, he cupped your cheek and pulled you even closer, careful so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

“Are you seeing anyone lately?” His voice was slightly hoarse and his gaze intense and fixed on you. It made you shudder and colour, when you realized what he had meant with that question.

“No…” You hesitated to hold eye contact, but at the same time, you wouldn’t even have been able to withdraw or do anything at all, his scent and hot hand on your skin almost too much to bear.

“That’s good.” He shifted slightly, reached for the back of your neck and kissed you. For the first few seconds, you couldn’t think, were not able to realize what was happening. Your head was spinning and all at once, you felt lightheaded and dizzy. Then you noticed how soft and warm his lips were, how gentle the kiss and how patiently he merely pressed his lips against yours, waiting for you to respond or to reject. And that was all it took for you to kiss him back, to move your lips and show him that, yes, yes you liked it and yes, you wanted more.

At some point, you might have knocked your – still empty – wine glass over but you couldn’t care less. You wanted to kiss him forever.

But Tom was the first to part again, slightly dazed, and caressed your cheek gently. Flushing deeply red, you looked away and sat down again, flattening your blue dress to keep your hands busy.

The hand, that had cupped your cheek only a few seconds ago, had wandered down your neck, shoulder and arm until it had reached your hand and Tom intertwined your fingers with his.

You stared at him wide eyed, not really registering when he ordered a bottle of wine and your meals and sent the waiter away again, paying his every attention to you once more. He squeezed your hand gently and smiled reassuringly, as if he was afraid you would change your mind at the next best opportunity.

“How can you brighten up with one smile?” It was barely a whisper, not intended for him to hear, but he did and chuckled amused, making you flush all over yet another time. But why did you even take the time to be embarrassed for what you had said? He was the one who had kissed you, wasn’t that obvious enough? You didn’t think of Tom as someone who would play games for fun with other people’s feelings. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but feel insecure. Showing people your vulnerability was never something that was easy for you, and even Tom was no exception in that case. Although, you were already trusting him a lot more than you had ever trusted anyone before – again, besides your best friend of course.

“Because I mostly laugh when I am truly happy.” He guessed and now it was your turn to laugh.

“What did you order?” The least thing you wanted to do, was ruining the mood, but at some point, you had to know what you were going to eat.

“I ordered Fettuccine Napoletana for the two of us. Is that okay with you?”

“How did you know that I love this pasta dish?”

“You said you love pasta.” He smirked and winked at you. You knew that he had probably simply guessed, but it was a cute and sweet gesture anyways.

The waiter came back to your table with a bottle of wine and poured you a glass, moving on to Tom’s glass afterwards. When he had left again, Tom lifted his glass and smiled softly.

“Cheers.” You clinked glasses with him and took your first sip of the red wine, all the time being observed closely by Tom.

“It’s good, I like it.” You stated and put the glass down again, the sweet taste of the dry wine still lingering on your tongue. Truth be told, it tasted exactly like every other red wine, making you wonder why Tom was so fond of it. At least, he seemed pleased with your answer.

The two of you were talking until your food arrived. He told you about his tight schedule, the many takes they had to shoot, the mistakes that happened to nearly every actor on set, his utterly frustrating and annoying costume and at some point during your conversation he trailed off to Shakespeare. It was plainly adorable. You listened, loving every word that left his mouth, and watched him as he gesticulated to strengthen what he was saying. You could listen to him forever, so every time it seemed as if he wouldn’t continue to talk, you asked him a new question. Actually, it was the first time that he talked that much, but probably because he was just as nervous as you.

He kept his word and payed for your dinner, tipping the waiter generously, before helping you stand up and put your jacket back on.

His hand was on the small of your back again, as he led you out of the restaurant.

“That was really lovely.” He turned to look at you, his other hand curling around your waist. He was all smiles.

“Yes, it was. Thank you.” Almost intuitively, you placed your own hands on his chest, once again marvelling at his height. “Thank you for inviting me.”

There was a short silence, in which he just looked at you in awe.

“I’m sorry that I talked that much, darling.” There was a hint of concern and guilt in his eyes, his grip around your waist tightening protectively. “Do you want to come with me for a cup of coffee?”

Taglist: @fiammablade3466 @zainab2 @the-lululemon @superanimenatural @blackirisposts @thejemersoninferno @nwmtagsb @signalnotfound0 @emyhonny @gallifreyanninja @kimanne723 @spookycatqueen @disneyoncerlover815 @aaminah12 @mrshiddleston-uk @tiffanycullen @loobnknoob @alexakeyloveloki @lykaonimagines @caticorndancingonpainbows @finney13s @alexxandra-the-great @lilyrosebea @zombiebunny97 @sarahivi @michellearel1 @mylovelycrazyworld @karnita-mexicana @kinghiddlestonanddixon @clarakainda @serkewen12 @noambition-blog @isaacunderground @jennytwoshoes

#my little squeaky toy #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #Tom Hiddleston is a gentleman #tom hiddleston fic #fanfic #fanfic request #flu #fluff #romance #kiss #still setting up this account sry #flirting #fanfiction #original female character

[sonic-bros]

Ohhh if you write a prequel of Sonic and Shadow’s take-out and movie date, i think it would be very cute!

[Read it on AO3!]

“Like this,” Shadow said, grabbing Sonic’s hand again and re-positioning his fingers on a pair of chopsticks.

Sonic grinned as he watched Shadow moving his fingers for him, trying to get him to hold the utensils correctly. “I should just grab a fork,” he said, chuckling a little bit afterward.

Chao in Space was already playing on his television. Sonic had seen it a million times, but it was the first time he was watching it, or anything for that manner, with Shadow. He hated to call what they were doing a ‘date’ because it sounded so formal, but it was one, and it was their first, if you didn’t count the make out sessions that usually ended their races nowadays.

Shadow shook his head and dropped Sonic’s hand, turning back to the television. “You should,” he agreed, going back to eating his own food, using his chopsticks perfectly, compared to Sonic.

The blue blur laughed and set his takeout container down on the coffee table, dashing to the kitchen and returning in an instant, plopping back down on the couch. “Thanks for trying,” he hummed as he got back to eating, smiling over at Shadow.

“Mhm,” he said, just watching the screen.

“Why do you seem so interested in this movie?” Sonic asked, glancing at the TV, watching a scene he could recite from memory.

“I’ve never seen it before,” Shadow admitted, glancing over at Sonic. “I don’t watch movies.”

“I doubt we’ll be doing a lot of watching,” Sonic snickered, but Shadow just rolled his eyes and looked back.

However, after they were done eating and had set their containers down, Sonic nudged closer to Shadow. The darker hedgehog easily raised an arm and slid it around Sonic, letting him rest his head on his shoulder as they continued to watch together.

Midway through, Sonic shifted up a tiny bit, turning towards Shadow so he could press a soft kiss to his cheek. Shadow kept his eyes on the screen until Sonic kissed the corner of his lips, which is when he closed his eyes and turned into him. He kissed him back properly, sighing through his nose as relished in the warmth of Sonic, sliding his free hand over to rest on his thigh, a chaste gesture.

However, after a moment, he broke the kiss, and Sonic blinked at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, brows knitting together, giving him a concerned look.

“I want to continue the movie,” Shadow said, looking at him, giving his thigh a tiny, reassuring pat.

Sonic looked surprised, but then laughed, adjusting so he could settle back into his side, setting his head on his shoulder once again. “Why are you so into this? It’s pretty silly,” he said, amused.

“You chose it,” Shadow reminded, though he paused, and then answered Sonic’s first question. “I don’t get to relax and enjoy things very often.”

Sonic blinked again and went quiet, thinking about that. He knew Shadow was usually busy with G.U.N. missions, and for the past few of weeks he’d been spending all of his downtime with him. He felt a little bad about it. “You know, if you wanted to do something else…” he started but then trailed off.

“You misunderstand,” Shadow said, turning to look at him, meeting emerald-green eyes with his own. “Your company is part of what I enjoy.”

Sonic smiled a little bit, cheeks warming up. “Okay, if you’re sure,” he said, settling back down, quietly looking back at the television. Shadow eyed his features for just another second before doing the same.

After the movie ended, Sonic got up to put the DVD back into its case, and Shadow gathered their trash to throw away. When they met back by the couch, Shadow spoke first.

“It’s late. I should head home,” he said, though he cleared his throat once. “This was… nice.”

Sonic grinned a tiny bit. “Yeah it was,” he said, pausing before he leaned in to give him a slow kiss. Shadow closed his eyes, moving his hand to Sonic’s hip just as Sonic moved his to his chest. It only lasted for a moment before they pulled away from each other, but before Shadow could begin his walk to the door, Sonic caught his hand. “You could stay the night,” he suggested quickly, his peach muzzle warming up just a tad.

Shadow rose a brow, eyeing him. “Would you like me to?”

Sonic gave him a look. “Duh, why else would I suggest it,” he said with a laugh, still holding his hand.

Shadow thought for a second, and then gave a small nod, although before he could say anything else, Sonic was zooming off, pulling him along into the hallway, and then his into bedroom. When they came to a halt, Shadow scanned the room, eyeing its contents—nothing really worth noting.

“I know its not much, but I spend most of my time at Tails’ place, anyways,” Sonic said, letting go of his hand to sit down on the edge of the bed, so he could pull off his shoes. Shadow watched him quietly, before sitting down beside him also. He didn’t take off his Air Shoes just yet, and when Sonic looked at him, he could see the gears turning in the hero’s head. “Wait, do you even—” he started to ask, but Shadow cut him off.

“Sleep? Yes,” he answered. “Just not very often.”

“How come?” Sonic asked, taking off his gloves.

“I’m designed to go a long time without it.”

Sonic made a face, but then shook his head, just to lean over and press a small kiss to his lips. “Well, we can cuddle,” he suggested after he straightened up. Shadow nodded, proceeding to take off his shoes and gloves, just as Sonic had done, though he left his inhibitor rings in place.

After Sonic shut off the light, the two hedgehogs crawled into bed together and pulled the sheets up around themselves. Sonic immediately moved in close, wrapping his arm around Shadow’s middle and resting his head on his chest, and Shadow moved his arm around him. Neither one of them closed their eyes.

“Shads,” Sonic said after a couple of minutes.

“Hm?’

“What’d you do on your free time before we started… you know?” he asked.

Shadow rose his brow at the question. “Nothing.”

“Well you had to do something,” Sonic mused.

He thought for a moment. “I normally just accepted another mission.”

“Okay, sure, yeah,” Sonic said, suddenly sitting up a tiny bit, to look down at him through the darkness of the room. “But you had to have some break from missions.”

Shadow looked up at him, without moving to sit up. “I drank at Rouge’s club.”

Sonic laughed. “Thank makes sense,” he said. “She is your only friend.”

Shadow eyed him, though a tiny smirk appeared on his lips, he suddenly grabbed Sonic around his waist and pulled him back down onto the bed, shifting over him too, all in one shift motion. “That’s not true,” he said, playfulness in his voice. Sonic was used to seeing this side of Shadow now—it was their thing. They raced and sparred playfully, but the playful kissing was Sonic’s favorite part.

“Yeah it is,” he said, looking up at him, grinning back. “I bet she’s the only person you’ve told about us.”

Shadow blinked at that, his smirk dropping instantly. “I didn’t think we were telling anyone,” he said, each hand planted on the bed on either side of Sonic’s shoulders.

Sonic’s eyes widened, though he gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, I thought it’d be okay if I told Tails. He’s my best friend, ya’ know.”

“It is okay,” Shadow said, which just confused Sonic even more. “I just didn’t know if you’d want people knowing.”

Sonic snickered up at him, raising his arms and snaking them behind Shadow’s neck. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, tilting his chin up, wanting to kiss him. Shadow eyed him, but instead of leaning down, he moved from over him, sitting back next to him, frowning faintly. Sonic blinked and sat up. “Shadow?”

Shadow said nothing for a moment, contemplating saying anything at all to Sonic, but he eventually gave in to the urge to discuss it with him. “You have… other interested parties,” he said, looking over at him.

Sonic blinked, and then laughed. “Who, Amy?” he asked, figuring that’s who Shadow meant, which the black and red hedgehog confirmed with a nod. “I don’t like her like that.”

Shadow looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course not,” he said. “Maybe at first. Like, before I even really knew her. But she kinda freaks me out now.”

“How so?”

Sonic shrugged. “I dunno,” he started. “She’s just clingy. I don’t like that,” he said. “Now I’m just afraid I’m leading her on, but… I like someone else,” he said, elbowing Shadow’s arm, giving him a grin.

Shadow smiled faintly, though it dropped again, back to his normally serious expression. “I have a question, then.”

“Go ahead,” Sonic said, leaning back against the headboard and moving his hands behind his head, smiling to himself as he closed his eyes.

“Can we be exclusive?”

Sonic snorted, opening an eye to look over at him. “Sure,” he said, pausing as he dropped his arms, eyeing him. “I haven’t had any interest in not being exclusive,” he clarified.

Shadow grinned. “Me either,” he said, just before he leaned over and kissed Sonic.

Sonic smiled into it, closing his eyes and parting his lips. He shifted towards Shadow, and moved a hand to his shoulder, gently pushing him over and onto his back. The two hedgehogs stayed like that for a while, before shifting positions, laying on their sides, only occasionally breaking the kiss to catch their breaths. It was slow and lazy, both of them growing more relaxed and sleepy with each passing minute.

After what seemed like hours, Sonic pulled away, his cheeks stained red with blush, feeling very comfortable, yet not. “Hey, you’re making me kinda warm,” he said, raising his hand, to scratch gently behind Shadow’s ear, gazing at him. “Do you think maybe we could do something about it?”

Shadow blinked tiredly at him, but then smirked and nodded. He leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, his hand would find its place against Sonic’s lap. They shifted again, and within minutes, Sonic was moaning underneath him, coming undone simply by the warmth of Shadow’s palm. Not long after, Shadow was in the same position, gasping against Sonic’s lips as he fell over the edge just as Sonic had.

The two of them got cleaned up and went back to kissing, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms—neither were thinking of the morning to come.

(Link to part two)

#ughhh sorry this is crap? #sonadow #mine: fics #mine: asks #mine: requests #mine: sonadow #mine: unrequited sonamy

[ivisite]

For the drabble meme, 33 with Anruin?

Anruin is petty with a capital “P” and I’m all about that.

#33. “I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

It wasn’t often that Anruin managed to successfully read his map well enough to make it to his destination and it was even more rare for him to stumble upon something worth writing about. Besides studying half-diligently at the two colleges of Skyrim, the small Bosmer found himself enthralled with his own personal journey. He wanted nothing more than to become the greatest bard and with his Mer blood giving him a few extra years to hold over the common man, he was happy to say he had plenty of time to accomplish said feat.

Bards of old simply spoke tales they’d heard from others but Anruin was determined to do the opposite. Based strictly on rumors he picked up while coaxing about local Inns, he managed to catch wind of a new figure emerging- or two, rather. One such figure was the Last Dragonborn, a Nord woman with hair as fiery as the souls of the dragons she captured and the other was a mysterious hooded figure that few had ever actually seen, a harbinger of thieves and larceny that guards whined about in the days after the it was supposedly spotted in the area. Amused by the notion but bribed to say otherwise, Anruin knew far too much about any given person anyways but in particular he knew quite a bit about the newest soon-to-be hero of old.

“Can’t you guys get some incense? Just because it is a sewer doesn’t mean it has to smell like it- and it’s far too humid, too. Humidity isn’t good for singing..” Anruin rambled, walking about the infamous Ragged Flagon that everyone spoke ill of.

At the counter, the owner of said makeshift bar wiped down tankards with an annoyed flair. He was a surprisingly decent looking man, all considering where he set up shop and his so-called lady friend wasn’t too bad on the eyes either. Both, however, watched the Bosmer parade about with the last of their nerves ticking away. 

“Woof Elf, I’ll ask again, what do you want? Shouldn’t you be prancing around an Inn or something?” Tonilia rather pointedly asked. She was a Redguard, Anruin presumed and had a tough demeanor about her. Pretty enough but perhaps too domineering, Anruin could see why her little friend the bar keep might like her so much. Docile by contrast, the barkeep was a good balance to her more assertive nature.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping with your actual lover instead of literally everyone else?” Anruin coolly snapped back, taking out his journal and scribbling something down.

Both the barkeep and Tonilia’s mouth fell agape. The rabble that lived in the sewers weren’t exactly posh and well-mannered but for some stranger to waltz down on his merry way to gods know where just to bother them was infuriating in both both and practice.

“Why you dirty little bast-” The Redguard woman started to say, cut short by a rather loud throat being cleared.

“Can someone please be so kind as to tell me where all my workers are? I’d really appreciate it.”

The man in question was of average height but made up for any short-comings in the area by his gruff voice and permanent look of annoyance that chiseled itself onto his face. The man haphazardly glanced between the three other people in the Flagon only to shake his head and take a seat at a table off to the side. Grumbling about needing something to drink, the man motioned his hand at the barkeep.

“And what in Oblivion do you want, elf?” He spat, looking to Anruin rather hatefully. 

“A hearty drink with warm company, of course. Why else would I have come to such a lovely establishment with such inviting patrons?” Anruin cooed back, smiling at the irritated knitting of the man’s brow.

“If you must know, though, I’m looking for Saoirse. Had a gut feeling she might be around here when not dragonborn-ing.” The wood elf said slyly. In truth, he knew all too well of Skyrim’s rising hero. She wasn’t much of one from what he could see, at least not based on the great, bulky heroes of the past and had a bit of a dark side to her that she bribed him with gold and food to not tell anyone about.

“Oh, well then, that makes two of us.” The grump of a man retorted, rolling his eyes as he drank from his tankard.

“Ah, Mercer! Delvin and Vex are out on jobs with a few of the other stagglers from the Cistern. Brynjolf and Saoirse are probably killing each other or something. Delvin sent them on another job together.“ 

From his spot behind the bar, Vekel must have seen a lot of thing and for that Anruin could respect. Barkeeps and Bards knew everything about everyone that walked by them and were dangerous in their own right. Either type could twist a rumor just a bit and have the whole hold gossiping for weeks on end.

"As long as the job gets finished first, what’s it matter afterwards.” Mercer grumbled again.

It grew quiet in the small tavern after that, an odd but welcoming atmosphere if you squinted and tried really hard to find it. Persistent, Anruin took a seat at a table that was situated on what he called the dock, for lack of better words. If she were out on a job, she would have to come back eventually and he had a million things to ask as soon as she did.

Despite popping up at a bad time during a dragon attacking a nearby settlement, Anruin and Saoirse managed to get along rather well. She wasn’t pompous or haughty like he imagined someone with her title would be and seemed to put up with his presence on most occasions. Perhaps only because he was so insistent on the friendship, the two and whomever happened to be following her around at the time were quite the gaggle to behold. 

After what seemed like hours, the Flagon was greeted to the oncoming hum of what sounded like people screeching in the ratways coming towards the entrance of the tavern. While Vekel seemed amused by it, muttering something about his end of a bet going well, Mercer groaned and rubbed his temples.

“You bloody bastard! How dae you except me to be able to read your damned mind?! Ruddy haired son-of-a bi-" 

”-Look who’s calling the kettle full, you ruddy haired wench! When Mercer heres about this, he’s going to kill me and I’m going to push you in front like a human shield!“ 

Bickering as they walked into the tavern, Saoirse and another red head that Anruin couldn’t help but give a second glance towards made their way over to the seating area. They hadn’t noticed the other patrons just yet but they made good time in grabbing their alcohols of choice and taking seats as far away from each other as possible. Saoirse found herself sitting at the bar and her accomplice sat pretty with the grump from earlier. As quickly as the storm rolled in, it seemingly settled as soon as they had a drink in hand and back to one another.

Anruin watched the two for a moment before taking a seat next to his favorite muse, nudging her playfully in hopes of striking up a conversation while the men across the way talked business in hushed voices. Others started pouring into the tavern soon afterwards, as well, filling the seats and talking loudly while chasing what was left of daylight with various meads and wine. It was oddly comforting, Anruin noted, despite the general ambience leaving something to be desired. He was a muscian and a story-teller at heart and a bustling tavern was where he belonged.

As brazen as he might have seemed, Anruin could read a room in seconds flat. Despite the rumblings of several different conversations and boisterous laughter here and there, he couldn’t help but notice a stale bit of air sitting stagnant overhead. The other red head from earlier seemed to have lightened up once a few drinks settled on his stomach, carrying on with a balding man, a hateful looking blonde and this Mercer fellow from earlier. In contrast, Saoirse was uncharacteristically quiet, even having moved down a few seats from the Bosmer after muttering about not being in the mood.

It was absolutely tantalizing. Like a moth to a flame, Anruin took out his journal again, placing it on the counter along with a quill and ink bottle much to the barkeep’s amusement. There was always something to make a song out of and if the dragonborn had some sort of edge to her, he was about to write every observation on the matter down in his notes. The song of the era would need to be detailed and Anruin was more than happy to include this odd moment of stagnant tension in the hero’s journey in the song.

Not paying mind, he managed to draw a few curious onlookers attention towards him. Another Bosmer of the more cliche archer sort took a seat nearby while a dark haired man with a nicer disposition than the others sat on the otherside of Anruin. Both were quiet as they watched the bard scribble but couldn’t help but interrupt after a while passed.

"What’re you writing, kinsman?” The other Bosmer asked, peering over Anruin’s shoulder while the darker haired male squinted to read the pages.

Anruin loved attention, so when it was given he was to engage, though kept a certain watchfulness about him so not to miss anymore note worthy things. Smiling, he put his quill down and dusted off the corner of the page he was writing on.

“It’s a song. I’m trying to write about our dragonborn over here but she’s too busy moping about to get anything noteworthy out of.” He playfully chimed, pushing the journal into better view for his onlookers.

They seemed intrigued by the notion if not amused as they both skimmed the pages. Strangers they might have been but patrons never-the-less. If they wanted to hear a story Anruin would gladly oblige. While the pair quietly muttered and read through the pages of notes, Anruin let himself study the room. Nothing really changed since his last glance around but from the corner of his eye he did manage to catch a glimpse of something worth taking a moment to ponder on.

From across the way at the table full of important looking members amongst the rabble, Anruin watched as the red headed man gazed at Saoirse when he thought no one was looking. He would let his eyes linger on her for no more than a moment before flickering them back to his own company but wouldn’t let himself go too long without looking her way again. His expression was neutral as far as Anruin could tell from his peripheral vision but the gazes were intense. He wasn’t the target, but he could almost feel the weight of it pass over his shoulders en route to the woman nestled at the edge of the bar. 

“Curious…” He thought to himself before turning his attention to Saoirse down a ways from him. She sat quietly at the edge, tinkering with a fork while her bottle of mead sat sparsely touched.

She, too, seemed to notice the weight and made quick to let her own eyes wander towards the other red head from time to time. It was another hard read but Anruin could feel the weight of her gaze passing over him just as much, if not more so than the red headed male’s. They seemed to dance around each other, glancing in perfectly timed intervals so not to catch one another and Anruin found it rather amusing. It was as though they were bickering still, taking non-verbal shots at one another before passively looking away to await the other’s response.

Picking up his quill and dipping it in ink after several moments of watching the two, Anruin raised his brows nonchalantly and let a coy smile make its way across his lips. His notes were rather bland as of late, mostly based on rumors and the odd sighting but in this instance he decided to toss a bit of grease on the fire. Fingers popped and legs crossed just so, Anruin cleared his throat and caught the attention of the tavern. Pleased with spotlight, he chuckled and looked between the red heads on either side of the room. 

“I saw you two staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage. Care to elaborate or should I just write down that it’s both? That would make for a good line in my song….” He cooed.

Horror struck the faces of both people that had been singled out and every pair of eyes in the tavern began to waver between the two. Anruin, however, couldn’t help but chortle at his feat as he dipped his quill in the nearby ink well. With both red heads at a loss for words by the sudden call out, Anruin shook his shoulders happily and began writing.

"Oh good, it’s both then. The plot thickens and the tension rises! This is going to be the best song ever….”

Anruin is the messiest ho in all of Tamriel and I couldn’t be more proud.

#oc ask #anruin : oc #bosmer #anruin needs a squad of other messy ho's #they could have a black book with everyone in Skyrim written in it with juicy gossip #solitude #skyrim oc

[lolabean1998]

Avengers Fanfic - 3rd Super Soldier (Part 7)

Bucky's POV!

I watched as you drifted off to sleep, the thick black fur on your paws swaying softly with each breath you took. I couldn't believe my eyes at first, watching your body transform into a magnificent black pantha, the King of Wakanda will be jealous. What did they do too you? The thought of what you went through set my hearts in knots and i had to blink back the tears that tried flooding my eyes.

"Why the hell is there a great big pantha in our holding cell?" Tony's voice rang out, silencing the chatter from the team. I cleared my throat and stepped forwards, smirking as i thought about how crazy what i was about to say was.

"It's not a pantha." I smirked, the look on Tony's face said it all. He was clueless.

"Are you certain 'cos it sure looks like it!" His voice was irritated and annoyed. I heard Steve and Nat stifle a laugh behind him, even they saw how bizarre the situation was.

"That's Y/N." I said pointedly, the grin on my face said it all 'We're just as shocked as you and we have no idea what to do', Tony read my grin as his mouth did little goldfish impressions. Y/N you have achieved two impossible things in the space of an hour and a half, changing species and silencing Tony! I chuckled at my thoughts looking over to you through the double glass.

"Buck, she's gonna need someone to settle her when she wakes up." Steve stated before throwing a pillow and blanket my way. "You're up."

I took the bedding along with a handful of snacks in with me, placing the pillow beside you and throwing the blanket over the two of us as i lay beside you. Even with your own fur coat you were still freezing. We lay there in silence for a few hours, every now and again you'd start snarling in your sleep and I'd tell you a story from our childhood whilst rubbing the scruff of your neck until the nightmare passed.

"We went to the bar facing the park to celebrate Steve’s birthday, you wanted to celebrate it properly. Spent months saving up to get him the perfect gift. He always used to put newspaper in his shoes to make him look taller so you decided you were going to make a pair of shoes for him so he didn't have too. Sending me on special missions to steal his shoes so you could get the size right." I reminisced, "We broke into his place in the early hours of the morning just so you could make him breakfast, making me stay on look out in case he woke up early. He woke up that morning to a new pair of shoes and breakfast in bed with his two best friends, we spent the morning laughing and talking about anything and everything." You stretched over my chest purring, your head resting by  the crook of my neck as i lay there staring at the ceiling telling stories almost a hundred years old. "You'd spent the day before his birthday blackmailing me into helping make the cake, nothing fancy but the look on his face when he saw it told us that it meant the world to him. It make all the flour fights and the egg in my hair worth it. You had planned on going to some fancy restaurant for dinner but he insisted on making some awful sandwiches and eating them in the park. Said he didn't need fancy food to feel special, just his two best friends and some crappy sandwiches. After dinner we went to the small dingy bar facing the park and danced the night away, using you as a way to get our free drinks. You had this way of getting what you want whilst making the other person think it was their idea. You sang and danced all night, the bright, happy smile on your face never wavered for a second." It was then that you changed back to your human form, your bare skin on the concrete made you shiver and your teeth chatter. I waved at the double sided window signalling for them to open the door before pulling off my t-shirt and carefully pulling it over you. It hung on you like a dress but it was warm and covering. Bruce opened the door making a joke about how he never thought he'd be the one to open the door to his own cell and i wrapped you up in the green blanket before carrying you out and up to your room. You grumbled as i placed you down on the bed pulling the thick duvet over your shoulders to keep you warm.

"Don't even think about it soldier boy, we never said you were off babysitting duty. I'll bring your dinner in for you, don't worry." Nat smiled, giving me a stern look as she stood in the doorway blocking my exit. I huffed at her turning back towards you and climbing onto the other side of the bed. "Oh no you don't the poor thing's freezing! Under you go." She instructed waving her hands at me as she spoke. I couldn't explain it or let Nat see how i really felt but laying next to you with your head resting on my chest woke something deep down inside me. Something i had guarded and protected against everything, a feeling. The only problem was, i didn't know what that feeling was.

Your POV!

"Jesus Y/N, hungry much?" Tony jumped as your stomach growled angrily from the door way your were hesitating by. You offered a weak smile before slowly wandering over, your eyes fixed to the floor as you moved.

"I just wanted to say thank you for letting me stay for so long but i thinks it's time for me to leave before i over stay my welcome. I'll be out by the end of the day." Your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke, leaving immediately afterwards before Tony had a chance to reply. You didn't want to be rude and since you had been offered no invitation to stay, there was no excuse for you to be there any longer. You had found an apartment you could afford and after making a deal with the landlord, you were getting the first month free if you fixed up the small apartment you living in as well as the one opposite you. You had found a job as a private courier to keep you fed and pay for the next months rent, you took the 3 sets of clothes and a large t-shirt stuffing them into a small rucksack with your spare pair of combat boots before heading out the door. Leaving the compound and the Avengers behind. Since the rest of the team were out on missions it was easy to escape without having to dodge any awkward goodbyes.

"What do you mean she left?!" Steve demanded, his voice raised and his eyebrows knitted into a furious frown. It wasn't very often that he got mad like this, but when he did he was a force to be reckoned with.

"You think i wanted this? What else was i supposed to do, she didn't want to be here! After the Pantha thing i wouldn't either, she barely knew who she was before and then after the whole switching species thing she must be freaking out." Tony ranted back, arms flying through the air as he defended his corner.

"You saw the look in her eyes when we brought her back only to be met by a crowd staring at her like some circus freak. I know what she's feeling, what she's going through. I felt the same when i turned into the hulk! She feels like a freak, like some circus act." Banner jumped in trying to defuse the situation. "She's just trying to get away from it all, trying to back to some form of normality."

"Did you at least put a tracker on her?" Steve sighed after a moments reflection on Banners words of wisdom. Tony sighed rubbing his temples at this question, the look on his face was unsettling Steve. What ever Tony had to say wasn't going to be good news.

"She took them out and threw the on a truck, i spent the last six hours tracking garbage." Tony grumbledwith defeat.

"How did Bucky take the news?" Steve asked hoping he hadn't found out yet knowing that the news wouldn't go down well.

"How do you think i got this?" Tony snarled removing the ice pack covering an already bruising eye. "He apologised after and headed to the training room. We'll be needing a new one once he's through." Steve's eyes shot open at this, concern and panic gushing into his face.

"You sure he's in the training room?" Steve asked tentatively. "Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y, where's Bucky?" He spoke before Tony could answer.

"Mr Barnes left shortly after speaking with Mr Stark." F.R.I.D.A.Y replied.

"Well that can't be good." A voice from the shadows remarked smugly as they stepped into the light.

"Damn it Loki! How long have you been there?" Banner flinched, turning to face the God of Mischief.

"Oh I'm not actually here, no. Thor asked me to check in when i dropped in. Apparently you've lost another wild animal, i take having two super soldierswasn't enough, you had to complete the set." He mused wandering round the group arrogantly, a small black and green blade twirling between his fingers.

"Enough with the games, what do you want?" Tony snapped, he'd had enough of Loki's shenanigans.

"Believe it or not i actually want to help. I may not know where Y/N is but i know where Barnes is. He's sat in our usual booth at Maggies, he's been therefor a while now just staring out the window at a block of rather fowl looking apartments." Loki informed the team, his voice was nothing but sincere.

"Why are you helping us? Whats in it for you?" Banner interogated, eyeing Loki suspiciously.

"She's terrified and lost. Not knowing who you really are is one thing but finding out you're something else on top of that is even worse. I'm not helping you. I'm helping her. Besides it sounds like she was a lot of fun in her time, i want to bring her to that." Loki answered honestly before disappearing into thin air.

"That wasn't weird at all!" Tony commented sarcastically as the trio headed towards the parking lot. "Since when did Loki get a heart?"

Masterlist

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fandom #Steve Rogers #captain america #chris evans #sebastian stan #tony stark #Iron Man #Avengers #avengers fandom #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #Black Widow #wanda maximoff #sam wilson

[hongbab]

Wait for me - He was selfish, he knew that much. He watched Hakyeon wilt by his side, his liveliness decreasing with each week they spent together, but he couldn't let go of him, not when Hakyeon was the best thing in his life, not when he wanted to do this whole Life Thing together with Hakyeon. (Ravi/N, r, 3569 w)

a/n: written for this prompt. i’m sorry for not making it smutty, i just wanted to make it as sweet as possible :( i hope you’ll still like it this way, anonnie!!

recommended songs: your favourite sad but lovey-dovey songs

p.s. sorry for taking so long, if there’s a parallel between this story and my life, it’s the graduation thing, only it’s in 2 weeks for me not 3 haha i had to prepare for and then take my state exam, i’m sorry >< (but this means no more uni ⇒ much more time to write! (when i’m not at work, at least))

Even though the old, rusty air conditioner was whirring steadily overhead, the air inside the office was unbearably hot. Wonshik felt tiny beads of sweat trickle down his temples to get lost in his hair as he was lying on the sofa, legs and head propped up on the two armrests.

“Can we just go home?” he moaned, blindly stretching out his arm to the right.

A warm and dry hand wrapped around his fingers, squeezing them lightly.

“You can go home, if you want, I told you,” Hakyeon murmured.

He pulled back his hand and Wonshik let his own drop to the floor, opening his eyes to blearily blink at Hakyeon. He had been correcting the Music Theory exam papers of his second year students for over two hours and Wonshik had already scrolled down several months’ worth of posts both on his FaceBook and Twitter feeds, deciding to take a nap instead—if only he’d been able to sleep while burning in the hellfire of the early July weather.

“I want you to come home with me,” Wonshik mumbled. “You haven’t come over in five days.”

Hakyeon let out a sigh. “That’s because I’ve been making exam papers.”

“So you should relax already.”

“Wonshik-ah,” Hakyeon said, finally looking at Wonshik. He looked exhausted; there were dark shadows under his eyes, his lovely skin looked sickly pale, and the 11’s between his eyebrows looked deeper than usual. “Please, let me correct these and I’ll go home with you, I promise, I just—”

Hakyeon's words got cut off by the rattling of the doorknob and Wonshik immediately jumped from the sofa, scrambling on the floor to crawl over to Hakyeon's desk, pushing his chair away to hide. Hakyeon yelped, but then the door opened and he quickly rolled his chair back behind the desk, almost running over Wonshik's fingers.

“You can come out of there, Wonshik,” a tired voice said, “it’s just me.”

“It’s Sanghyuk,” Hakyeon announced, gently nudging Wonshik's bottom with his foot.

Wonshik let out the breath he had been holding, supporting himself on Hakyeon's desktop as he stood up, facing Sanghyuk, Hakyeon's TA.

“I could see your shoes anyway,” Sanghyuk said, dropping his bag on his desk. “I was just hoping you guys weren’t… you know.”

“What the hell, we—”

“Oh my God, I told you we—”

"I know, I know," Sanghyuk swatted away their excuses like a couple of annoying flies, "No sex until he's 18 or something."

"I'm 24," Wonshik grumbled. "And you're younger than me, so stop being condescending."

"I'm still a TA and I can still tell the dean about your little... romance."

"You're my TA," Hakyeon said authoritatively and for some reason, Wonshik's heart skipped a beat at the commanding tone with which Hakyeon was trying to save both of their dignity. "I can tell the dean about your unhelpfulness."

"I'm helpful!" Sanghyuk exclaimed. "I'm helpful and you know that and it’s still very bizarre that you guys, like, hook up and stuff."

"We don't—" Wonshik started, but then Hakyeon took his hand momentarily, nonverbally telling him to let Sanghyuk think whatever he wants.

It was irritating, how Sanghyuk thought their relationship was based on some sort of sick teacher-student kink, just like how most of their close friends thought the same. It was nothing like that and Wonshik once had been desperate to make Sanghyuk understand it; he had tried to explain it for several months after Sanghyuk had caught them cuddling in Hakyeon's office, but Sanghyuk never listened. No one ever listened and while Wonshik was extremely stressed about it, Hakyeon seemingly accepted that people would never believe them.

Seemingly.

But it was Wonshik who rubbed Hakyeon's back when he seemed too troubled by the weight of this all, he was the one who offered to make Hakyeon some tea when he was bursting with suppressed misery, and Wonshik was the one who held Hakyeon through the crying when he wanted to give up on the two of them but felt too attached to Wonshik to do so.

They had talked about it more than Wonshik dared to count, about breaking up, about stopping the torturing of each other and finally being able to take a deep breath without being afraid of anybody kicking them out of the university, Wonshik losing his student status and Hakyeon, his job as a professor, and, on top of it, being condemned by society. 'It's not like... there's much between you two, right? I mean, you haven't even kissed or anything,' Jaehwan had told Wonshik once, chuckling awkwardly afterwards, slowly screwing the imaginary knife already in Wonshik's heart further in.

There were nights when Wonshik wanted nothing more than to kiss Hakyeon, he wanted it more than he wanted to breathe, needed it like plants need water to stay alive. But Hakyeon was stronger, he never let Wonshik kiss him, 'not until you graduate', he said, and Wonshik always felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes when Hakyeon rejected his attempts. They had a bond no one should ever have questioned, and Wonshik clearly knew it was love, no matter how Hakyeon never let him say it out loud—he was protecting both of them, from breaching this stupid convention, this make-believe rule they had set up, the one that said their relationship was only real crime if their lips touched. Wonshik didn't want the two of them to be a crime.

He thought about this as he sat on the couch in his living room that evening, Hakyeon resting his head on Wonshik's shoulder, snuffling quietly in his sleep, his hair silky but slightly tangled under Wonshik's fingers as he caressed it. He wished he could have kissed Hakyeon on the forehead, but that was forbidden, too, at least on Hakyeon's part, and he would have woken up and freaked out if Wonshik did that. So Wonshik only tipped his head to the side, the top of Hakyeon's head touching his cheek.

He was so happy but so incredibly, so inconceivably sad, and all that managed to keep him from screaming from the top of his lungs was the small red circle around the number 17 on the July page of the ugly wall calendar he had hammered up in his living room. Three more weeks and he wouldn't be a student anymore. Three more weeks and he would be able to kiss Hakyeon, to hold him in his arms and press his mouth to his temple and hear him laugh in the most carefree way he had ever done. It would ring through the room and Wonshik's heart and he would be the happiest man on earth. Three weeks.

*

The day they first met was a lazy Wednesday, one littered with classes with too long breaks between them, and that was why Wonshik hated Wednesdays the most—the temptation to go home between classes and never return to campus was extremely strong.

He stood in line in front of the counter of the coffee shop opposite campus, pulling one of his hands out of his jeans’ pocket to rub at his eyes, trying not to fall asleep while standing.

He was halfway through a yawn when the wind of a storm ruffled his hair, loud steps making him regain consciousness as someone rushed past him, pushing away the guy next in line to bend over the counter, panting wildly.

“Hey,” the boy heaved at the barista in front of him, the strap of his messenger bag slipping off his shoulder, “do you know where… where the entrance to the main building is… at that university?”

The barista, a blond girl, blushed to the roots of her hair and mumbled something unintelligible, the boy looking more and more desperate by the second. Someone tried to explain to him how he was supposed to take the path on the right of the entrance, turn to the left, go up the stairs, look for the second door, enter it, and then walk up another flight of stairs to find the reception hall, but the guy only made a wailing noise, his otherwise tan face suddenly turning grey.

“I can help you,” Wonshik said without thinking twice, surprised by his own eagerness to help. He was probably just bored. “I study there.”

“Would you?” the boy asked, stepping away from the counter, looking like he might hug Wonshik and cry on his shoulder. “Oh my God, thank you, I need to get there in five minutes, I have a job interview at half past one, you see…”

“Okay, uh,” Wonshik nodded, glancing sadly at the coffee machine behind the counter. “Let’s go.”

The guy stormed out of the coffee shop the way he entered, waiting for Wonshik to catch up outside. He seemed extremely nervous with his eyebrows knit and his lips tightly pressed together, but Wonshik still thought he looked kind of cute, especially because of his jitteriness—Wonshik felt himself blush and had to bite his lower lip to hide a smile.

“Are you applying to be a teacher or something?” Wonshik asked as they crossed the road with fast steps.

“Yeah,” the guy said with a finger in his mouth, chewing on his skin. “I heard they’re looking for a Music Theory teacher and I just finished my Music Master’s a year ago, so I thought I’d try.”

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” Wonshik replied with an encouraging smile, and suddenly he was walking alone in the grass. When he looked back, the guy was standing a few feet away, looking utterly baffled. “What’s that?” Wonshik inquired.

“You don’t even know me,” Mr. Soon-To-Be-Prof mumbled. “How can you be sure I’ll do well?”

Wonshik blinked.

“I just… this is just… well,” Wonshik scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I can imagine you in front of a whiteboard and all, so I just… look, we’re going to be late.”

“Ah,” the boy nodded, light pink dusting the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his shoes, shiny dark hair hanging in front of his forehead, his eyelashes like tiny fans spreading above his waterlines. Wonshik's heart skipped a beat and his legs suddenly felt like jelly, his palms becoming clammy as the boy looked up with a gentle smile. “Right, let’s go.”

They took a shortcut through a bunch of bushes, stopping in front of the door to the main building, Wonshik holding it open.

“How do I look?” the teacher candidate asked, brushing his fingers lightly over his bangs.

Lovely, Wonshik thought but caught himself before he could have said it out loud, swallowing thickly.

“You look like our new Music Theory prof,” he said, grinning, for which he earned a radiant smile, one that made his stomach turn into knots. “But, before you go inside,” Wonshik took his phone from his pocket, checking the time. It was 1.28pm. “Can I ask your name?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, Cha Hakyeon,” he said, reaching out to shake Wonshik's hand. “Sorry, I’m kind of nervous right now.”

“Didn’t even notice,” Wonshik smirked, tightening his fingers around Hakyeon's hand. “Kim Wonshik, by the way. I’m graduating this semester, so we probably won’t meet in class, but… I hope I’ll get to see you around.”

“Thank you, and I’m sorry for taking your time,” Hakyeon replied, entering the building. “I’ll buy you coffee if I get the job.” Hakyeon smiled again and Wonshik was positively swaying in the doorway now, grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed, then.”

Hakyeon turned away with a small, breathy laugh, jogging towards the small booth in the reception hall, and Wonshik let go of the door, skipping back all the way to the parking lot where he stopped to remember which building his next class would be held in.

Hakyeon got accepted and he bought Wonshik a caramel macchiato, sipping it together with him in a faraway corner of the coffee shop, talking animatedly about his interview. Wonshik watched him in awe with his chin held in his palm, smiling when Hakyeon got carried away so much he could barely breathe between sentences. He was beautiful and lively and funny and Wonshik felt so smitten after their third coffee date he thought he might die if he didn't ask Hakyeon out for dinner.

It was a long process from then on: Wonshik obviously didn’t care about getting kicked out of university as much as Hakyeon worried for both of them, every little touch feeling like another step towards their mutual death sentence. The first time Wonshik held Hakyeon's hand in the darkness of the near empty cinema auditorium sent shivers down Hakyeon's body, making him tremble with nervousness till the end of the awful action film they were watching.

"I want to kiss you," Wonshik blurted out once, three beers into the night at Hakyeon's place, their fingers intertwined on the floor.

"We can't," Hakyeon shook his head, looking down at their hands with a small pout, and when he looked back up, his eyes were shining strangely—not from the alcohol he had consumed. He scooted closer to Wonshik and rested his head on Wonshik's shoulder tentatively, flinching when Wonshik caressed his back.

"I should let you go," Hakyeon said a few hours later, when he was already sitting on the mattress of his own bed, his fingers still laced with Wonshik's. "I'm killing you."

"You're making me feel alive," Wonshik said and pulled Hakyeon down to where he was sprawled out on the bed, and Hakyeon came a little unwillingly, laying his head on Wonshik's chest so hesitatingly it felt like he was trying to make it feel less heavy. Wonshik cradled the back of his neck then, scratching under Hakyeon's hair.

He was selfish, he knew that much. He watched Hakyeon wilt by his side, his liveliness decreasing with each week they spent together, but he couldn't let go of him, not when Hakyeon was the best thing in his life, not when he wanted to do this whole Life Thing together with Hakyeon. He didn't let Hakyeon break up with him. Instead, he kept vigil with Hakyeon, mourning their unborn relationship on some nights when all he wanted to do was sleep, watched Hakyeon crumble and grow tired, tormented, broken by his side.

*

Wonshik couldn't pay attention to the ceremony.

He was sitting in his robe with that silly hat on, staring ahead and picturing Hakyeon's face, thinking of how his lips would taste a few hours later, how he'd have to hold back his tears when he could finally free Hakyeon from the weight of this all.

When a classmate on his right elbowed him in the side to indicate he was next, Wonshik stood up in a mechanical way, much like a robot programmed to walk to the front to take his stupid paper and shake some hands. Afterwards, he missed the moment he was supposed to throw his hat in the air, and later, he forgot to smile in the picture a random stranger took of him with his family. He couldn't hear the questions and congratulatory words aimed at him when they were already at home, drinking for his health with relatives he barely knew, and he excused himself as soon as the last guest left.

It was well after 9pm when he finally reached Hakyeon's apartment building, sticky with sweat and his heart going into overdrive. He let himself into the building and ran up the stairs, stumbling at one point but catching the railing, arriving in front of Hakyeon's front door heaving loudly, knocking weakly on the wood. His knuckles barely left the surface when the door already swung open, Hakyeon standing there in a pair of sweatpants and a crisp white button-up, his hair soft and messy like he had just blow-dried it.

"Wonshik," he said in a shaky voice, "I didn't think you'd be here so fast, I was going to dress up nicely and—"

But Wonshik was already inside the flat, holding Hakyeon's cheeks between his hands and kissing him, his lips quivering against Hakyeon's, his throat tight with unshed tears as he listened to Hakyeon's tiny, muffled sobs, his hands grabbing Wonshik's wrists and his thumbs caressing the insides of them. Hakyeon's arms then wrapped around Wonshik's shoulders and Wonshik pulled him close, holding him tight.

"I'm so proud of you," Hakyeon whispered, the lock clicking as he kicked the door shut.

Wonshik only pressed his face further into the crook of Hakyeon's neck, trying to will away the crying.

When Hakyeon pulled back to look into Wonshik's eyes, his face was decorated with delicate streaks of tears, sparkling there like microscopic gemstones and Wonshik hadn’t seen all seven billion inhabitants of the planet, but he was convinced Hakyeon was the most gorgeous of them all.

Hakyeon pulled him into his bedroom and sat him down on the mattress, climbing into his lap with still too much wariness in his moves, like he couldn't quite believe he was finally allowed to do such things. His fingers crawled under Wonshik's hair as he pressed his forehead against Wonshik's, breathing heavily.

"I love you," Wonshik said and it sounded bubbly like he had blood in his lungs. He held Hakyeon by the waist, his grip firm on his lithe body. "I love you, Hakyeon, I'm so sorry, I'm so— I'm so sorry for being selfish."

"I love you," Hakyeon replied and pecked Wonshik's lips. "I love you more than anything and I'm so happy you never let me— I'm so happy you're here."

Wonshik laughed in a high-pitched voice and let go of Hakyeon's waist to undo the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with each, but Hakyeon didn't rush him, he waited patiently until Wonshik made his way through all the buttons, occasionally kissing Hakyeon like they had all the time in the world.

He had seen Hakyeon shirtless before, when he'd spent the night and Hakyeon had forgotten to take his shirt with him to the bathroom in the morning, but he had never been able to touch him before. Hakyeon's skin was smooth and beautiful, like the finest silk, the warmth of him making Wonshik feel dizzy as he pressed his mouth against Hakyeon's collarbone. His fingertips were tingling as he dragged them over Hakyeon's abdomen, and, in turn, sparks surged under his skin as Hakyeon took Wonshik’s T-shirt off, doing the same to him—just touching, enjoying how it was possible now.

Hakyeon's skin tasted like the sweetest honey mixing with the saltiness of the ocean, and Wonshik couldn't get enough of it as he nipped lightly on Hakyeon's hip bone before he planted small kisses to Hakyeon's firm inner thighs, aching to mark every patch of skin with his mouth.

Wonshik had always loved Hakyeon's melodic voice—it was so different from his own low and deep baritone, the soft-flowing tone filling his heart every time Hakyeon hummed along to the radio or sang quietly in the kitchen while preparing breakfast. His lovely voice cracked now in the nicest way possible, his breathing picking up as Wonshik took him into his mouth, Wonshik's name spilling from his mouth in airy chants like it was a spell ought to be whispered into the night to bear results. His fingers were carding through Wonshik's hair shakily, his body twitching with every move of Wonshik's tongue. His cheeks were flushed and his lips bitten red when Wonshik finally emerged from between his legs, kissing his forehead and earning a happy smile before Hakyeon reached over to the nightstand to take the lube from it.

His lips brushed Hakyeon's eyelids in a soothing manner when he slipped a finger in, and then two, Hakyeon mewling and squirming in his arms when Wonshik finally thrust forward, his legs almost giving in under him—it was too much and too good all at once.

"You mean the world to me," he murmured into Hakyeon's neck as Hakyeon pulled him close, two arms around Wonshik's shoulder and two strong legs around his hips, his small cries trickling down Wonshik's skin like the sweat on his back.

"I love you," he heard Hakyeon's jumbled words before he struggled to press his mouth against Wonshik's, kissing him deep while Wonshik jerked him slowly, swallowing Hakyeon's moans.

Hakyeon came with a choking sound and a desperate inhale, kissing Wonshik until Wonshik came as well, collapsing on top of Hakyeon. He wanted to cry so badly, but Hakyeon was already crying; his blunt nails were scraping Wonshik's scalp as Wonshik lay half on top of him, listening to the steady, way too fast rhythm of Hakyeon's heart.

"Thank you," Wonshik said; his voice was hoarse and his words barely decipherable from the emotions swarming inside him. "I love you, thank you for being here, for waiting for me, I love you so much, Hakyeon, I'm so sorry..." He was rambling, he knew he was, but he needed to talk, he needed to make Hakyeon understand that no man had ever been as happy to be alive as he was in that moment.

Hakyeon laughed, his laughter ringing inside Wonshik's ears and his heart the way he had imagined it would, and when he kissed Hakyeon's temple, Hakyeon only hugged him tighter.

#vixx #n #ravi #navi #rating: r #au #angst/fluff #req