#i just cannot stop having my heart pounding from anxiety and its been all day and I'm so tired | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bi-demon-ium · 1 year

Text

S2 FINALE LIVEBLOG

lmao this is the same clip from the weird cheesy supervillain sitcom as last time. i don’t know why i remember the sandals joke but i did

ANYWAY

im so nervous and anxious man im shaking like a chihuahua

absolutely fucking vibrating

i feel like im gonna THROW UP

anxiety and terror aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

IT HASN’T EVEN STARTED YET AND I FEEL LIKE I MDYING

ohhh here it goes here it goes oh fuck

FEAR FEAR FEAR

AAAAAAA

ah its day now

dfgjdlkfgjdfg hand tree ghkjfgfh

“im. having feelings” yeah girl that happens

“this is the safe house?” “potentially.”

god what are her family gonna be like

it’s so weird they fave her a family

oh my god this is so weird already

mr benedict’s reaction dglkjhflgkjhgh

DGH;KLFJGHGH “HELLO. NUMBER”

so number is her canonical first birth name?????????

HILARIOUS

and unfortunate

“madame chops”

her brother “one”????????

what the fuck

I don’t know how I feel about that tbh

I don’t necessarily hate it but I don’t know if I like it either

JACKSON AND JILLSON IN THE BACKD LFKGJDFG

AND JEFFERS DFLKGJDLFG

“approved”

“I do think evil is a bit overexuberant”

oh mr benedict and the others all immediately talking her up ldkgjdg

“nice to see my sister is finally sustaining friendships”

“YOU’RE THE YOUNGEST” DLGKJLKHGJFGLHKJFGHKJ ONE IS THE YOUNGEST?! GIRL

“go dark” that’s a horrifying way to put it thank you

“I am gaining. SO MUCH understanding” dlfkgjdflkgjdfgkj

ohhh miss perumal and reynie

“mr benedict is convinced he can reach them” “of course he’s going to say that. he’s happy”

“I don’t see how talking to dr curtain is going to stop him” ohhh from coming from reynie

“he’s the bad guy, but mr benedict wants to save him” OHH

“maybe we have to save the bad guy, if we can. maybe that’s the only way to really win” OHHHH

lkdjfglkdjfg curtain lmao

the visible “what the fuck”

GIRL HYPOCRITE

YOU LITERALLY ALSO KIDNAPPED HIM LMAO

CURTAIN YOU’VE TRIED TO KIDNAP HIM MULTIPLE TIMES

“it helped YOU”

“people are going blank” “you’re in denial” “it’s still about control for you”

MR BENEDICTS FUCKING EXPRESSION WHEN HE IMMEDIATELY CLOCKS WHERE THEY ARE I LVOE THIM<3

CURTAIN’S ALREADY NOTICED oh god oh god oh god

“how long has it been like that” OH NO

OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO

OH GOD

NO ALREADY? FUCK

FUFKC FUCK FUCK

BUT GOD CURTAIN WA SACTUALLY IMMEDAITELY PANICKING HE WAS CONCERNED OH GOD OH FUCK

FUCK IM FREAKING OUT MAN IM FUCKING LOSING IT

NOT NOW, THEME SONG! PISS OFF!

please my heart is pounding

“have you adopted any of those children”

oh that comment about the orphans im biting number two’s mom

im half waiting for curtain to just come booking it down the stairs panicking ldkgjfgdfgdhh

“weird swinging pattern”

i hate number two’s mom<3

a prison of spare bedrooms

ohh rhonda!

im also biting one.

commercial break. ogugughhh but WHERE ARE THE TWINS

like I care about all this other stuff but im way too anxious about whats up with mr benedict please

I cannot emphasize enough I am Literally shaking

not hyperbolically. literally.

yooo im so scared oghohfhgfghhhhh

oh curtain is freaking out

OHHH OH NO

“I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP. WAKE UP!” FUCK

it is a bit fast but I don’t think he’d be faking it? I mean maybe but

hmhmmgnghhhhh he was rubbing his neck when no one was watching so probably not right?

and constance is probably not far behind oh god

“and im completely fine with that” why do I feel like she isn’t . normally anyway

THE WAY HE SAYS THE JIGSAW PUZZLE THING IS SO FUNNY FOR SOME REASON

also how come they were like “we need everyone” and yet no one’s checked in on mr benedict yet

even briefly to see what’s up

I mean I guess they think he and his brother are hashing up but not even checking??

OHHH IM LOSING IT

“PLEASE, PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO” “YOU WERE RIGHT” OHHH IF I CONVINCED YOU IT WAS GOOD THEN YOU WOULD THINK I WAS GOOD OH HYOU HAVE TO FIXC TUHS ISSRGLIDKFJGDFLKGJDFG I CANT EVEN OH MY GOD HOHI USGRSFDFGES CRYINHDFGIL OVEHGLKIJBRGFDKJGKHJFGLKHJFGHJ

HUGGGG

that was a dirty trick but it worked

not sure how that will go

this song! slaps!

ah lumberjack action

also no hope for Jackson and jillson working with them at this point I think

JSACKSON AND JILLSON CONTINUE TO BE ICONS

SO IT WORKED? IT WORKED THE WHOLE TIME

ALSO hey nicholas? say I love you back. now.

I love you but curtain needs to hear I think.

“im sorry.” “for what?” “the blow dart. I know it hurt.”

oh that is a lot of greys

JILLSON IN THE SLING I DIDN’T NOTICE THAT BEFORE

dlkfgjldkgj the war cries<3

rolllll credits

“this is my home” oh. kay

curtain?????????????

oh that’s . hm. a weird thing to say out loud?

hmmm this is.

cheesy. a bit forced.

but also I love ut. but also I don’t. but also I do. but also I don’t

also curtain do you REALLY think it’s that easy

you can’t just be like “anyway I quit. bye”

JACKSON AND JILLSON….OH.

oh …. that angle. from above. that. what the fuck.

and separated from jillson??? that’s. weird

not bad just weird

LDKJGLKDJFGLKJDFG THEY’RE JUST GONNA KEEP GOING

“YOUR PHILISOPHY WIOLL LIVE ON! EVEN WITHOUT YOU!” “don’t want it to”

“IM JUST NOT CLEVER WITH WORDS :(“

“are you handy” “I don’t understand the question”

uh oh shes already gone hasn’t she

oh god

that’s not good

“no WE’LL fix it” right? YRSGKJHG YEAH

fuck !!!!!!!!!!!!

OKAY see on one hadn this thing with curtain’s redemption here feels. kind of forced as hell. but also consider I love it. but also I am conflicred. but also I lveo it flgkhjfgkhjfgh

also WHERE THE FUCK IS SQ LMAO???

very last scene it’s just curtain sipping tea with nicholas then going “….oh I should probably go get sq, huh?” and mr benedicts like “who” and then curtains face makes a visibly oh wait, fuck face and then theme song

night at the museum commercial? dlkfgjdfg???? rami malek or bust.

THE SRTEAMS FREEZING NOOOO

okay just during commercials. for now.

NOOO ITS DOINGI T AGAIN

if this interrupts the actual episode I’ll cry real tears

“A FATAL ERROR OCCURRED”?????? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, STREAM?

NO YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

ITS CUTTING OFF WHAT THE UFCK

okay okay it restarted but its still pausing and its mid episode so ive missed something

but. I don’t think much

WELL THERE ARE WORSE THINGS

“there has to be a similar fix” “what if there isn’t”

wait. are you fucking kidding me. the joke fic idea I had about “a moment of true happiness fixes them” is real??????

why don’t I ever publish my amazing predictions now I sound like a liar

“as the three people she cares most about in this world” ouch

ohh but he says “you’re the ones who make her happy” with such confidence like it’s obvious

STICKY. BITCH

extremely funny that kate’s was actually really touching and sticky was like WHAT ARE YOU DOING but sticky is just like remember that time you exploded something with your mind? good times

BULLY EACH OTHER

I NEED YOU ALL TO RELENTLESSLY BULLY EACH OTHERLKFGJKGJFGHFGH

oh no okay get her to insult them

the idea that he’s just like. what if we made her soooooo need to mock us

I mean she has broken through with mockery before

also curtain’s expression in response to this

I know this isn’t going to happen but I desperately need mr benedict to kiss her forehead

ITS THAT ITS NOT TIED TO ANY EMOTIONAL NEED KJDLGKLGJ

AGGRESSIVELY RECITING POETRY

MR BENEDICT NO PLEASE

and curtain’s “oh god face”

THE SWEATER VEST SAVES THE DAY

“I’D RATHER BE IN A COMA THAN LISTEN TO THIS”

miss perumal and mr benedict hug is not the one I saw coming??????????

okay fair enough

so what the FUCK is going to happen with curtain now

are jeffers, jackson, and jillson are the main bads of s3? possibly also garrison?

totally off the books then but honestly im good with that

“other home” :)

“back to the compound” “oh yes”

oh right because he’s going to. undo it. wow. okay

DLKGFJKGDH HUG<333

of course there’s also the chance that curtain is in fact lying

manipulating him in some way

still going to be the next season’s villain

which would actually be extremely heart wrenching

“well I think I lost a bit of perspective on this one” yeah no shit. I love you so much

leadership role <33

“is this something im invited to” “no” funny but ouch

oh sticky and reynie conversation<3

“ive got two places” like number two!!!!

just waiting for the ominous stinger.

unless they aren’t planning for a season three but they did leave some loose ends so

and still no sq

FIVE WEEKS

dlkgjdlfkgj

THE LUMBERJACK CUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

loggerheads, excuse me

ohhh letters from sticky<333333

parallels to episode one <33

AND LETTERS FRO MTHE OTHERS TOO

milligan took the alapaca dlkfgjdfg lmao

okay they just have an alapaca now

ohhh little doodles!! is this constance’s?

I LOVE YOU CONSTANCE

THAT’S IT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH CONSTANCE LKFJGFGJH

“for another sweater” <33

is she going to finally admit he’s her dad ????????

ohhhh shes asking about where she comes from….. ohhhh…..

“oh id be happy”

WAIT WHAT?

HE’S CANONICALLY 51? BIUT THAT DOESN’T

WHAT

CURTAINS JOINING THE SOCIETY????? IOS THAT ALLOWED

EXCUSE ME

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN

WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE UFCK WHAT THE UFCK???????

excuse me??? ARE YOU FUCKING “EURUS HOLMES”ING US?????????????? BITCH?????????????????????????????????????

#mbs liveblog #the mysterious benedict society #mbs disney #mbs #tmbs #mysterious benedict society #HOLY FUCK?#mbs spoilers

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suckerpunchfemale · 1 year

Text

Chapter Twenty Eight Below!!

Available on AO3 & Wattpad

Taglist: @andramoreaux

"Sunfyre and Dreamfyre were spotted at sunset yesterday."

"Why tell me now?" Aesira asked. Though Aesira had been gone for the rest of the day, flying on Sakaris' back to stretch her wings, Aemond had met her in her Chambers for dinner.

With her head on his chest, she could just about hear the uptick in his heartbeat as he replied, "I didn't think it important. You were already so tired."

"When will they arrive, do you think?" She pushed herself up onto her elbows, gazing up at Aemond as his unbound hair splayed across the silk-covered pillows Aesira liked his hair disheveled and unbound. He did not.

"The King's party should arrive by noon, at its latest." He said softly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above the bed.

"Are you anxious about the conversation you are to have with the Queen?" Aesira wouldn't say it aloud, but she was riddled with anxiety. Not just for his conversation but for her own as well. As much as her heart beat for Aemond, she doubted Rhaenyra—or her children—would see it as anything other than Aesira choosing to bedeck herself in Hightower green.

They'd think of her as a traitor, even if they wouldn't say it to her face. She could only hope that by informing Rhaenyra of their intention to leave Westeros, her cousin might see that she cared enough about them to withdraw from the inevitable fight.

"Anxious, no. Because even if my mother lashes out, I've already wed you and it will not change my decision to leave." Aemond flicked her nose, "At least I don't have to tell Daemon of our decision."

"Rhaenyra will keep him at bay. I just need to ensure they are told at the same time." Aesira giggled, laying her head onto the crook of his outstretched arm. Aemond smiled down at her, the sight of it set her heart aflame. She wouldn't—

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Who is it?" Aesira called out, as they sat up abruptly.

"Alis, my Lady." Her words were muffled as she spoke through the door.

Aesira shook her head, chuckling softly, "Go away, Alis."

"I can't." The Lady's Maid sighed loudly, "I've been told to ready you."

Aesira frowned as she glanced over at Aemond, wondering if he knew why her Lady's Maid would be pounding at her doors so soon after the sun had risen. Barely an hour had passed since the sun had begun to creep across the room.

Aemond shrugged before rolling out of the bed. He pulled on his clothes in a haste, then his eye patch, then his boots, and then slung on his tunic as he jogged to the doors. He knew Alis was sworn to secrecy and that Aesira trusted the Lady's Maid with everything she had.

So he opened the doors wide enough for Alis to slip in, while he slipped out.

"What is all this about?" Aesira asked as Alis wasted no time readying a bath before the Hearth.

"Two dragons were spotted and Lord Otto wanted you to be readied for the arrival," Alis said quickly, pouring various liquids into the claw-footed bathtub.

Aesira rolled her eyes and fell back onto her pillows, she could have been laying in bed with her husband still. Husband. She giggled into the fur-lined blanket. The word still made her giggle. And then, just as quickly, she sobered up. "Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, I take it. I don't understand why I need to be readied for their arrival. The King won't even want visitors until he is settled in again."

"No, my Lady." Alis paused to glance at her, "The spotted dragons were Meleys and Moondancer."

Rhaenys and Baela. Rhaenys and Baela.

"In my absence, was there any word sent from Driftmark about this visit?" Aesira crawled to the edge of her bed.

Alis held the bottles to her chest, then sidled up closer to the bed, keeping her words quiet, she said, "Not from Princess Rhaenys. There was a Driftmark raven sent from Lord Vaemond Velaryon. I cannot tell you what the contents read, nor what response was sent. I can only say that he sent a letter, and now Princess Rhaenys and her Ward are flying for the Keep."

Unsure of what this could mean, Aesira stopped fighting and did as her Lady's Maid instructed. Within an hour, she was dressed in a flowing thick, red dress with black and gold lace trimmings. She knew the dress had been commissioned at the order of the King, for none of her own seamstresses on Dragonstone would make a dress this far from the blue and gold of Sakaris.

Her hair was pressed into curls with two braids that wrapped around the hair at the nape of her neck, allowing the neatly pressed hair to be slung over her shoulder. Not forgetting the curtain bangs she adored so much, or the circlet that never seemed to warm.

She all but inhaled her breakfast before securing Aemond's dagger to her calf and then leaving the Chamber to Alis, who would set it straight for her.

Aemond—in all his usual long, leather overcoat and general black attire—stood beside Lord Otto before the doors to the empty Great Hall, while Lord Otto chattered away.

"Good morrow, Lord Otto," she bowed her head to the Hand of the King then to Aemond, "Prince Aemond."

Aemond slid his eyes to her, and for all their talks of keeping their love a secret, he made no effort to conceal his feelings as they rushed to the surface of his face. All it would take from anyone was to look at the softened expression and the smile playing on Aemond's lips to know the truth.

"Lady Aesira, good morrow to you. What fortunate timing that you're still in the Keep." Lord Otto said, clasping his hands together.

Aesira forced a smile, "Yes, my Lord. Archmaester Dayzthrax set sail for Volantis at daybreak. I will have no more need to attend to his training for hours at a time."

"I trust the training was...educational."

"Indeed." She affirmed, not wanting to upset what felt like a delicate air of calm. "Is something the matter? I've noted the lack of small folk in the Great Hall."

"What a keen eye you have." He said as if the quietened Hall was something anyone could miss. "The King's party entered the city gates a little over an hour ago. They should be here shortly. We also have visitors from Driftmark that will be met at the Sept before being brought by wheelhouse to the Keep."

"My uncle has returned." A wave of calm flooded through Aesira as the words settled. Her peaceful, kind, and misguided uncle would be in her company by noon. Lunch, she knew, would be with him. Suddenly, Aesira didn't mind so much that she'd be seeing the Queen or the rest of her brood.

"The King," Lord Otto corrected, "is ill. We received a raven ahead of their arrival, forewarning us that the road has taken its toll on the King."

Every ounce of relief and excitement bled out of Aesira. She'd told the Queen not to force the King on the trip. But the Queen had insisted and the King, always wanting to appease his Lady Wife, had gone ahead with it. Aesira fought the urge to glance at Aemond, knowing he'd feel nothing by the news. She didn't want to see his neutral expression. For once, she wished he'd be as upset as she felt about the mistreatment of the King.

Though, Aesira paused, the King's illness answered a question. This would be enough to prompt a visit from the Princess Rhaenys. Her cousin was ill. But, if that truly was her reason, for her to fly to the capital spoke to the severity of the King's state.

No one, not the King nor Lord Otto, had the time or energy to deal with her upset over the Queen's decisions.

So Aesira steeled herself, took a steadying breath, "Where am I needed, my Lord?"

"Welcoming our King and his party." Lord Otto said, striding for the steps that would take them all the way to the great oak doors of the Keep. Aesira finally glanced over at Aemond and saw the concern on his face, not for his father the King, but for his wife. The King had never been particularly present in his children's lives, not to the Queen's children at least, and the response to that was the disinterest they showed to him in kind.

The King was a good man, but that didn't make him a good father.

Aemond stood with his hands clasped against his lower back, his eye running over her face, taking apart her expression. Aesira had hesitated if only to ponder over the lack of compassion on his face toward his own father. Aemond tilted his head to catch her attention and then gave a small nod in Lord Otto's direction, a gesture to follow him.

Aesira lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and proceeded to walk after Lord Otto. Aemond fell in step beside her. The closer they marched to the great oak doors, the louder the fanfare grew. Aesira knew Lord Otto had arranged a welcome party, filled with trumpets and drums and an adoring, and cheering crowd. She didn't think it was appropriate, given the King's poor health but who was she to argue with the likes of the Hand.

Aemond and Aesira flanked Lord Otto at the top of the steps, with the great oak doors pushed all the way open. Behind them, in the outer bailey, feasting tables had been erected and adorned. A feast to celebrate the return of the King, even if the King himself would fail to attend it.

Aesira heard the cheers and screams grow louder as the Royal Wheelhouses were pulled into the courtyard. Just two wheelhouses. The larger one stopped at the base of the steps first, the trumpets going absolutely crazy as the door swung open and the Queen stepped out.

The Queen was beautiful in her green and gold garments, ever the example of regalness and grace as she smiled toward the crowds before gesturing to the Kingsguard. The knights dismounted from their horses and retrieved the palanquin from the small folk, then set it up against the open door of the wheelhouse.

Aesira lurched a step forward as she just barely saw the King stumble into it. With the drapes closed, she couldn't see anything happening inside the palanquin, and that alarmed her. Once the King seemed settled, the Wheelhouse was carted away and the King was carried up the steps. Aesira tried to follow but found herself blocked by the Kingsguard and then Lord Larys Strong as the Queen ascended the steps herself.

The Queen paused to give Aemond an almost chilly embrace before facing Aesira and Lord Otto, who both bowed their heads to their Queen. She gave them a tight-lipped smile then followed the Palaquin, Ser Criston Cole a step behind her.

Aesira could do nothing but watch as the King, her uncle, was carried away. By the time she turned back to welcome the second wheelhouse, Prince Aegon was already halfway up the steps. His wave to the gathered crowd was less regal and more feral.

He passed her without so much as a glance, leaving a stink of vomit and a strong air of wine in his wake. Knowing what she knew, Aesira wondered how much of Prince Aegon was actually the drunken fool he was known for, and how much was just another broken child. If Aemond had turned cold to protect himself from his childhood, she was willing to wager that Prince Aegon had drowned himself in his cups to survive his own.

None of that excused his behavious or his actions, but Aesira couldn't imagine being the oldest Male Heir of the King, and not being in line for the throne. If Aemond had been bullied and belittle for the maiming he received at the hands of Rhaenyra's children, Prince Aegon had probably been shamed and mocked for being passed over in favour of his sister.

Princess Helaena was right behind him. Seeing her seemed to excite the crowd more than even the King and Queen had. Her twin children walked ahead of her, holding the hand of their Lady's Maid while the Princess carried a swaddled babe in her arms.

Despite the screaming crowd, the babe slept unwoken.

"Welcome, Princess. And dare I be the first in the Red Keep to offer my Congratulations. I trust your labour was easy." Lord Otto bowed deeply enough that it was seen as a mix of pride and respect.

The Princess' smile was warm enough to melt the snows of the North, "We had the naming in Oldtown, my Lord. The babe's been named Maelor."

"What a fine name indeed." Lord Otto echoed, glancing down at the sleeping babe. Aemond gave his sister a respectful bow of his head before he pinched the babe's cheek. No sound or movement but it made the Princess laugh and that seemed to have been his intent.

"The babe is healthy, yes?" Aesira asked, stepping into the bubble they'd created.

The Princess nodded, though her eyes were red, "He is. Though I find myself not wanting to hand him off to anyone. I have felt that I am all that keeps him together."

"As I'm sure all mothers feel." Aesira knew her words would do little to ease whatever discomfort or concern the Princess felt but she wanted to try.

The Princess squeezed her hand and then said, "As will you, Morcaelum."

An ice-cold chill skittered over Aesira's skin as the hair all over her body stood straight up. It took a moment for the word to settle and then for the meaning to dawn on her. The Princess couldn't know that word. She didn't even know enough High Valyrian to string a sentence together. But by the time Aesira had recovered enough to ask the Princess where she'd learned the word, the Princess had already disappeared into the Keep.

As the lower doors were opened and the gathered crowd began spilling into the lower bailey, a squire ran up to Lord Otto, whispering something in his ear.

"What did she say?" Aemond leaned across the space between them, "I don't think I know that word, and I thought I knew them all."

"No one knows all the words of High Valyrian. We know the words we use regularly and then build the words we don't." Aesira didn't want to think about what the Princess had said. And yet it was bringing forward a memory she'd forgotten. A memory of a night when Aiyana had stayed to comfort her mother before a Hearth—neither woman had known of Aesira's presence. Her mother wanted Aiyana to look into the flames and see if she'd ever birth a living son. But all Aiyana had seen was Aesira, and then she'd whispered that she'd one day be called, 'Morcaelum.'

"Aesira, what does it mean?" Aemond asked again.

"I have no idea." She shrugged, it was a lie. She knew what it meant. Aiyana had said it meant, 'Death from the Sky'.

With the ensuing chaos of the small folk slithering into the lower bailey for the feast, Aesira turned on her heel, fully intent on finding the King and checking in on him when Lord Otto called out, "Lady Aesira, just a moment."

Aesira sighed softly, "Yes, my Lord?"

"It seems our guests from Driftmark have landed at the Sept and will be here shortly. As the Queen has requested the presence of Prince Aemond, as well as my own, I must put it on your shoulders to welcome them."

Of course, the Queen had asked for them. Aesira hung her shoulders, "It would be my pleasure, Lord Otto. But I'm sure you can understand that I would like to see the King."

"As do we all." Lord Otto said, unwavering in his request, "I shall pass along your request to the Queen. In the meantime..."

Aesira nodded, "I will welcome our guests from Driftmark."

"Well done." He said almost kindly. Lord Otto stepped around her and began marching across the lower bailey, towards the inner doors.

All she wanted was to see the King, to know they hadn't somehow killed him on this wholly unnecessary journey across Westeros. They'd barely stayed there for a day or two before they'd begun the journey back again.

It wasn't until Lord Otto called Aemond, from halfway across the courtyard, that she realised he was still at her side. The Queen's summons wasn't enough to force him to leave her.

As gallant as it was, Aesira knew the Queen would make her life hell for barring her own son from her. So, she swallowed hard and waved towards the Keep, "Go, I will be fine."

"Aesira—"

"Worry not, husband. I am as safe here as I would be anywhere in the Red Keep. Go to your mother the Queen, have the conversation we dread, and come find me when you are done." She dared not to reach between them to squeeze his hand, not with Lord Otto watching them. It was a concerted effort on Aemond's part, not to embrace her, or kiss her, or stroke her before departing. Instead, he settled on a respectful bow and then left to join his grandsire.

As Aesira turned to face the raised portcullis—the Keep at her back—she wished they could return to that little inn.

#blood of old valyria #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic

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poursomesunaonme · 2 years

Text

prologue

pairing: jean kirschtein x f!reader

summary: two lovers are reunited after three years of total separation and seven long years of inconsistency. a marriage is celebrated, friends are made, and new lives begin.

content/warnings: major manga spoilers! canon compliant! a lot of angst and anxiety, familial issues, but also extremely fluffy, alcohol consumption, it’s incredibly soft, sfw

word count: 6.3k

author’s note: ahhh the day is actually here! i cannot thank y’all enough for encouraging my work so much in the last few weeks that i’ve been sharing the nav page; it literally makes me so so so happy. writing this chapter made me so emotional (will elaborate in my notes if you’d like to read them below), so i hope that y’all enjoy it<3 as always, likes, reblogs, comments, and other interaction like asks and dms are appreciated! i love talking to yall about my work<3 without further ado…

songs for the chapter: “saw you in a dream” by the japanese house, “archie, marry me” by alvvays, and “nellie” by dr. dog

extended notes 💫

series navigation

prologue -> chapter one

You wrung your hands as you peered out of the window, waiting with bated breath for any kind of indication at the ambassadors’ visit to the chateau where you resided. Ymir clambored loudly in the living room as her mother trotted after her; the little heart was oblivious to the tension that hung thick in the air. The two other matrons in the room sat in front of you, knuckles whitening on the armrests of their chairs, waiting for their sons’ arrival.

A small gasp escaped your mouth at the appearance of a speck on the horizon. The envoy still had a bit of a stretch of dusty road to travel before it reached the winding drive to the house, but that didn’t stop you from alerting everyone to its approach; and all while your heart refused to beat. With an urgency, the mothers rose and hurried out of the door, leaving you and Historia to catch her lively toddler. After a few moments spent rounding Ymir up to play on the lawn, you and the other women waited for the ambassadors on the porch, trembling in anticipation.

Relief and anxiety intertwined in an uneasy coil in your chest. You felt sick to your stomach; you felt like you could fly; your heart pounded against your sternum, threatening to grow its own legs and run away from you. Your head ached with the dissonance inside of you, plagued with worry about how the first time seeing them in three years would fare.

A nagging fear in the back of your head extinguished any hope you had of being greeted with the same handsome man who had stolen your heart long ago. There must have been some other reason that he hadn’t written to you in three years despite the inability for mail to be delivered to Historia’s chateau for security reasons. All of the time you had spent pining over him was a waste; you were just a pitiful girl with an unrequited obsession.

The rough grain of the rocking chair armrests dug into your hands when your grip tightened on them absentmindedly. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you gnawed on the skin in an attempt to assuage the anxiety that whirled in a tempest within your head; which was a bad habit of yours you had thought to have died out before you received word that the ambassadors were on their way back from over the sea. But the habit had returned in full force the second the news of them returning reached your ears. Creaks from the rocking chairs resounded all around you. The homey noise only slightly eased your affliction.

The carriages drew closer with every moment; soon, the clopping of the horses’ hoofs could be heard lilting over the plains. Ymir’s father chased her around the yard as you and the other women sat on the porch, wordlessly watching the caravan roll down the road. The child’s giggles somewhat assuaged your worry, but not so much as to lift the elephant off your chest. A cloud of dust rose behind the carriages like a beacon; whether it was one of hope or despair, you didn’t know.

“It’s been nearly seven years since I’ve embraced my son,” Connie’s mother whispered. It was unclear whether it was directed to the women who sat beside her or merely a thought expressed aloud in disbelief. Either way, the words hung pregnant with the underlying implications. You weren’t sure who you were going to face when the carriages unloaded, how the hearts of the people inside had changed.

At the sight of the envoy turning onto the front drive, the two older mothers shot up, huffing to hurry to the base of the porch to wait with open arms and welcome their sons home. You remained glued to the chair, held down by the sheer weight of your worry, as Historia rocked next to you. She watched the carriages approach with dull eyes and an unreadable face. As if the heavy emotions radiated off of you with such power, she turned her head to you, sympathy beginning to glow within her blue eyes.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, scooting her chair closer to you. The question seemed silly; you could see yourself out of body, noting the tremble of your hands and the way your jaw muscle clenched. Your shoulders were bunched up, aching with tension that you didn’t know how to release.

“What gave it away?” was your attempt to be lighthearted. Historia offered you a soft smile before straightening to face the yard once more, watching her daughter and husband as they rolled in the grass without a care in the world.

“It must be hard to see him after so long.” The empathy in her voice was palpable. Your heart sunk even further in your chest at what she was implying. She had unfolded the story of her love with the Scout, Ymir, over the course of the three years you had stayed with her. There was a day that flashed in your memory when Historia finally revealed Ymir’s name to you; you had instantly realized that her infant daughter you had helped take care of so often was named after her mother’s first love. After all the stories that the Queen had told, you believed that it was a fitting tribute. You admired Historia’s strength in persevering, in leading, but especially in living.

Because Ymir would never come back home.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips at the elated tears that began to flow from the matrons’ eyes at the growing proximity of the carriages that carried their beloved children. You vaguely felt Historia’s hand on yours as your skin began to prickle, growing numb at the chest shattering anxiety that still hung upon you.

“Go to him,” she urged. You watched as her heart broke again in the ocean of her eyes, projecting the loss of her love onto the miniscule possibility of your own relationship continuing. Every muscle in her small frame urged her to scream at you, to beg you to embrace your lover and cling to what you still had.

You didn’t move, you didn’t say a word. Hopelessness had already crawled into the recesses of your heart, expanding to take up enough space to stop the muscle from beating. The lead carriage in the caravan rolled to a gentle stop, setting a domino effect as the other vehicles lurched to halt their movement. The horses whinnied, tossing their manes and pawing at the ground, as if they could sense the anxiety that radiated off of you. You chewed at your bottom lip, the silence that hung in the air buzzing with an impossibly dense tension that the halting of the envoy created.

“Y/N, look at me.” Historia’s command drew your mental attention, but you only watched with breath hitched in your throat as the mothers ran to the carriage, tears flowing down their cheeks. Ymir and her father joined them, the latter setting the former high on his shoulders as she screeched with delight. The women waited with hands clasped against their breasts, large smiles spreading upon their faces. They were perfect pictures of hope. A feeling of self-hatred washed over you at the fact that you weren’t standing with them, waiting with an erratic heartbeat to embrace your man.

Historia’s firm squeeze to your hand finally snapped your eyes from the sight that nearly made you vomit. Your eyes fixed to hers, a slight twinkle within them now, all sentiments of sadness dissipated from the blue depths. Her smile, however, was telling of a sadness too vast for you to comprehend, of the knowledge that she would never see her beloved again. She didn’t want you to miss the opportunity you’d been pining for for years.

“Go to him. Welcome Jean home.”

At the mention of his name, your heart nearly fell out of your chest. A flurry of motion dominated your attention as the doors to the cabs flew open, both familiar and unfamiliar faces filing out to stretch their legs after the long journey. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you watched Connie disembark. The dark circles under his eyes, paired with the stressed lines on his face were telling of the efforts that the ambassadors put in to keep the peace between the countries of the world. Connie’s countenance shone with an unspeakable joy at the sight of his mother.

He ran to embrace her, tears spilling down his cheeks over the wide smile that burst across his face; the man picked his mother up and swung her around like a doll, their greetings lost on your ears as your eyes finally found the face of the one you wanted to see the most. In a trance, your body moved on its own, automatically rising and walking to the steps of the porch. Nothing that Historia could’ve said would make your muscles maneuver to greet your lover. It was only the magnetic force he had about him - no, it was your heart that was coaxed to his like the tide to the moon that allowed your body to shift in his direction.

And there, at the top of the steps, you stood, frozen in place, as you watched Jean wrap his mother in a tight hug, face buried in her hair. Your heart was in your throat; you were at a complete loss for words. His hair had grown longer, beginning to fill out the sides that he had originally shaved before the raid on Marley that dictated the next three years of your time apart. It tumbled to his shoulders, shining with strands that were spun like gold into his locks in the light of the afternoon sun. The mother and son stood together, locked in place, as the other ambassadors milled around, chattering about the journey.

Although he looked to be well nourished, as was indicated by his healthy build, his face was haggard, eyes slightly sunken in with the stress of the last seven years of his life. He moved like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet there was a certain elegance to it that you couldn’t quite discern. Despite being your proverbial Atlas, he embodied strength itself, exuding a magnificent confidence that you had never seen adorn his visage before.

The tears broke the surface tension of your eyelids and tumbled down your cheeks as he lifted his head from his mother and his eyes focused upon you. The expression on his face sang a thousand emotions until it softened into a perfect painting of adoration. After whispering something to Léa, she kissed his cheek tenderly, they broke their embrace. He stood, rigid, eyes meeting yours, brimming with a multitude of unsaid words.

His mouth hung agape as he beheld you. A blush spread across his cheeks, the high set bones glowing with a twinge of pink underneath his light stubble. His brows furrowed together, along with the rest of his face as it contorted with the onset of his tears. Your heart seemed to still in the few seconds that dragged on like hours that you regarded each other. Neither of you moved. You were the sculptures in a statue garden as people wandered around you.

And then, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a summer storm, the corners of his lips turned into a radiant smile. Every line of exhaustion, every valley of stress, every instance of worry was wiped from his face as his eyes drank in the sight of his lover.

Tears spilling down his cheeks, he took one step forward, then another, then another, before breaking into an all out sprint. You could only laugh, sniffling loudly, as you took a tentative step down the stairs. Your heart urged you to move faster, to match his pace in consummating your reunion. However, your slow approach was no match for the speed at which he was barrelling towards you.

Finally, to close the gap, you took a leap of faith. Your knees bent, arms bunched against your sides as you prepared to power yourself off of the safety of the stairs. With your toes leaving the wood, you crossed the threshold from life to life.

With your arms outstretched to embrace him, your heart took flight.

And he caught you, toned arms wrapping tightly around your frame. You let out a choked sob at his touch, your entire body responding to the contact. The weight that had been suffocating you for days had finally been alleviated; every worry dissipated in his embrace. You felt weightless, light as air, drunk at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Oh, Jean,” you exhaled as he twirled you around in circles. His name poured from your lips like a mantra, a prayer, an epic of thanksgiving for receiving your beloved in one piece. Raising your eyes briefly, the sun and clouds spun around you in a dance to celebrate your reunion to your lover. Your eyes shut tight, squeezing the tears from them as your arms enveloped him, legs swinging out wildly behind you. The side of your face pressed against him as you nestled your head against your arms, breathing in his scent. The musky cologne that he had continued to wear long after you’d gifted it years ago flooded your nostrils; the scent was like a drug, sending you into a magnificent ecstasy with each inhale.

The spinning slowed to a stop and he gently set you down, but remained with his arms wrapped around you. You didn’t move, afraid that if you let go, he would disappear again. His chest heaved against yours, ladened with words he desperately needed to speak.

The world around the two of you was lost as the embrace continued. You memorized every feeling, every shake, tremble, twitch of each others’ bodies as the sentiments that burdened your hearts were expressed in tears. The three years spent apart, the few and far between visits before that, when he was in the military, it was all there. The pining, the need to have each other; all was paid with the liquid emotion that poured from your eyes like rain.

Until, he gingerly broke the contact, squeezing your waist gently before he pulled back.

Your heart fell to your stomach as you watched him get down onto one knee. Your whole body froze as he rummaged in his pocket. Your world came to a screeching halt as he looked up at you, hazel eyes swirling with an immeasurable amount of admiration. The other ambassadors stilled their interactions and turned to watch the scene that unfolded with knowing smiles. They all knew what was going to happen.

“Y/N.” His arm stilled as he found what he was looking for, bringing it out into the open. A small box. A hand flew to your mouth as you connected the dots before he could even open it. Glimmers of light exploded in the sunlight as he just barely cracked it. “Will you-“

“Yes!” you yelled, throwing yourself onto him. Your bodies collided with the packed dirt, not in the slightest bothering the two of you as your clothes were soiled. The bones of your jaw threatened to crack with how wide and bright your smile was. Streams of tears flowed down your face as you gazed into the face of the man that your heart had always loved. “Yes! A million times yes, Jean. Of course I’ll marry you.”

And in front of everyone, your lips finally met his, finally expressing the emotion that you both needed to convey the most as his arms wrapped around you once more. Everything else was completely drowned out in that moment - the reunion of other families, Ymir’s bright laughter as she played with the older ambassadors, the chaos between the countries that the ambassadors were trying so desperately to keep in peace; it was all gone. It was just you and your Jean.

“I love you.”

The wedding was planned in just under three months, which was more than enough time for you and Jean to catch up. He told you all kinds of stories about what he had experienced in helping rebuild the rest of the world, the people he met, the things he had seen. You drank it all up, gazing at him over the papers spread across the table detailing the ceremony that would bind the two of you for life, watching as his hands fluttered around him manically to aid in his storytelling.

In your lengthy conversations, you discovered that Jean’s heart had not changed one bit, but he had grown up. You supposed you both had, seeing as your worlds had completely fallen apart in just a few years; your innocent and naïve souls were forced to wisen in the new universe they were thrusted into by war. Jean was still the same charming and charismatic man you’d always known, just with a hearty coating of cynicism that he had adopted in response to a world full of deception.

Strengthening your bond with him was easy. For the last three years, the two of you had been running different paces in the race of life; but at your reunion, you had easily fallen back into step with each other. The home of each other’s heart had effortlessly been built for the moment that your beloved would waltz in with the key; you truly were destined for each other.

In regard to preparing for your wedding; his mother was a godsend, aiding you wherever you needed, going so far as to accompany you into town with a few of Historia’s guards as you searched for a wedding dress. She was the closest thing you had to a maternal figure in your life at that moment, seeing as your parents still hadn’t responded to your wedding invitation you had hesitantly sent them.

Still, you were incredibly grateful, as you told her every time she stayed up late with you, helping you search for a band, for decorations, and guiding you in processing the whirlwind of emotions you’d experienced in the short time that Jean had been home. Despite him being away for so long and you having no correspondence with him whatsoever for three years, you knew he was the one. He was your home, your hearth, your everything.

And that’s why, three months after the proposal you had so eagerly, adorably interrupted, you were fussed over by Léa, Historia, and a few of Jean’s friends as you donned your white dress. The women gushed about your beauty and at the handsome couple you made. Jean’s friends gossiped with you about your wedding night when his mother wasn’t present, your cheeks flaming at their suggestive nature.

And after your friends had applied a natural-looking makeup to your skin, after they had curled your hair to cascade down over your shoulders in magnificent waves, you were strolling down the aisle of the small chapel that Historia had on her property. The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the stained glass windows, illuminating the humble space in a glorious display. The colors danced across your dress as you floated towards your soon-to-be husband.

The gown hugged your figure so perfectly, flowed down the curves of your body so deliciously, fanned out behind you so majestically, that the small crowd gathered inside of the chapel could only gasp in wonder as you made your way to the altar. From underneath your veil, you could see Jean’s eyes watering at the sight of you, at his angel, as you approached him with a beaming smile.

The congregation sighed sweetly at the tenderness in which he grasped your hands when you came to face him. His face radiated a magnitude of joy as he beheld you, tears falling gently down his face. Each droplet was a prayer of thanksgiving for being brought back to you, being reunited with his love, being bound to your soul; whispers of admiration at the regality you exuded, the beauty you embodied.

The minister’s words were ironically lost on the two of you as you stood in your own world, disjointed from the goings on of the very ceremony you had worked so hard to put together. It was finally happening, after the years of emptiness spent apart - the two of you would never be separated again. In the blink of an eye, it was time to dedicate your lives to each other.

“If you would please recite the vows you’ve prepared,” the minister gestured, offering Jean the ring he was to give you. He took it graciously, and holding it just before your finger, began the words that would make him yours. Your heart thudded against your chest at the charming smile that adorned his face, delivering his vows with an undeniable confidence.

“I’ve heard it said that if you’re ever separated from someone you care about, don’t worry. You’ll always find the ones you love.”

It was a familiar quote in your mind, as it was one that Jean’s mother told you often. Especially when you were curled into fetal position in your bed late at night, chest tight with the fear that you would never see Jean again, that he would never come back to Paradis, whether that be because of his work or that he had settled down with another woman. But she would murmur those words to you while gently stroking your hair and wiping away your tears, putting your heart at ease.

“Y/N, you’re my guardian angel,” he continued. A warmth spread through your chest at his words. The smile on your face was growing wider by the minute, and as much as you thought it would begin to make your muscles ache, it was so genuine that such an idea was impossible. Tears began to slip down your cheeks, liquid proof of the pure bliss that dominated your heart as it blossomed within you.

“You’ve been the only thing anchoring me in this world and the tumultuous mess it can be. Your presence in my life can only be described as divine and I…” His voice began to crack as the emotion started to take control of him. “I can’t thank you enough for loving me. You make me strong, like I can face anything. You make me feel like I’m the luckiest man in the world, being blessed with the most perfect woman. You show me that this place isn’t a dismal pit of hopelessness, because, well… your being here is enough proof of that.”

The audience let out sighs of admiration at his profession of love. The swelling of your chest couldn’t expand more for the fear that you would burst in the middle of the chapel and shower everyone present with bits and pieces of your love for your heart and soul standing in front of you.

“I promise, on my life, that I will do everything in my power to protect you, to support you, to uplift you, to console you, and to love you, no matter what. By all the stars in the sky, I vow that I will do anything for you. You’re the air I breathe, the blood in my veins… you’re the one my heart has always waited for, the one that I have always longed for.”

He sucked in a deep breath, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. The ring burned a circle of commitment into your skin, one that you wholeheartedly accepted. His eyes then met yours again, sparkling with a light so bright it seared down to your very soul. “I love you, Y/N L/N, and with this ring, I, Jean Kirstein, give myself to you completely, as your husband, for all eternity.”

You let out a shaking breath, wanting to kiss him then and there and run away, throwing caution to the wind, ignoring the fact that you had stressed over this wedding every day for the last three months. But no, you steeled your resolve, determined to profess your love to the man before you like you never had before. The minister handed you your ring and your heart skipped a beat when you met Jean’s hazel eyes again.

“It was always told to me as a child that I would know when I found the one,” you began, your voice rasping with the coating of tears in your throat. “Little did I know that I had already met him, and he was my best friend.”

You paused to give the congregation their moment of swooning before continuing, clutching Jean’s veined hands within yours. Your heart leapt to your throat before you spoke again. He squeezed your appendages gently, wordlessly encouraging you and offering his unwavering support.

“Jean, you’ve always been my rock. Through any storm, you’ve sheltered me. Through any trial, you’ve held my hand. Through any sense of hopelessness or despair, no matter how despondent I’ve been, you’ve been my light. Even from hundreds of miles away, I could feel your love shining like a beacon across the sea. And even in your absence, I still felt you as clear as day, as if you were standing right before me as you are now.”

You sighed, grounding your trembling body as it threatened to collapse under the weight of the emotions you felt towards the man you beheld. The deep caramel of his eyes shone with a million colors, augmented by the stained glass shining across them, at the gleaming of his tears that flowed with the alleviation of every worry that he ever had for fear of losing you.

“Jean, I promise to love you fully, to cherish you wholeheartedly, and to champion you unceasingly; I promise to fortify your soul when your walls have broken down, to nourish your spirit when all seems lost, and to dry your tears when they fall like rain.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the dramatic flash of annoyance on Jean’s face at the last comment. The audience joined in, the murmur of laughter spreading through the rows before it was quiet enough for you to finish. Tenderly, you slipped the ring onto his finger, your heart fluttering in your chest as you spoke the words that would complete your vows to each other.

“Every piece of my heart beats for you and only you. I’ve always loved you, Jean Kirstein, I always will. With this ring, I, Y/N L/N, give myself to you completely, as your wife, for all eternity.”

The minister could barely finish the announcement of your being husband and wife before Jean deftly flipped your veil to reveal your shining face, his arms wrapping around you, smoothly dipping you over his knee and setting a bone-jellying kiss to your open lips. The congregation stood up and cheered, thrown over the moon at the union of you and your beloved.

After the passionate depiction of your adoration, Jean pulled you upwards, grabbing your hand and leading you down the aisle. The two of you were showered in pale pink rose petals, a detail that you hadn’t planned. However, Léa knew that it was your favorite color and you suspected that she had masterminded the gesture for your enjoyment. Once outside of the chapel, he whisked you up into the air, hands planted firmly on your waist. It splendidly mirrored the moment when you were reunited on that fateful day, where it was set in stone that your lives would be melded together.

With your eyes closed, upheld by your husband, the wind flowing around your body, you were the happiest you had ever been.

The reception was nothing short of magnificent. The band that you had sought out was wonderful, playing all of your favorite songs, from the uplifting and upbeat to the slow and romantic. The lamps and candles that lined the tent provided an almost ethereal light, accentuated by the fabrics strung up and draping across the rafters. The floral arrangements so meticulously placed around harkened each soul back to the Garden of Eden with their lush leaves and beautiful blooms.

It was a whirlwind, accepting congratulations from all of Jean’s friends and the staff that you had grown to know and love at the chateau. You couldn’t help the dull sting in your heart at the fact that nobody from your past was there, but the joy of being united to Jean in marriage was sufficient to assuage it enough to enjoy the reception; being buzzed up with alcohol also helped immensely.

You didn’t realize how much you had missed dancing with Jean until your first time as husband and wife. He had grown so much taller, and had improved his skills exponentially, which made your heart flutter erratically as he whisked you across the floor, leading your body in a performance that made every onlooker sigh in wonder. Stars twinkled in your eyes as he spun you around and around, making you feel like you were a princess. His deft movements, his confident steps, his sneaky kisses, all had you weak in the knees as he led you in the most perfect dance.

Connie had dragged him off to do something ungodly, or so you assumed, so you graciously took a moment to take a seat and catch your breath. You didn’t even feel the presence of another soul next to you as you admired the atmosphere with a tear in your eye, thankful for the people who helped you put this day together and make it the most perfect experience.

“Congratulations,” a voice came from beside you. You snapped your head to find Pieck offering you a soft smile, kindness pooling in her eyes. You couldn’t help but beam at her, angling your body to face hers. “Or I guess, I should say best wishes, with you being the wife and all.”

“Thank you, Pieck,” you gushed in earnest. “It’s so wonderful to have you all here.”

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s wonderful to be here. Back across the sea, Jean had talked about you all the time. I was beginning to wonder if you were just someone he made up in his head, with the way he held you in such high regard.”

You blushed at your husband’s admiration.

Husband.

It still didn’t feel real. You wanted to jump into the air and scream it from the top of your lungs. Pieck noticed the spike in your happiness, laughing softly. She reclined in her seat, watching Ymir dance with Armin. The blond had the little girl on his feet, holding her hands so that she didn’t fall. Her chubby face was alight with joy. It nearly rivaled yours.

“So, what are your plans now?”

The question didn’t go without an answer, which most of the ambassadors already knew. However, Pieck had been especially instrumental in the peace negotiations, often away in the city for long periods during the months they stayed here; far removed from the arrangements you and Jean had set.

“I’m going to accompany your group back to Marley,” you told her, heart fluttering at the prospect of seeing the world outside of Paradis. “And Jean’s mother is coming with us too. He promised to take me there after he saw it during their reconnaissance mission all those years ago. His face would light up when he told me about everything, so I wanted to see it too.”

Your mouth closed as you hesitated, wanting to gloss over an important impetus in your decision to leave Paradis for good. However, with the alcohol circulating in your system, you didn’t hold back how you felt. The sensation in your heart began to resurface, twinging painfully at the words spilling from your lips.

“And… there’s nothing left for me here. I don’t know if you could tell, but my parents didn’t attend our wedding. Didn’t even bother to send an response to our invitation.”

You paused after letting out a bitter laugh, looking at her, seeing her face set with sympathy. You continued, “when Eren came back and the Jaegerist faction formed, my parents were quick to align themselves with them. It happened with all of my friends, too. I didn’t know what to think about the whole matter, honestly. But when the Rumbling happened and it was discovered that your group had killed him, they didn’t want me to have anything to do with Jean anymore.”

A shuddering breath escaped your lips, regretting the last conversation you ever had with them. The hot tears had poured down your face as you tried to remind them how much Jean meant to you, how much he meant to them. The countless nights he came for dinner, would help you with homework, would bring them gifts from his travels. The seashells he brought back from the sea peered over the shelves of your living room, watching the scene unfold.

“It was the worst feeling in the world, for your parents to choose a dead man over the man they had come to know as a son for the majority of his life. So in the end, when Léa came to be under Historia’s protection, I had a choice: Jean or my parents.”

They thought you had gone mad, not wanting to vilify the boy you loved because he had ended up saving the world from mass destruction (even though they were too late to save the other 80% of the lives lost). It was insanity, to think that they could even imagine asking you to forget the love of your life and worship the god of destruction.

You wished that you had explained yourself better, that you reminded them more of who Jean was, that you harkened their attention to the fact that thousands of people were dead. But they wouldn’t budge. You wished that you had told them how much you loved them as they shattered your heart.

You sighed and swiped away a stray tear that surprised you in its dash down your face, seeing Jean and Connie come back under the tent, joining in Ymir and Armin’s dance. Your husband picked up the little girl, spinning her around before setting her back down. She tugged on his pant leg, asking him to do it again.

“And I chose who my heart had always longed for. If my parents couldn’t support me, then that was that.” You turned to face Pieck, gesturing to the scene around the two of you. “And here we are.”

“I admire you, Y/N.” Pieck laid a hand on yours. “You choose what your heart wanted. That kind of self-love is lost on a lot of people these days. I’m glad that Jean found someone as strong as you.”

Pride fluttered within your chest as you accepted the truth to her words. It undoubtedly was the hardest decision you ever had to make. The feeling of your heart shattering dully resounded in your chest as the memory replayed in your mind. You felt another tear escape your eye, wiping it away as you gently sniffled before addressing your friend. “Thank you, Pieck. I’m really glad to have met you.”

“And I you.”

The tender moment was cut short by Jean, whose whiskey-soaked breath invaded your nostrils. He was sporting Ymir on his hip, her hair disheveled by dancing with your husband and his friends. The sight of him with a child provoked a million thoughts, but the most prominent was the desire to make him a father.

“The lady is asking that you join us in a dance,” he announced, gently tapping Ymir on the nose, which drew giggles from the little girl. He then extended his free hand to you, his intense hazel eyes burning into yours.

“I would love nothing more,” you accepted, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you to the floor, where you danced with Ymir. Your heart burst in your chest at the sight that you three must’ve been. A husband, a wife, and a child, all clutching hands and flowing with the music that lilted around them.

If this was what the rest of your lives was going to be like, you wanted nothing more than to drink up every moment like it was your last.

And after a few more minutes of the foreshadowing of your future, Ymir began to rub her eyes and yawn, stumbling over her own two feet. Historia took it upon herself to put the young princess to bed, thanking you and Jean for taking such good care of her. And then it was just the two of you.

You trailed your fingers over the skin of his forearm, over the cuff of his rolled sleeve, until they reached his broad shoulder. His rough hand gently cupped your other, his opposite arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You rested your head against his chest, relishing in the beat of the heart that drummed only for you. His chin sat on the top of your head; occasionally he would press a kiss into your scalp, whispering sweet nothings against your hair.

Together you swayed to the music, until the band had packed their things. Yet even as the candles burned to the bottom of the wick, even as everyone began to stumble home, still you remained in his arms. To the tune of your own song, you danced with your husband until, with a fire in his eyes, he led you to your bedroom - to the rest of your lives.

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bakugosbratx · 3 years

Text

NSFW 18+ The Assistant— AU Levi Ackerman x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Smut, degrading, cursing, punishment, dom levi, sub reader, bondage, bdsm, some angst, toxic relationship, spanking, cheating, etc.

Words: 3, 673

Check out my other works here

A/N: Me and my irl moot @idfkwtfgof came up with this idea so I decided to write it out. Enjoy this fifty shades of gray moment. I’ve been working on this for over a month 🙃 I’m sorry it took me forever.

Tags: @idfkwtfgof @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie

You take a deep breath as you approached the double doors in front of you. Your heart pounded against your rib cage. The silent hallways seemed to be echoing the thumps. Anyone in your position would be nervous too if they had to meet with the CEO of the Ackerman Industries. He was not one to enjoy much company nor request it. His gaze alone could intimidate the strongest of people and you are no different.

Fist resting on the wooden door in front of you, you hesitate, but close your eyes and knock anyway. You did not hear a response as you patiently wait. Instead, the door swings open to be met with the CEO himself, Levi Ackerman. Not a word was spoken, but he ushered you inside his huge office.

Scurrying, you slightly jump as you heard the huge door slam. You are in Levi’s office. Only businessmen and women are allowed in here. You feel not even worthy to be stepping on the same floor these successful people walk on. It could also be the fact that the office seemed spotless. For someone as busy as the CEO, he sure did know how to make a stack of papers seem neat in a stack.

“Sit.” Levi instructed as he strolled over to his desk chair and doing the said action. You looked around the room. Behind Levi is a wall of windows to overlook the city of New York. His desk his a beautiful dark brown that was so clean that you could see your reflection. Along with seeing your reflection, you can see —and feel— Levi starring at you. Meeting his silver orbs, you gulp.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Y/N?” Levi questioned, his tone remaining calm as always. Somehow, this intimidated you even more.

“No, sir, I don’t.” You admit. In all honesty, you are not sure why Levi called you into his office. He waited until almost everyone has gone home for the evening to set up this meeting. You have felt nauseous all day about it. Receiving an email from the CEO was enough to make anyone’s breath hitch, but to have a meeting — alone — with him is enough to make one soil themselves.

“I want to offer you a promotion,” Levi explained, his gaze hardening. “That is, if you want it?”

This is way better news than you expected. Levi has employees for a reason. He always calls the shots since it is his million dollar company, but why get his hands dirty when he can pay people to do it for him? Since no one is allowed in his office without special permission, this seemed a bit off.

“What does the job intel?”

“Well, my company is expanding even larger than anticipated this year. I need a personal assistant. Examining the work you have put in over the years, I decided you are cut out for the job. What do you say?”

You take a moment to contemplate his words. The offer is amazing and would definitely look great on your resume, but working so close to the CEO of the company is quite intimidating. Any bad habits you have developed better end swiftly or else it’s your job on the line. Levi is not afraid to terminate anyone not fit for the job.

“I’ll take it.” You smile, the words flowing out before you could even think any further.

“You start tomorrow. I expect you in my office 8am sharp. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Standing up, you straighten out your black pencil skirt and head your way towards the door. Levi’s eyes did not once leave your figure. The way you naturally sway your hips as you walk and the way the skirt hugged your hips just right. His eyes are enjoying the desires most men have yet when you turned to look over your shoulder, his eyes where focused on his paperwork.

You went home that night, excited to tell your significant other about your promotion. He did not even blink an eye in your direction. Instead, he is pissed that you are home later than normal.

“Babe—“

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed.

“I-I was called into the CEO’s office. I got a promotion!” You stammered, nervous under your boyfriend’s glare. He always made you feel small and his anger tends to send you over the edge. This is one of those many times.

“Why would he have you in there this late? Do you think I’m really that fucking stupid?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Babe, I’m being serious. I would never lie to you.” You argued.

“And how do I know that?” He countered. “How am I certain that you aren’t cheating on me? Or even hurt? Are your damn thumbs broken, Y/N? Can’t keep me updated ‘bout what’s going on? I was worried sick about you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll do better.”

Your boyfriend walked over to you, embracing your body into a tight hug. You had so much more to say, but to prevent any further escalation of an argument, you apologized and kept your mouth shut.

The next morning arrived. You woke up extra early to have time to do your hair and makeup, dressed in your nicest attire, and wear the most expensive of jewelry. Since you are going to be around the CEO for now on, you cannot show up to work appearing sluggish. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“Dressed quite nicely, huh?” He spoke, meeting your eyes through the mirror. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“I have to be.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his orbs tracing your figure. He hated when you showed confidence. It killed him inside and knowing that other men saw your beauty as well made his blood boil. He just has to ruin it.

“For the circus? Your makeup looks awful and your hair is tremendous.” He scoffed.

You bit your bottom lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you prevented them from falling. You refuse to let him ruin your confidence. You are a strong woman and his insecurities shouldn’t be placed upon you. It is not your baggage to carry.

You meet his eyes again through the mirror. You feel your confidence crumble beneath you, but you remain strong. Turning around, you brush past him as you stroll out of the bathroom. You ignored him calling your name and demanding you to return. All he could do is watch as you left without even saying goodbye.

You arrived to the business earlier than expected. You have checked your hair and makeup more than once in the car review mirror. You are not necessarily even wanting Levi’s approval, — though he is quite handsome — you just want to look presentable. He is your boss, after all. He is not afraid to fire anyone on the spot. You are no exception.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you knock on Levi’s office door. You hear his approval to come inside and welcome yourself inside. You were not even receive a glance as you closed the door behind you. Levi’s gray orbs never left his monitor screen. You gulp nervously as you proceed towards his desk.

“I stopped to get some coffee. I brought you a tea,” you lay his cup on his desk, “just how you like it.”

He nods, still typing away. This did not help your anxiety at all. Is he regretting his decision making you his assistant? Are you disturbing him? Is he contemplating firing you? Your stomach turned at the thought.

The sound of the printer disturbed your nuisance thoughts. Levi grabbed the piece of paper and placed it on top of a neat stack. He stands up, finally looking at you.

“I have a meeting to attend to in an hour. I need these documents assorted in alphabetical order before then.”

Your eyes fall to the tall stack of papers. You definitely need more than an hour to get through them all. By Levi’s facial expression, you knew he was serious. Levi always looked serious.

“Yes, sir,” you grab the stack and meet his a gaze again, “I’ll get it done swiftly.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. Sit over there.” He orders, glancing at the couches and coffee table in the middle of his office. Maybe it is just your nerves, but his workspace seems bigger than remembered. This did not help your anxiety.

You began getting to work. You thought you are doing well on time, but time seemed to have passed you by. Levi is now towering over you, his unsatisfied silver orbs glaring down at you. You hesitate, but force yourself to meet them.

“Thought you said you would have this done?” Levi recalls.

“I-I’m really sorry, s-sir.” You stammered, expecting the worse.

“Sorry doesn’t sort the papers, Y/N.” He scolds, his silver eyes only being shown through slits.

“I—“

“We will discuss this after my meeting. Until then, I want my office spotless.” Levi continues, cutting you off. He begins walking towards the door and pauses once he reaches for the handle. “Oh and Y/N?”

You look up, meeting the CEO’s annoyed orbs. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on strike one.” Levi warns. You did not even have a chance to ask questions as his office door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone to sulk in your thoughts.

You tidied up Levi’s office like he requested of you. Every paper went into its appropriate home, cushions are straightened out, rug is vacuumed, and you are currently dusting. This man is a clean freak by nature so there was not much to do. Still, your nerves were pulsating. This is only day one and you are not on Levi’s good side. You are becoming worrisome as your job is now potentially on the line.

The door opening made you jump. You can feel Levi’s silver orbs on you as you dust his bookshelf. He did not disturb you, though, as he proceeded towards his desk and went to work like nothing happened. Curiosity is begging you to speak, but you remain silent and complete your task.

You gather the cleaning supplies and place them back into the small closet. Returning on the guest side of Levi’s desk, he does not even look up from his monitor.

“I’m finished cleaning, sir.”

Levi did not say anything. Instead, he stood up and went to the window. His fingers grazed along the exterior which collected dust on the tips. He studied it for a moment. Your heart stopped as your breath hitched. You did not mean to forget the windows, but they look so clean already. They truly do not need much more cleaning.

“Seems like you missed a spot.” He remarks, turning to face you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I thought—“

“Your cleaning is lamentable. Back to dusting. Now.” He demands, cleaning the dust off of his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.” You reply, gathering the cleaning supplies once again. You sprayed the windows and clean every inch of them until lunch time. Levi was sure to inspect your work before releasing you to go get something to eat.

“You’re dismissed.” He finally speaks. You are quick to collect your belongings leave his office. You stroll the long hallway to the elevator. You are finally alone with your thoughts and honestly, they were overwhelming. This job is very nerve racking and it’s only your first day. You are not making the best of impressions on your boss.

Digging in your purse, you check your cellphone. You have several missed calls and texts from your significant other. A pit in your stomach began to drown your appetite. You know this is going to cause a major fight between you two. A fight you did not want to participate in.

Reluctantly, you call your boyfriend back. He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed, sending chills down your spine. The elevator doors open and you head towards the cafeteria.

“Working. I can’t be on my phone while I’m—“

“So work is more important than me?” He interrupts.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.” You argued, picking up a bag of chips and a drink from the dispensers before checking out.

“Then answer my damn calls, Y/N!”

“I can’t when I’m at work!” You exclaimed. You hand the cashier money before mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ She gave you a worried look, but you disregarded it. This is not the first time that have heard a heated conversation between you and your boyfriend.

You go find an empty table to eat by yourself. The bickering between your boyfriend did not end on a good note as the other line went dead. You slammed your phone back into your purse and forced yourself to eat your chips. You did not even want them. Your relationship is falling through the cracks, you are failing at your job, and you are on the verge of losing what is left of your sanity.

Time really slipped away while you fumed in anger because you are now late to returning to Levi’s office. Tears prickled in your eyes. This is not good at all. Levi is going to be furious. Even possibly firing you.

You raced to his office. You did not even take the elevator as it will take far too long to get to his office. You are panting by the time you arrive and sweat droplets formed at the top of your forehead. Your hands began to shake as your hand rested on the handle. You need to go in there, but your body did not want to move. Your boyfriend is already pissed. You did not want to deal with your furious boss.

Sighing, you forced yourself to go inside. “I am so sorry.” You blurt out as you enter inside. Levi is giving you a disapproving look.

“Take a seat, Y/N. We need to have a talk.”

Following your boss’ orders, you sit in the chair parallel to his. You begin to tremble as you expect the worse. Levi’s glare does not help you feel any less uneasy either. His silver orbs are staring deep into your soul and making you feel small.

“You know you’re on strike three.” Levi begins. You gulp.

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry. I’ll accept any punishment you have in mind for me.” You sigh, trying to remain brave. Levi can see right through it, though. His gaze hardens and he makes his way around to your side of the desk. He folds his arms but does not remove his gaze from you once.

“What punishment do you think you deserve?” Levi ask, hoping you have the same answer in mind as him.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ll take anything. It’s what I deserve.” You admit, a flustered feeling coming across you. Levi studied your features, clicking his tongue.

“Bend over the desk.”

“What?” You whispered, not sure if you heard your boss correctly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His intimidating glare pierced through you.

“Talking to that lame ass boyfriend of yours must have you goin deaf. I said bend over my desk.” Levi instructs, letting go of your chin once you catch his drift. You do as your told, bending over his desk. You are uncertain what he is planning to do, but the removal of your skirt gave you a pretty good idea. Your cheeks felt hot as your bare ass is now exposed to Levi’s viewing.

“Lace panties, huh? You planned on being put in this position later?” Levi chuckles, his digits playing with the strap of your thong. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing what to say. A hard smack to your bare ass caused you to release a moan.

“I asked you a question. It’s only polite to answer, brat.”

“Yes. It was for my boyfriend.” You confess in embarrassment for more reasons than one.

“Oh, I see. Your toxic little relationship is in need of fixing, but the only thing you have to offer is your pretty little pussy.” Levi analyzes, rubbing his hand on your ass before delivering another slap. You wince in pain, but you mentally screamed for more. You wanted Levi to continue spanking you.

“That’s not it, sir.” You mumbled. His hand landed down on your sore ass once more while the other hand finds refuge in your hair. He pulls it, tightly, bending your head back.

“What really gets me is this mouth of yours. I suggest you use it to tell the truth before I stuff it.” Levi growls lowly in your ear, letting go of your hair to return behind you.

Another slap was delivered. Little melodies of moans escaped your lips that you attempted to conceal. Levi did not comment on it as he proceed with the punishment. Your cunt dripped with your slick. It is begging to be touched, fucked, anything Levi desires really.

A few slaps and a very red ass later, Levi’s digits founder their way inside your soaked cunt. “Someone enjoyed themselves, hm?” He teased, curling his fingers in you. You shuffle a bit, enjoying the sensation he is giving you. The removal of his fingers made you whine in a needy tone.

“I did, Levi. Please fuck me.” You cry, wanting his cock already. He chuckled at your begging, his hand rubbing your red ass then hitting it again.

“On your knees. Now.” Levi demands. You happily oblige before him. He pats your head in approval. “Good girl. You do know how to listen.”

Levi begins unbuckling his black belt. You are practically foaming at the mouth as he slides the leather out of each loop. He sets it on the desk before proceeding to unbuckle his pants, releasing his hard cock for you to pleasure. Your eyes light up at the sight. The tip of his erection is at your lips, ready for you to move forward. Your tongue teases his sensitive head before you let each inch slide in-and-out of your saliva filled mouth.

“Yeah, like that, baby.” Levi praises as you deep throat his length. You choke some, but continue taking all of his cock. Your tongue spends time playing with the veins in his cock while his head relaxes in your throat.

“The cock hungry slut having a hard time deep throating all my cock?” Levi mocks as you pull it out to catch your breath. A string of saliva connected your lips and his cock together as your lust filled orbs met his.

“Not a chance.” You grin, placing his dick back in your mouth. Levi groans in delight as you repeat the same patterns as before. His cock twitches inside your mouth as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down your throat. You gladly swallow it as his cock becomes overwhelmed, releasing his semen onto your tongue. Not a drop was spilled as you milked his cock for all he had to offer.

Pulling away, Levi praises you again. “Such a good little slut you are. Time we give your pussy some attention, huh?”

“Yes, please, sir.” You beg, eagerly. He taps his desk.

“Bend over my desk.” He commands. Following orders, you bend over his desk like before. You arched your back so your ass and pussy is more accessible for Levi. He spreads your legs out more so your weeping cunt is fully exposed. The cold air sent chills down your spine. Levi is already hard again as he stares at your pussy.

Aligning himself, the tip of his cock enters your dripping hole, sliding in perfectly. You moan as he thrust a rough rhythm. His hips slap against your ass and his hands cling onto your hips. You tightly hang onto his desk as he pick up the pace. You sob out pleas for more.

“Better quiet down. Don’t want your coworkers hearing me fuck you like the whore you are now do we?”

You did not even care. You wanted Levi and you wanted him bad. Groans and profanities filled the room from you two as Levi hits all the right spots. You babble incoherent sentences as you start to climax again on Levi’s girth. Your walls clenched on his size and released when he re-enters himself. This does not stop Levi, though, as he chases after his own high.

“Already cumming again, slut?” Levi teases as he is slowly losing himself inside you. He hit your ass again while his dick twitches. “Ask permission next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You cry out, not wanting him to stop. He pulls on your hair again, bending down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much that you have to hide it from your boyfriend.”

“Please Levi.” You beg, not even caring anymore. You wanted Levi. You have wanted him for a long time and the feeling is mutual on his end. That is why he hired you, after all.

Levi’s cock could not withstand the pressure anymore. Releasing into the depths of your cunt, he huffs profanities as every drop enters inside of you. You gladly take it as you breathe heavily. He finally pulls out, leaving you a cum filled mess. Giving your ass a gentle tap so you will get up.

“You are dismissed for the day.” Levi grumbled as he situated himself and you did the same. You straightened out your outfit and fixed your hair. You will fix your makeup in the restroom. You proceeded to exit your boss’ office when he called out to you. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You purred, looking over your shoulder.

“Let your boyfriend know you’re my slut now.”

©bakugosbratx

#bratx request #bratx writes #levi ackerman #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #daddy ackerman #snk levi #snk anime #aot smut #aot x reader #aot requests #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi x y/n #levi x fem!reader #attack on titan #aot imagines

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chatonne-rousse · 3 years

Text

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her. ILY, my friend!

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fan fiction #identity reveal #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fic #ml fanfic #adrienette #my writing #happy birthday jenna!#the real power move is posting this on an episode premiere day #thanks for reading it anyway

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

you can talk to me

Summary: Jon may or may not be questioning his gender. Either way, Martin is there to listen.

CW: dysphoria, periods, panic, self-deprecating thoughts, food mention

for a prompt from @transcendentalbf! <3 hope you all enjoy!

Sasha: you wanted channa masala, right?

Martin: yes! got it in one!

Sasha: of course I did! be back in 15

Martin: <33

Setting his phone back on the desk, Martin tips back in his chair and lets out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Though it’s been nearly three weeks since he’s started living in the archives, that doesn’t mean that he’s gotten used to it—if anything, the long hours of being constantly on the lookout for anything creeping or crawling across the floor has only served to heighten his pre-existing anxiety. It’s so lonely here. The low ceiling of the basement seems so vast when you wander beneath it in the dark—and even now, with his friends promising to return with lunch for him shortly, he can’t help but feel the weight of their absence.

Christ, Martin. You’re pathetic.

Can’t even handle a bit of pain.

As if the thought alone had caused it to happen, the aching roar of his cramps flares up once more, causing him to bend over the desk to breathe through it yet again. It’s just so embarrassing—he’s been on T for years now, surely the bleeding would have stopped—but alas, no such luck to be had. Of course he would be one of the people for whom it gets worse. Of course.

I’ve got to text her.

Martin: hey, do you have ibuprofen? didn’t want to look through your desk without asking!

Sasha: course! middle drawer. you okay?

He wants so badly to lie to her, say it’s fine—but he can’t really do that after asking for pain relievers, can he?

Martin: fine!! just having some cramps is all, it’s okay!

Sasha: aw, I’m sorry, Martin :/ need anything else? I can stop by the store later if you need

Martin: not yet. might soon though

Martin: I’m sorry.

Martin: please don’t tell Tim

Sasha: I would never. and don’t worry about it! it’s no trouble. I’ll get you some stuff later, alright?

You’re a burden you’re a burden you’re nothing but a burden

Martin: thanks, sash. you’re the best!

Sasha: <3

Returning his phone to its place on his desk, Martin has to stop to take a few deep breaths—heart pounding with embarrassment over the entire discussion. He knows it’s alright, knows Sasha means it when she says she doesn’t mind…right?

Jesus, stop it.

Just…take a walk, and you’ll feel better afterwards.

Standing a bit painfully on swollen legs, Martin swallows a few of Sasha’s ibuprofen before he makes his way toward the stairs, hoping for a chat with Rosie while waiting on lunch. At the very least, he could get some sunlight, escape from the windowless basement for a while. He could only hope that the worms aren’t too bad up there.

The lift dings its arrival to the main floor, where Rosie immediately turns to greet him with a warm smile.

“Ah, Martin! How are you, my dear?” she says as he approaches, looking genuinely glad to see him.

“Can’t complain!” he beams, leaning against her desk with one elbow. “You doing alright? Staying out of trouble?”

“You know I’m not,” she laughs, swatting playfully at his arm. “But neither are you, I’m sure.”

“Got me there.”

Martin can’t help but smile back, pleased at the thought of bringing happiness to someone’s day, satisfied to listen to her stories of cats and knitting circles and whatever soaps she’s been watching on telly. It reminds him of his mum, a bit—the nicer parts of her, anyway.

“Oh, that reminds me—“ she bends down beneath her desk to pull out a thin package, handing it over to him. “This was delivered for Jon this morning. Probably listed the Institute on the order form by accident again. Would you be so kind as to take it to him when you go back down?”

Holding it in his hands, Martin can feel the shape of the thing within it—some sort of soft fabric, stamped on top with a return label indicating a very nice clothing brand.

Date clothes.

He’s got a date.

Even as his heart sinks, Martin curses himself for it—it’s none of his business, Jon wants nothing to do with him, has no interest at all—after all, how could he? How could he when he’s…well, him?

“Stop making this about you, Martin,” he hears his mother say, closing his eyes against the memory. “You’ve always got to spoil everything, don’t you?”

“Martin? You alright, love?” Rosie asks quietly, and Martin looks up to see her worried face—hand coming to rest lightly on his arm.

Damn it.

“Oh, ha, of course, Rosie! S-sorry, it’s just—“

He backs away from the desk, pressing the call button for the lift.

“I’d better get back downstairs, then. Don’t—don’t want to keep Jon waiting. For his package, I mean.”

The lines of Rosie’s face only deepen, staring concernedly at him as he steps into the lift.

“Oh—alright, dear,” she says, a bit surprised at his sudden retreat. “Come back and visit sometime, alright? I’ll make us tea on your next break.”

“That sounds lovely,” he replies, forcing a wide grin to his face, flooded with guilt that she feels the need to make tea for him, when that’s supposed to be his responsibility.

“Nasty child, always making things about yourself.”

God, stop it.

“I’ll see you later then,” he continues with a wave, begging the lift doors to close quickly and hide his face.

—

Breathing deeply a few times before Jon’s office door, Martin finally gathers the courage to knock.

“Come in,” comes Jon’s baritone from behind the door, and he swings it open with a gentle creak.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt—Rosie had a package for you at the desk,” Martin says in as cheery a tone as he can manage, holding out the floppy package to Jon.

At once, Jon’s eyes go wide—he snatches it from Martin’s hands, setting it quickly out of sight with a blush rising to color his cheeks.

“Oh, th-thank you, Martin, erm—must have, must have accidentally sent it here,” he stammers, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, no longer meeting Martin’s eyes.

Just get out just get out

“It’s no trouble,” he replies, and it’s far too happy, too sharp, too loud to be natural. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll just be going, then.”

He closes the door on Jon’s shocked face, clearly surprised that Martin had not kept trying to make conversation, as usual. Stepping away from the door, he tilts his head back against the tears springing to his eyes—Jon was so clearly flustered by the package, confirming what he already knew: he’s seeing someone else.

Stop it stop it stop it

Furious with himself, at the hollow cavern of his chest, he turns toward the break room—determined to at least make this lunch normal and pleasant.

Just be normal.

For once, just do it right.

—

Though the hour is just barely approaching 8pm, Martin is more than ready to settle in for what he hopes might be some half-decent sleep. He’d been on the lookout for worms all day, as usual, but had really found very few—and certainly none within the sealed doors of document storage. Even if the air feels a bit stuffy, it’s nice to have a bit of added security that those things couldn’t possibly reach him in here. Or so he hopes.

It’s as if the cot has its own gravitational pull, beckoning him to just tip to the side, to let it all wash away into sleep—the only problem being that he cannot yet bring himself to take off his binder. To put it mildly, it’s been a day, even with the lovely lunch Tim and Sasha had brought him, even with the warming cup of tea he and Rosie had shared. The idea of kicking his dysphoria into an even higher gear is enough to set his heart pounding again, so much that every time he tries to just take it off, your lungs will thank you—he can’t get past even touching the hem sitting tightly against his ribcage.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, he smacks the back of his head against it a few times in frustration, before ceasing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

Just take it off just take it off just—

He pulls it up just a little higher.

Nononononono I can’t I can’t I can’t—

Bringing it back down against his pounding pulse, he forces himself to take deep, grounding breaths, shuddering and hitching a bit as his frustration builds up to form a lump in his throat.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic—

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of his phone against his thigh.

Sasha: hey, Martin—I popped some tampons and pads into your desk drawer. saw your door closed and thought you might not want company right now.

Sasha: and I got you some ice cream. double chocolate fudge. I’ve left it on the top shelf of the break room freezer.

Sasha: hope you’re alright—love you <3

Oh god.

Martin feels his eyes welling up as soon as he starts reading, the tears causing the words to swim almost too badly to see. God, Sasha—she always knows what to say, just what he needs—and he barely had to say a word about it.

Martin: love you too, Sash. you’re unbelievable. I can’t wait to tuck in! love love love you <3

Sasha: good man! I don’t want to see any left by the time I get in tomorrow. goodnight, handsome <3

Oh god oh god oh god

He can’t help but clutch the phone tightly to his chest, allowing a tear or two slip down the side of his cheeks with a soft smile. “Good man,” “goodnight handsome—“ even if he knows she’s saying it because of the dysphoria, it means everything to him that she would even think about it. That she would even notice it.

That she cares enough to want to make him feel better.

Dizzy with happiness, Martin slips out from under the covers and heads into the archives to retrieve his ice cream.

—

Spoon and his wonderful frozen gift in his hands, he makes his way back to document storage—knowing that if Jon were there, he’d be livid to see him take any sort of food or drink into a place where such precious pieces of spooky history are kept. In spite of himself, he lets the corners of his mouth turn up at the thought, imagining how terribly cross he would be, hands on his hips, shouting up at Martin, who stands a foot taller than him—

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

Surely he’s…not…

Worry pooling in his stomach, Martin pads as silently as possible over to the partially-open door, peering inside just in case, hoping against hope that he’s not going to find more worms, or someone covered in worms, or Prentiss herself—

His heart leaps into his throat at once.

Inside the room, he finds Jon—with no worms in sight, no injuries—staring at the full length mirror on the wall. Hanging from his frame is a loose and flowing dress, thin shoulder straps drooping down into a dark navy ‘v’ across his chest, blue and white striped skirt falling graciously around his hips and to the floor. Slits in the fabric run from the hem up to his knees, giving the entire piece such a feeling of freedom—and the look on Jon’s face says he feels just the same. His eyes sparkle as he moves about in the skirt, feeling the fabric against his legs, reaching up to let his hair hang loosely over his bare shoulders. It’s lovely, it’s soaring, it’s—

Intensely private.

Oh god, I shouldn’t be here.

Desperate to leave as silently as he came, Martin takes a step back—right onto a worm wriggling beneath his foot.

“AAGH!” he yells, dropping the ice cream and spoon at once, scrambling backwards to grab a book from the desk behind him, smashing into the horrible little thing until it is well past dead.

“God, sorry,” he pants, swiping a hand across the sweat of his brow, setting the other to rest over his chest as he bends over to catch his breath. “Sorry, I must have scared you, I just saw the light on, and I—“

When he looks up, he’s greeted with the sight of a man frozen in place—eyes wide with shock, and…fear? He stands with his back pressed against the opposite wall, no breath visible in the movement of his shoulders as he stares back into Martin’s eyes.

“A-are you alright? Jon?” he asks carefully, taking a cautious step forward.

He receives no reply in return—the only movement visible to him the shakiness of his legs.

“You don’t look w—oh, Christ,” Martin yelps, rushing forward to catch Jon as he starts to slip to the ground.

It strikes Martin suddenly that he still hasn’t seen Jon take a breath—and he begins heaving at once, lungs gasping for oxygen.

“God—that’s it, just take a breath, just--just take a breath,” Martin encourages nervously, sweeping his eyes over him for some sort of injury. “Are you alright?”

Jon does not reply for a few moments, eyes still blown wide and wild, before at last turning them up to meet Martin’s gaze as his breaths begin to slow.

“Y-you—“ he begins, before his eyes sweep downwards for just a sliver of a moment. “You’re wearing…a binder.”

Oh, Christ.

With a start, Martin looks down at himself—only just realizing that he’s crouching in his boss’s office, wearing nothing but his boxers and a skin-tone binder.

“O-oh, God, I—“ he instinctively brings up his arms to cover himself. “S-sorry, I just—I didn’t mean—“

“N-no, Martin—that’s not—that’s not what I meant,” Jon assures in a anxious rush, reaching out to touch his arm—before hurriedly jerking it back.

“No?”

“No, I—“ he cuts off again, pressing a hand over his chest as he takes another grounding breath. “I’m really—I’m actually…relieved.”

Now Martin is properly confused.

“You’re…relieved?”

“Yes, I—“ he looks up, laughing a bit wetly before continuing. “I suppose you…you wouldn’t…I suppose you would understand. Perhaps.”

“Understand…”

It hits Martin like a train, now that the panic of a possible crisis has been averted: the dress.

“OH! Oh, I—I’m so sorry I burst in on you, Jon, I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. On purpose. I can leave you alone? Or to change, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I—I think I would like that. To change, I mean. You can—“

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“You can come back. If you want.”

For a moment, Martin allows hope to swell in his chest—before quashing it rather forcefully.

“O-Okay! Sure, I’ll just—I’ll be back in a mome, I’ll just…put some clothes on. Right.”

Elegant exit made, Martin briefly allows the shock to wash over him before dashing back to document storage—popping on a pair of pyjama trousers and a band t-shirt, sure to grab a canister of CO2 for proper protection this time. On his journey back, he spots the ice cream he’d flung to the floor at the sight of the worm—a bit melted now, perhaps—but if anything warrants some slightly-melty ice cream, it’s the conversation that he thinks Jon wants to have now. Turning on his heel, he grabs two spoons from the kitchen, and by the time he gets back, Jon’s office door has been propped back open. He knocks against it lightly all the same.

“Jon? Alright if I come in?”

“Y-yes—erm, have a seat, if you’d like,” he says from his desk chair, now back in his typical work-day cardigan, hair pulled into a bit of a messy bun.

“Right, sure,” Martin replies, settling in the chair opposite him and offering a smile. “Feels like I’m about to give a statement or something.”

To his complete surprise, the corners of Jon’s mouth actually turn up a bit at this—and though he still will not meet Martin’s eyes, something about the openness of his expression tells Martin to mark this moment as one to remember.

“I suppose it must feel rather like that,” he agrees, beginning to fiddle with a pen on his desk, staring intently at it.

They sit like this for quite a while—letting the silence settle, as Martin tries to intuit whether or not he ought to say something. Worrying at his bottom lip to keep himself from speaking, he tries not to stare at Jon, wanting him to feel comfortable, just wanting him to know that he’s there for whatever he needs to say.

It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for him to do—but it appears to have been the right decision, as Jon at last begins to speak.

“I haven’t,” he begins, before clearing his throat. “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

Ah. So it is what I thought.

Leaning forward against the table, Martin tilts his head in an effort to let Jon know that it’s okay, you can look at me, you’re safe here—but he’s not quite ready yet, and Martin is certainly armed with patience.

“I think that’s great, Jon! I think that’s really great that you tried it,” he begins, hoping that this is what Jon needs to hear in this moment. “Do you want to—I mean you don’t have to, but—do you want to talk about it?”

Brows furrowing, Jon stops twiddling the pen long enough to glance up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just…I mean…how did it make you—feel?” Martin clarifies, and Jon nods in response.

“Ah, I see. I—erm—“ and away he looks again, back to staring at the pen, perhaps more nervous than Martin has ever seen him. “It’s…difficult to say, I suppose. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s okay, that’s perfectly natural,” Martin is quick to assure, running a hand over the bits of stubble that have crept up over his chin.

He remembers this, remembers the doubt, the exploration of what he did and did not want, what he did and did not feel—it was far from easy to do, and he’s starting to think it’s much the same for Jon.

Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning

“Are you—and you don’t have to answer this, but—are you…thinking about your gender identity?” he asks, watching Jon’s body language carefully.

He seems to curl up further into his seat, shoulders hunching in a way that makes Martin’s own hurt just looking at them.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Jon mutters, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m…hesitant to say, really, I just…”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, arms braced against each arm rest.

“I happened to see that dress a few months ago, and it wouldn’t leave my mind, and I had some extra money to spare, and…and I bought it. I don’t know why.”

All of this spills from Jon in such a rush that it winds him, still not opening his eyes.

“That’s okay, Jon. Really. You don’t need to know why right now, okay? This kind of stuff can be complicated,” Martin soothes, letting out a little huff of laughter. “Believe me, I understand.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes again, bringing them up to meet his ever-so-slowly. Once they land there, though…Martin has a feeling that they will be fixed on him for the rest of this conversation, though he cannot put a finger on why.

“Would you tell me?” Jon asks in a near whisper, leaning against arms which he’s propped up on his desk. “I mean—I would like to know how you found out, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah. Right. Erm…well, I suppose I was pretty young when I started to figure it out. I’d never…I’d never really felt like me in my body, you know? The long hair, the school uniforms, just…it wasn’t right. At least not for me.”

He pauses for a moment, half expecting Jon to interrupt, to tell him he’s heard enough—but Jon still appears transfixed, as if he’s drinking in every word he has to say.

“But I didn’t really understand what that meant until secondary school. I was…well, let’s just say it was an upsetting time for me all around, right? One day I felt upset enough to chop off my own hair in the bathroom. And it was long by that time—nearly down to my waist.”

He laughs briefly at the remembrance, running a hair through his now-shorn locks.

“I cut it off—and it was like some small part of me started to understand. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried to dress in what I thought boys should wear, walked around dressed like that to see what would happen—and the first time that someone called me “Mister Blackwood,” I just…it’s was like a great big wave of relief. It was like someone finally saw me. Like I finally saw me.”

Pausing there, he looks back up at Jon’s face—still reverently focused on his own. It sends a chill up his spine, in not an entirely unpleasant way.

“Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs at last, lowering his hands away from his face to stretch out across the table. “Thank you for telling me. That’s very…insightful.”

“Is it?” he replies, leaning towards him once again. “Can you tell me why?”

He can almost hear the gears turning in Jon’s head—the lines of deep-seated thought clear on his face. After a rather long silence, he begins to speak again, voice more certain than it has sounded all evening.

“The feeling of it. What you said about not being able to get it out of your mind, I just—” he breaks off to sigh, frustrated with the way the words are stringing together. “I’m not saying I understand completely, because it’s obviously your experience and not mine, but…”

He swallows, setting his face with such strength of intention that Martin finds himself bracing for the impact.

“I liked it. The dress. I liked the fabric, I liked the way it…the way it looked on me. I…I liked feeling…feminine, I suppose you could say.”

In this moment, Martin is not sure he has ever felt such a surge of affection for the person before him—which is saying quite a lot, all things considered.

“I’m really happy for you, Jon! Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that’s not always easy.”

Jon’s only response is a curt nod, his penchant for decorum and professionalism shining through even in this moment of relative vulnerability.

“Could I ask you—have you thought about pronouns? Or names? I mean—I’m happy to call you however you want to be called. Or perhaps even to try something new out, if you want. Just to see,” he quirks up a little smile at him, pleased that Jon feels comfortable enough to look back at him.

“Erm—I suppose I had thought about it a bit,” he says as he wraps his arms around his middle again, a gesture that Martin knows to be one of self-comfort. “I…I don’t think I would want to change my name. Not now, anyway. I rather like how it sounds.”

“That’s alright! I…I think your name is lovely, if that matters,” Martin replies—flushing as he realizes what he’s just said. “Erm—anyway, what about pronouns? Do you want to keep using he/him? Or do you want to try something else?”

Again, Jon seems perfectly at ease to think about this in silence for a bit—turning away and twirling a loose strand of his hair with his right index finger. That all-too-familiar twinge in his chest returns with a vengeance at the sight, endlessly endeared to everything about him.

God, stay focused for one moment, Martin.

“I—would you mind to try they/them? I don’t—I don’t think I want to try it around the office yet or, but…would you? Try it?”

“Of course!” Martin breathes at once, hand reaching out instinctively to cover Jon’s own where it rests on the table—and to his utter shock, Jon does not even flinch at the contact, nor try to pull away. “Of course I will, Jon. Do you want me to try it now? I can say some sentences so you can feel it out.”

“I…yes. Yes, that would be lovely, Martin,” Jon replies softly, still not moving his hand away.

“Right. Erm…okay. This is Jon. They work at the Magnus Institute. They’re the Head Archivist, and their work is very important. I like to bring them cups of tea in the afternoon, and they wear cardigans almost every day,” he pauses there, reading the smile creeping up on Jon’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds—and knowing in that moment, that they must have gotten it right.

“So? How did it feel?”

The smile takes on a full-bodied appearance now—eyes sparkling dark and gentle across the table, boring into his own with such depth of meaning that Martin is not sure he could ever fully take in.

“Yes,” they reply simply, smile spreading even wider. “Yes, I—I rather liked that.”

“I’m really glad, Jon! I mean—I would have been glad even if you didn’t like it, of course—the important thing is that you tried it out,” Martin stammers, nervousness somehow creeping back into his words.

“Thank you, Martin. I’ve…greatly enjoyed this talk,” Jon says, at last pulling their hand away from beneath Martin’s to point it at the forgotten tub of ice cream, currently sweating a circle of moisture on the wood of their desk. “I think you might want to get back to this before it melts, however.”

“Oh! Oh, right—I forgot I sat it there!” Martin replies, grabbing it quickly and rubbing a sleeve over the damp spot it created on the wood. “I actually—“

No no no, stop.

Don’t make it awkward

Don’t ruin it don’t ruin it don’t—

“Would you like some?” Martin presses on, against every voice that tells him to do the contrary. “I—I actually brought two spoons, I thought…I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up. After I barged in on you like that.”

The expression Jon gives back to him now is a mixture of things—incomprehension, confusion, disbelief—and perhaps, just perhaps, a small bit of delight.

“You don’t—you don’t need to do that, I—“

“I insist, Jon. Please have some with me,” he interrupts, handing him one of the spoons. “Sasha told me to have it gone by morning, and there’s no way I can do that myself.”

“Well,” Jon replies, taking the spoon from him with just a whisper of a grin. “I suppose we’d better get to work, then.”

“Let’s.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #trans martin blackwood #nonbinary jonathan sims #cw dysphoria #cw periods #cw panic #cw self hatred #cw food mention #my writing #lmao tumblr deleted all the text from the first post #so that was exciting

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phoebe-delia · 3 years

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Phoebes did you notice that most of the song prompts are odd numbers? I just think it's kind of neat! But for some lovely chaos in the stats, let us please have song no. 10? Also your doing this is a wonderful gift to the world and I adore you so so so so much

@rockingrobin69, Robin, my darling, hello. First of all, I'd noticed that the first ten or so were mostly odd numbers, but after you pointed it out, I realized how many odd-numbered ones I'd done! How funny. Also, before I get to tell you what song you've selected, I want to say that you and your writing are the true gifts and the feeling is very much mutual, my love. I cannot thank you enough for your constant love, support, and friendship. I absolutely adore you. <3

Another funny thing, Robin, is that you've managed to now select two out of my top three all-time favorite songs by Taylor Swift. (song prompt 3 was, ironically, my 3rd favorite TS song: "it's time to go.") But here, you've requested song 10, which is my number 1 favorite Taylor song of all time: "All Too Well."

The trouble is, I've already written one fic to this before. But no matter! I will persevere. This is technically a sequel to the original fic, but you don't have to have read it to understand this one! It is highly likely when the 10-minute version of All Too Well comes out that I will write a fic to that, but since it's not out yet, here's this. CW: post-breakup, potion/substance addiction, bad coping mechanisms, potions overdose; but there's a hopeful/happy ending!

Paralytici Memorias means "paralyzed memories" in Latin, if Google Translate is to be believed. And finally, an enormous, gigantic thank you to my big sis @avenueofesc for making this coherent and much better.

It wasn't a substitute by any means. It would never replace what it was made to mimic. In some ways, it was hopelessly inadequate.

But it was all he had: just the potion and his memories. If Draco's mind insisted on torturing him by reliving the best moments of his life in sepia-toned images, at least this way he could delay the crushing reality a little while longer.

Paralytici Memorias was his greatest triumph and biggest mistake. At first, he blamed it on completing his due diligence; every good potioneer should know and test the effects of their potion.

But then one test turned into two. Before he knew it, Draco spent the better part of his days coming in and out of deep periods of sleep, reaching for the vial every time his eyes opened to the sight of his empty flat, his engagement band on the coffee table next to him.

He wondered what Astoria would say if she could see him now. If their current level of communication as soon-to-be-weds was any indication, their marriage contract was more of a business venture than a romantic one.

After all, as long as he had a pulse, sperm for insemination, and a sound enough mind to sign over half his vaults, he'd have done his duty as her future husband as far as she was concerned.

"You'll forget about me, I promise."

His own words—written on the parchment he'd sent off with his owl before he could stop himself—were burned into his memory. He still remembered the searing pain in his chest as he promised the love of his life that what they'd had could be forgotten. In breaking Harry's heart, and in shattering his own, his only consolation was knowing that Harry would be happy eventually; that Harry would move on and find someone with the freedom to love him the way he deserved, someone who could offer the intangible riches in which Draco had always been impoverished.

As he reached for the vial that afternoon, it was to remind himself of the priceless love he sold for the price of his heart.

The potion’s effect was hazier than a Pensieve, but this way he could see the memories from his own point of view; could relive it in his own skin. Still, his mind couldn't do justice to Harry's eyes, the bright sound of his laughter, the warmth of his skin.

They were in Harry's car, the name of which Draco had never bothered to learn, too terrified and fascinated by the contraption. He yelped when Harry took a hand off the wheel to grab Draco's shaking one in a reassuring squeeze.

"Hands on the wheel, Potter!"

"I've got it under control, love. You watched me put the protection spells on the car myself, and it would be perfectly safe even without them. I promise I won't let anything happen to you," Harry said without an ounce of condescension.

Draco exhaled shakily, "If you say so."

"I do. Now, why don't you tell me a little more about where we're going?"

"Have you forgotten already? Honestly, Potter, your memory is abysmal."

"I haven't forgotten. I just like hearing you talk."

Draco valiantly didn't blush. And while he described the beauty of the Cotswolds, he found himself mesmerized at the red and orange leaved trees that lined the road as they drove out of the city and into the peaceful countryside, with its steady beeping noise.

Wait…that wasn't right. Why was it beeping?

"Potter, there's something wrong with the car."

"Draco?"

He squeezed his eyes shut tight before he opened them, blinking as the unfamiliar room came into focus. He could feel his pulse pounding in his head as his mind raced in a heady mix of confusion and anxiety. What happened? Why wasn't he in his flat?

"You're in St. Mungos."

Draco's head nearly snapped as he turned to look at a pale-faced Harry sitting in the chair next to his bed. Near Harry stood an unfamiliar woman scribbling on a clipboard. She reached over onto a side table and handed Draco a paper cup. The water was cool, a relief for his parched, sandpaper throat.

"Mr. Malfoy, how do you feel?" She asked after he handed the cup back to her.

Draco closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning. "My head is killing me and I'm dizzy, but I'm okay. What happened?"

"Your fiancée found you unconscious in your flat. We completed a blood test and couldn't match the substance to anything we know—"

"I invented it," Draco grumbled. "Where is Astoria? Harry, what are you doing here?"

The healer pressed her lips together. "I'll leave you to gather yourself for a few minutes, but I'll be back soon to ask you more about that potion, and next steps from there, alright?"

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Healer...?"

She smiled. "I'm Healer Rostova. Press that pager if you need something, but otherwise, I'll be back in a little while." With that, she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Draco turned to Harry, who regarded him with wide, worried eyes. "What happened? Why are you here?"

Harry bit his lip. "Astoria found you unconscious on your couch. She brought you here and then she, well...She called me."

"She—what?"

"She called me. She said you were in the hospital, and I didn't really think much beyond Apparating here."

"Why did she call you?"

"She said you were...talking in your sleep."

Draco blushed. "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry let out a humorless, breathy chuckle. "She figured it out, I think. She said to tell you that she's having her parents terminate the contract."

Draco closed his eyes, letting his head thud against the headboard and then instantly regretting it, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain. "Great. I bet Mother's furious."

"She'll come around."

"You don't know that. You don't know her."

"No, I don't, but hopefully she'll want you to do what makes you happy."

Draco clenched his jaw and looked away. "Happiness is easier to manage when it's artificial. I ran away from the only thing that ever brought me close to real happiness. I can't handle it."

"Then let's manage it together."

Draco closed his eyes, kept his head turned.

"Draco, look at me."

Slowly, Draco forced himself to look at Harry, opening his eyes to let the other man see the tears beginning to well.

Harry's expression was as pained, yet kind. "Do you have any idea how agonizing it has been to miss you?"

Draco's chest seized, sharp with regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought it was what's best for both of us, I—"

"Shhh," Harry leaned forward, rubbing a soothing hand over Draco's. "We'll make it okay. We'll figure this out together, alright?"

Draco kept his eyes open, let himself enjoy happiness in full color. "Okay. Together."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #draco and harry #harry and draco #draco x harry #harry x draco #cw: addiction #cw: post breakup #angst with a happy ending #hpdm #drarry squad

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skiyoosmi · 4 years

Text

– caramel frappucino ch. 27

marga’s notes. AHHH hello my loveliest readers; i cannot believe we have finally reached this end (well, not really the last chap ‘cause we still have two epilogue-like chaps coming up but yeah)… i hope you enjoy this part!! PLUS LISTEN TO THE SONGS CAUSE AHHHHH THE. MOOD. FITS.

♪ CHAPTER THEME ♪

on the train ride home by the paper kites | quiet eyes by axel flóvent

previous | masterlist | next

“Do I look okay?” you asked, head turning to your cousin who was casually lounging around your room. For the umpteenth time of the day, Tetsurou released an exasperated sigh, looking away from the game he was playing on his mobile phone and glaring at you while lying on your neatly-folded bed.

“That’s what you’ve been asking for the past hour and I keep telling you yes,” he grumbled as he adjusted his body so he now laid on his stomach, continuing to scroll through his phone and at the same time, muttering some stuff about how he hopes you miss the fireworks show. Seconds later, he let out a loud yelp as he felt something hit him right on the back of his head. He scowled in your direction upon noticing the missing pink hairbrush that was previously in your hand, now on the floor.

“You brought me into this situation so don’t curse on me now. This… is your ship sailing,” you gestured to your face that was fancily styled for the night out. You only rolled your eyes when he childishly stuck his tongue out as a reply, going back to fixing whatever still needs to be fixed.

A few more minutes of doing unnecessary things passed before a knock resonated through your apartment’s front door. Tetsurou immediately jumped up from his position on your bed, giggling when he passed by your form before skipping his way downstairs to open the door for your guest.

To say that your heart was beating loud is an understatement – hell, you could almost swear it’s about to burst out of your chest from its pounding. Stop sweating, doofus! You’ll ruin your makeup, you silently screamed at yourself, feeling the dampness slowly beginning to form around your forehead and neck out of extreme anxiety.

“Y/N! Get your butt downstairs. Your date’s already here,” the teasing and boisterous voice of your cousin echoed throughout the apartment, followed by another giggle after a few seconds, probably because Sakusa replied to his rather embarassing comment. Despite not seeing the two, you felt your face flush; it wasn’t like you’re denying that it was a date… it was just unusual to hear especially when your date was someone like Sakusa.

After gathering enough nerves to face them, you took a deep breath and looked at your vanity mirror for the last time, hands smoothing down your red floral yukata for any crease that formed. Soon, you found yourself bashfully standing in front of the two tall men as Sakusa’s eyes shamelessly scanned your figure. Although he himself was wearing a simple navy yukata, you couldn’t fathom what he was thinking seeing as his face was adorned with his usual mask that was, for some reason, black this time.

“You look nice,” he nodded at your direction while you smiled, returning the compliment you have surprisingly received from him; you knew that your face was red as hell right now based on how your cousin was biting his lips to keep himself from laughing.

“Now, go! Enjoy yourselves and remember to make the wish,” he winked, pushing you both out of the door with his hands on your lower backs. You both gave him a glare that he only ignored, waving goodbye as you went on your way.

“I hope he understood what I said about making the wish though.”

“I’m sorry, he really didn’t mean to,” you profusely bowed your head at the man almost twice your age who was glowering at your companion who, in return, remained unbothered. On the ends of the said man’s feet were his spilled strawberry and milk kakigōri which Sakusa, coming from the old man’s words, knocked over when he bumped into him while walking beside the food stalls.

“Young miss, instead of apologizing when it’s not your fault, you should teach your companion how to be respectful to his elders,” he shook his head from side to side in a mocking disappointment, as if to annoy Sakusa further.

“Are you implying that I am disrespectful?” Sakusa countered, hands clenching a little bit as he tried to calm himself down. He doesn’t need a nameless man almost ruining both of your nights right now. Still, his pride didn’t let him let this one go; he couldn’t give this man the satisfaction when he clearly knows to himself that he didn’t bump into him a while ago. If anything, it was the older man who purposely bump into the two of you – probably cause you kind of looked a little too beautiful tonight.

Sure, he won’t deny that he found you pretty right from the moment he met you, one of the main reasons he decided to keep on talking to you and befriending you instead of loathing you for spilling the caramel frappucino on him. For some reason however, the way you styled yourself tonight made you even more gorgeous in his eyes, if that was still possible.

“Just drop it, ‘Omi,” you harshly whispered, fingers grabbing a fold of his yukata and tugging on it to stop him from engaging into an unnecessary fight. In addition to that, you were pretty sure the fireworks show will go off any moment now; you had to find yourselves a decent place where you can watch the much-anticipated event or else you will seriously sulk into a corner until next year’s festival.

“Apologize,” the man ordered but to no avail, Sakusa still stood his ground; even going as far as grabbing your hands with his and pulling you into the opposite direction. From behind you, you could hear a noise of protest and a ‘you little s–‘ before it was cut off. He kept on pulling you despite your arguments about how he should’ve just lowered his pride and said he’s sorry.

“Why would I say sorry when I didn’t do anything? It’s clear as a day that he’s just trying to prolong the conversation so he could take more look of you.”

“W-what…” you stuttered, not really being able to understand what he was trying to say. As if he was able to read your mind, he let out a frustrated sigh after removing his black mask.

“He had this disgusting look that screams he wants to take you out despite him being older by so much. I’m saying it’s because you look too pretty tonight,” the last sentence he told you immediately caused your face to flush a deep red; you were just so thankful it was nighttime or else you wouldn’t be able to live off the embarrassment of being so flustered from a simple compliment.

A few seconds later, it dawned upon you that he brought you to a rather secluded place by the top of the small hill where you still had a good view of what was about to come. Observing the area, you began to think Sakusa also watches the yearly event, judging by how he knew that this kind of secret place existed. People usually crowded by the bridge since it has the widest space and the clearest view which also meant that on this hill, you two were alone together.

He then took out a large piece of clothing that he laid on the ground, sitting cross-legged and patting the space next to him as he gestured for you to sit as well. Following his request, you gently sat down and looked ahead the reflection of the moon by the river.

“Are you feeling alright these days?” you only hummed in reply, too entranced by the night’s beauty. Ten minutes from now, the fireworks will make it even more beautiful.

“I’ve never pestered you about your… situation with Iwaizumi-san, but I felt like I needed to ask how you are,” he explained upon catching your eyes that were filled with wonder and curiosity due to his sudden question. Your mouth formed a small ‘o’ before giving him a small smile.

“I’m really okay, don’t worry. I just feel guilty sometimes, you know? In my mind, there are just some thoughts that pass by… things like I wish I’ve known so I didn’t hurt him that long,” you let out a quiet sigh, folding your arms over your knee and placing your chin on it. The quiet cricket of the night bugs adding more solemnity in the air as you both talked.

“Do you wish to go back to that time? And maybe be in a relationship with him?” you immediately shook your head ‘no.’

“No, no… not that kind of regret. I wouldn’t have agreed to be in a relationship either way. I was too young and too dumb; I know it won’t work out between us. I mean… I just get that feeling that we won’t.”

“Then why do you feel sad?” you mulled over his question, trying to form the right words that will truly explain how you really felt with everything that has happened.

“It’s something like… I wish I’d known so I could’ve rejected him right away? Is that cruel? I mean, maybe if I did that, we wouldn’t have gone through such pain for such a long time, get rid of the false hopes we had for each other. Hell, I don’t even remember anymore what it feels like to be really happy without thinking of such thoughts,” you sadly chuckled before shrugging and leaning back as you saw the people from faraway beginning to take their phones out, signaling that the fireworks show was almost beginning.

You felt Sakusa scoot closer to you; something you didn’t expect since you knew he never liked getting close to another person. You were sure as hell by now that all throughout the night, he was acting really weird; something different compared to his usual demeanor – not that it freaked you out though. If anything, you liked his slight clinginess too much… but you didn’t need him being weirded out so you opted to not saying anything.

“Is that your wish?” he quietly asked, making you jump out of surprise for his sudden closeness. His nimble fingers were on your chin, turning your head so you could look at his eyes that screamed a thousand feelings.

“W-what?” you breathed out, internally cursing because you didn’t even know how many times you’ve stuttered tonight.

“I’ve read somewhere that if you make a wish and… give the person beside you a kiss, it will come true so I’m asking you, is that your wish? To be truly happy,” he whispered, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. If this was any other person, you were pretty sure you would’ve slapped the wits out of him due to his statement’s ridiculousness but for some reason, you couldn’t move away from him.

“I… I think so,” you meekly nodded, gulping as he seemed to have no plan on moving at all. You think you can hear the fireworks crackling as it began to light up the sky, booming over the night sky as it tried to get your attention

“I’ll try my best to make you happy then.”

… but the feeling of soft lips crashing into yours as soon as he said what he wanted to say was enough to leave you distracted. It wasn’t like anything you have imagined before; this – this was full of love, magic and adoration, something you have missed when you often wondered what it felt like to have a kiss. Heartbeats powering the sound of the explosions and sparks as he intertwined his fingers into yours, panting for breath when he released himself from you.

“Y-you.... kissed me... you hate germs... and I missed the fireworks,” you mumbled, feeling rather lightheaded from kissing him too long. He lightly chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over to give you another peck.

“I think we can let those slide just this once.”

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #sakusa smau #sakusa x reader #haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu headcanons #sakusa imagines #sakusa scenarios #sakusa social media au #sakusa headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

Wait For Me // D.M.

Request: hi! can you do a request where draco performed the obliviate curse on his gf before the war, then met her again post war when he became a healer? the storyline is up to you! by the way, i really really like your fics 🥺 - anon

A/N: This request let me explore all the things I love: angst, healer!draco, and redemption. Thank you for trusting me with this request, I love it so much. This was not also on my WIP lost but I had an idea and I ran with it. With some hope, my next few fics will be from that list!!

Warnings: angst, mentions of nightmares and injuries, some anxiety, short words and tempers, swearing. A HAPPY ENDING or at least the start of one.

Word count: 5.2k

1996:

“You know why I have to do this, right?” Draco whispers: worried that if he were to speak any louder his voice would give away how close he is to breaking.

You nod once. A solemn nod that juxtaposes the tears falling freely down your face. How could you be agreeing to this when it made you feel like your heart was being ripped out?

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, arms reaching for you, the urge to touch too strong to resist. “If they used you against me or if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself.”

You hush him; not missing the irony of the situation. To be comforting him when you were going to have a large chunk of your memories taken from you, it was almost laughable.

The final few moments together are spent in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, getting as much of the other as possible before inevitably having to let go. You bury your face in his chest, almost refusing to let go of him as he unhooks your hands from around his waist.

The time has come; it’s come too soon.

You barely register Draco’s tears mixing with yours as he hauls you in for one last desperate kiss. His forehead remains pressed to yours as he whispers three words.

“Wait for me.”

Then everything goes blank. A flash of white and your life begins anew.

No memories of the last year of your life; no thoughts about the blonde haired teenager that had occupied your mind and stolen your heart.

There’s nothing.

Five years later:

The strong antiseptic smell has your nose crinkling in distaste. The overhead lights buzz as the bright light bounces off the overly clean floor; it makes your head hurt more. You place a tentative hand to the side of your head, frowning further when you feel the large bump growing there. Removing your hand, you sigh, remembering the tears of the pupil that had done this.

Not long after the war, a new decree was issued setting up centres of education for young witches and wizards that showed magical promise. They operated extremely similar to a muggle primary school; however these followed the curriculum created by the Ministry of Magic.

It was in one of these schools that you worked, choosing to train as a teacher after finishing your education.

A rogue ball is what had landed you in the emergency room of the only magical hospital in Britain. It had come out of nowhere; the children playing happily as the weather had improved over the course of the day.

Tapping your foot impatiently off the tiled floor, you had to admit to yourself it had been partly your fault for not seeing the ball before it knocked you on the side of the head and subsequently knocked you to the floor. The child, a young Hugo Ward, had felt terrible – sobs wracking his body as he apologised to you over and over again to the point where you had to reassure him you were fine.

An hour after the accident, it became evident that you were not fine. The dizziness and double vision being symptoms of something worse, your boss had sent you off to St. Mungo’s without room for argument, promising you she would cover your class for the rest of the day.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” calls the triage nurse. A blonde middle aged lady with bright eyes and a kind smile; she points in the direction of exam room two and you flash her a grateful smile.

The hospital bed is uncomfortable as you take a seat on top of the crinkly paper. The pounding in your head had not stopped since you arrived but the dizziness was calming somewhat, and for that, you were thankful. It happens as a flash; a memory washes over you of a large hospital wing, two rows of beds and an elderly lady with fierce determination written over her face.

A single blink and it disappears. The flashes hadn’t happened for a while; the aftermath of a memory charm inflicted upon in your Sixth Year at Hogwarts. It wasn’t known who had done it; they had found you wandering the halls of Hogwarts alone and confused before realising what had happened. You had recovered fairly quickly; the only aftermath being the flashes of what could be memories.

You sigh, sinking further into the gurney as you think of the pile of marking waiting for you at home. Even a sore head couldn’t put off the inevitable.

The Healer doesn’t look up as he enters, pulling the curtain closed behind him, “I’m Healer Malfoy, how can I help you today?”

You sit straighter as you take in the healer. Blonde hair down to the nape of his neck, tied back with what seems to be a leather cord. He hasn’t looked up at you yet, but from your spot, you could tell he was handsome. A strong jaw being home to a distracting mouth. You look away, admiring the rest of him before you could be caught staring at his lips.

Healer Malfoy’s face slackens for a second as his eyes rake over your face. He collects himself after a second, but still, you noticed. He clears his throat, looking down at the chart in his hand. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“You hurt your head at work?”

Again, you nod, “Twice over. A pupil threw a ball at my head by accident, but I knocked my head on the playground as I fell.”

Healer Malfoy places your chart on a nearby table, pulling latex gloves out of his pocket as he does so. He smiles at you, but there’s something guarded about the expression on his face that has question after question springing up in your overworked and pained mind.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Healer Malfoy asks routinely, silently gesturing to your head, asking for permission to feel the injury.

“No,” You answer, turning your head for him to feel the bump on the side of your head.

You hear his sharp inhale as he examines the large bump there. As if seeing you hurt physically hurt him too, yet how was that possible? Thinking through your admittedly fragmented memories, you cannot find a whisper of what the blonde haired man could have looked like younger. Something niggled in the back of your mind, a feeling, a hunch. You didn’t know what, but it got stronger every time you met the grey eyes of the handsome Healer Malfoy.

“This is going to sound odd but go with me on it please?” You say, voice lilting into a question at the end. The idea of not giving this man in front of you a choice simply abhorrent to you.

Healer Malfoy smiles: it’s polite and doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back from you, needing the distance but also done with the examination of your injury. “Okay, I’ll go with it,” He states warily.

Your hands clench into fists; overcome with the urge to try and coax a smile out of him. “I don’t know how else to say it. Do we know each other? You feel familiar to me, as if I know you from somewhere.”

Whatever smile was on Healer Malfoy’s face falls the instant the words leave your mouth. His entire demeanour changes – shoulders stiff, hands gripping your chart so tight it could snap in half. Unclenching his jaw, Healer Malfoy grits out, “No. We haven’t met before.”

“Are you sure?” You press, deciding desperately that you needed to know the man standing in front of you.

“Very sure,” He murmurs, scribbling your discharge notes and handing them to you. “I would remember you if we had met before.”

The blank confession leaves you speechless. Blinking in what could only be described as shock, you take the outstretched papers.

“Your prescription is there too. You show no major signs of a concussion, just rest for tonight at least and watch out for anymore footballs,” Healer Malfoy starts, “Should you have any more problems, you know where to find us.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you hurriedly grab your bag from the gurney and leave the exam room, taking extra care to hide the dejected look on your face as you pass the handsome healer.

Draco watches you go. You all but sprint out of the hospital, almost desperate in your escape to get away from him and his short words.

The threat has been gone for years; vanquished not too long after the night Draco had taken your memories, after the night that continues to haunt his nightmares.

Draco Malfoy had faced the Dark Lord and lived – he has stared death in its sallow face and was not the first to look away. Yet, Draco was ever more terrified of what you would do should your memories ever return. Your rage was entirely more terrifying than staring into the soulless eyes of the man his parents so blindly followed.

Draco releases a breath as he spies your figure finally leaving the hospital. The released breath does nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest; the tightness that had been there since that fateful night in the astronomy tower.

He’s had this argument with himself countless times, always the same words and the same fight. His own justification for why he did what he did; why he took your memories of your relationship and sent you away. Deep down, Draco knows that he should have communicated better. He knows that he should have sat you down and explained to you his worries and his fears. However, at barely seventeen years old, Draco was just getting used to the idea of love. He knew what was coming; he knew that there were dark times ahead and he was unfortunately aware of how you could be used against him should the time come.

He had a decision to make, so he did. Thinking back on it now, it had almost killed him. He had never experienced a pain like it. Draco had been hit with the Sectumsempra curse and the pain that followed was nothing compared to the pain he felt when erasing your memories.

Draco turns away from the door. You’ve disappeared around the corner; your head bowed, and shoulders hunched. He has no reason to watch you now. He turns away from the door, wondering whether it was fate that had brought you back into his life after such an absence.

An absence he caused.

-------

You return to work the day after; feeling fine enough to stand in front of your class and deliver your lessons of literacy and maths but also of spellcasting and magical control for infants. You followed your lesson plans to the letter; resolutely refusing to stray from them should they let your mind wander to the handsome healer and his cold words.

The healer continues to play on your mind for the rest of the week: at work, at home. You would go over the brief conversation you had with him; wondering at which point his demeanour changed, that he became closed off and cold. He hadn’t been welcoming from the beginning, but by the end of it he had downright cold. It should have warned you off; it should have been warning enough to keep your distance and to do your best to ensure you never needed to return to the emergency room, yet there was something about him. There was something hidden within his grey eyes, a dark secret ravaging him from the inside out and you felt desperate to know what it was.

-------

As much as you adore your vocation, as much as you love coming into work and greeting the children with a smile, there was something sweet about sending them home to their parents. A sweet relief that loosens the weight on your chest somewhat.

A shock of blonde hair has you turning back to the school gates. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognise the handsome face of the healer that had treated you only a week ago. His face not one you felt like you could forget.

“Healer Malfoy?” You call out, confused at his presence.

He smiles bashfully, “Draco, please.”

“Draco,” You greet. “Do you often make home visits?” You tease, a smile crossing your face.

“Technically, I’m at your place of work so this would be a work visit,” Draco comments, laughing lightly, seeming to be in a much better mood than the last time you had met him.

Your smile grows larger at the sound of his laughter. “Okay… do you often make work visits?”

He shakes his head, “No. I do not.”

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons.”

“And they are.”

“One, and one I thought of just now – I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the hospital the other day, I was rude, and it was out of line so I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I doubt that you get asked by many of your patients whether you know them.”

Draco smiles, “You’re right, I don’t, but nevertheless, I shouldn’t have been so rude, and I apologise.”

“Then I accept your apology, only if you accept mine.”

He goes to argue but stops himself at the last possible moment. You meet his gaze head on, watching the emotions pile up there. There’s something lingering in his grey eyes; something deeper as if he has more to apologise for but he isn’t ready to confess to what or why he even needs to say more.

“What was your second reason for being here?” You question, curiosity piqued but also wanting to move the conversation on, unable to look into his grey eyes any long for the fear that your heart may burst out of your chest.

Draco smiles, “I’m picking up my godson.”

“Your godson? Do I know who he is?”

“You might. Tobias Dawsey?”

Recognition flashes across your face as you picture the small brunette in your mind’s eye. “I do know him! I taught him last year,” You all but shout, “He’s your godson?”

Draco nods, “He is. I’ve worked with his mother from my very first day at St. Mungo’s, she asked me to be godfather when she found out she was pregnant with him.”

His words warm your heart; the care he has for his godson obvious in his voice. You go to say more, to try and coax more information out of him. Your need to know him almost choking you with its intensity, but for the life in you, you couldn’t figure out why you needed to know him. You move to speak, but you’re interrupted by the excited crow of a young child.

“Uncle Draco!” Tobias shouts, running up to his uncle on his little legs, his bookbag banging against them with every step.

“Hey kiddo,” Draco greets, picking up the child making grabby arms for him.

“Do you know Miss (Y/L/N)?”

Draco nods. “Miss (Y/L/N) came into work the other week,” He states, thankfully not exaggerating further.

Tobias frowns, turning his attention to you, concerned about his favourite teacher, “Are you okay though?”

You smile at the young brunette, “I’m all better. Your Uncle Draco fixed me up.”

Tobias nods seriously, “He’s the best Healer ever.”

You laugh; the love Tobias has for his godfather so clear within his voice, it only warms your heart further. “I have no doubt in that, Tobias. Off you go anyway, I wouldn’t want to keep you from getting home.”

Tobias and Draco wave at you as they leave the school grounds. The smile on your face doesn’t fade as you watch them walk away, the young boy chattering the ear off his devoted uncle.

Deep down, where you would only admit to yourself and no-one else, you hoped that you would get to see the handsome blonde healer again.

-------

Over the following weeks you spy Draco’s presence more by the school gates. Tobias clearly adores him, sprinting into his uncle’s arms the moment he sees him waiting for him. Crossing your arms across your chest, you comment, “You must be a very devoted godfather to volunteer to pick up Tobias this often.”

Draco shrugs nonchalantly as if the task of reorganising his shifts was nothing of a chore, “I enjoy spending time with him and…”

“And?”

Draco ducks his head, feeling the familiar heat of blush creep up his neck, “I like talking to you.”

He feels like it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say. If he had an ounce of human decency within him, he would turn away from you the moment Tobias arrives. He would walk away from you, never to come back into your life again. What he did all those years ago was unforgivable despite having your permission. Draco knows he shouldn’t be back in your life, but now that he had seen you once or twice, he had to see you more.

He felt like an addict. He couldn’t leave you alone. Draco didn’t want to if he was honest with himself especially when you grin at him so widely his heart pounds in his chest.

You duck your head, your hair hiding your face. “I like talking to you too even if it is only at the school gate,” You shyly admit.

“Then we should change that,” Draco stutters out before he backs down. He wants to kick himself; he should turn away from you now and leave you alone for good, but that one selfish part of him that powers his heart tells him to stay put.

If possible, your smile grows larger, “Then we should change that.”

------

The friendship feels so natural once it starts; once the both of you get past the initial awkwardness that seemed to loiter from Draco’s cold words earlier in the year. It started with longer conversations at the school gate, but then he would come with Tobias’ mother and wait for you as Tobias would reluctantly leave with his mother. From there, it grew into a timid friendship that slowly grew more surer of itself as you invited Draco out for food or to museums or to spend the weekend with you, walking around the city when he wasn’t working.

However, as the friendship became more solid, you could not ignore the way your heart sped up with every smile and every laugh. You could not ignore the way your face heated each time he winked at you; a private joke shared between you. It didn’t feel like a passing fancy. It felt like something deeper, as if the feelings had been there before and had been dormant until now. You felt as if you were always meant to feel this way about Draco – the feelings tugging on memories you weren’t even sure were yours. Flashes of blonde hair and the powerful scent of jasmine all tied in with late nights in a tower you could barely recognise. Draco made you feel like the only person in the world; he was supportive and kind and funny. He was everything you could want and more – how could you not fall for him?

There was still the remaining secret though. It haunted him; his eyes clouded over whenever it was on his mind as if he was returning to the very memory itself. He would return shier, unsure of himself as if the friendship he had forged with you was about to implode and leave him shattered once more.

You ask him about it once. The two of you sat on your couch; you introducing Draco the wonders of muggle films and showing him your favourites when you catch him zone out. Your finger reaches out, pokes his cheek. “Where did you just go?” You question, a smile in your voice.

Draco reaches out, grabbing your finger, “Nowhere of importance.”

You frown, pulling your finger out of his grip, “You do that a lot.”

“Do what a lot?”

“Disappear on me. It’s like you have something big to tell me, but you just aren’t ready yet.”

Draco feels certain his heart stops in his chest. He tries to laugh but it comes out strangled; choked by the worry creeping up from his gut. Draco opens his mouth to reply but you beat him to it. “I’m not saying you have to tell me what it is now,” You start, “I just want you to know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Draco closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of your couch. You had so graciously opened your home to him, opened your life and offered friendship to him, and he felt awful. As he should, he thinks to himself. He had taken memories of importance from you, and here you sat, unaware of the crime and sitting with the criminal himself.

It felt like there was a countdown ticking over his head. It felt like he only had a certain amount of time until he had to come clean and he had to tell you about that night in the astronomy tower.

Yet for all that was in him, for all that created his moral compass, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you and ruin whatever was blossoming between the two of you. Draco supposes he is a coward. He probably is, he tells himself, but he cannot bring himself to care about his cowardice when you smile at him like he holds the sun and stars for you.

Does he regret that night? With everything within him. Would he do it again knowing the outcome? Of course he would. He would sacrifice himself and his happiness a thousand times over to ensure your safety.

---------

Draco tells himself he’ll confess the next time he sees you which is both all too soon and not soon enough. His love for you had never faded; he hadn’t been the one to forget the short relationship you had. The intensity that accompanied teenage love and infatuation had never left the forefront of his mind. After all, how could they? Now that you were back in his life, he felt the teenager again – utterly drawn to you and unwilling to let you go.

He confesses late on a Tuesday night. The shift at St. Mungo’s had been long and arduous, but he got through it with the single thought of you. He knew that at the end of it, he would get to knock on your door. He only hoped that you wouldn’t turn him away once you found out the truth. Your hatred of him could never rival the hatred he feels for himself, but he finds himself hoping for your forgiveness.

“I have to tell you something,” Draco states, plain and simple.

You chew on the inside of your cheek before answering, “You can tell me anything.”

“You had a memory charm used on you in Sixth Year, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?” You demand. Despite the friendship grown between the both of you, you hadn’t told him that. You had given him bits and pieces, alluded to the fact that there were gaps in your memories, but you hadn’t told him the truth. Just like he hadn’t told you what made him disappear inside his mind like he so often does.

“I took your memories. It was me.” Draco confesses, his voice clear in the quiet room.

“What?” You shout, anger shooting through you.

“I took your memories. I used a memory charm on you in the middle of Sixth Year when things started to take a turn for the worst.”

“What gave you the right?” You cry, tears building out of upset and anger.

“You did,” Draco states plainly, “You didn’t want to at first, but you came round to my way of thinking when you saw how bad things were getting at home.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Because once upon a time, you were in love with me.”

You shake your head, pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to get to grips with the piles of information only just dumped on you. Draco watches you pace; his grey eyes following each step intently as you work through everything in your head.

Worry shines bright in his eyes when you stop pacing. He goes to take a step towards you, but you step back. The small space between you feels like a great chasm, a gaping void that Draco is desperate to fill, to patch up.

“Tell me everything,” You state before adding on, “Please.”

Draco releases a shuddering breath before starting: “We were friends through school. I don’t remember how the friendship started, but it did and for years we were really good, close friends. Then along the way, the friendship changed. We fell in love, or whatever it is at sixteen/seventeen years old. We had less than a year together when things started to change; when whisperings of the Dark Lord’s return were strengthened by continued attacks on the Ministry.

“You argued with me for hours,” Draco pauses, laughing as he remembers what you clearly couldn’t, “I had never seen you so angry or so stubborn. You were adamant, you didn’t want to but then you went quiet and I knew you saw what I had seen. You agreed after a minutes silence; told me yes even though it broke the both of us to do so.

Draco’s grey eyes are lined with unshed tears as he murmurs, “I couldn’t let them have you. My family was working with the darkest wizard there had ever been in the last century, if he had gotten a whiff of what you meant to me, you would be used in ways that not even I could imagine. My aunt would have taken great pleasure in ensuring that you would be a bargaining chip for me to fulfil whatever mission they handed me. That was something I couldn’t allow.

“It broke me to do it. To watch your eyes go blank as the memories of what we shared disappeared. Selfishly, I asked you to wait for me, not knowing that they would be tied to you afterwards. I just… I couldn’t let you go. As a teenager and an adult. There’s no real excuse for what I did, but know it was out of love for you that I did it.”

Draco falls silent. His heavy words adding to the growing tension in the room. Draco’s mind runs a thousand miles a minute; his eyes don’t leave you as he watches you work through every emotion coursing through your body. He sees the anger, the sadness, the frustration, but he also sees the relief at having an answer for those gaps that you had only recently confessed to him.

You break the loaded silence, “I forgot the relationship, but on some level I don’t think I ever forgot you.”

“What?” Draco asks, the air rushing out of him in one fell swoop.

A smile creeps across your face; relishing somewhat at having caught him off-guard. “I have glimpses of what I always assumed was a past life. The memories were always fuzzy around the edges, but they were clear enough for me to catch glimpses of blonde hair or to spy the pattern of a ring much like the one on your signet ring.”

Draco remains silent; he doesn’t dare talk; he doesn’t dare breathe. Nothing prepares him for your next words.

“I waited for you… like you asked.”

Those words. Those foolish words that he had absolutely no right to whisper to you. Draco had been so overwhelmed in that moment, yet he couldn’t ignore the small kernel of hope that despite the strength of the memory charm, a part of you would remember him and would wait for him.

But you had.

You had waited for him. You barely knew who he was, but you had waited for him, hoping that one day he would cross your path.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, running a hand through his growing hair, starting to pace the length of your living room.

“When I woke after my memories had been taken, I clearly didn’t remember a single thing, but I had the echoes of three words ringing in my ears. A beg, a plea of someone – a boy asking for me to wait for them. I didn’t know completely who I was waiting for, I didn’t know it was you until I saw you at the hospital that first time and then again so soon after leaving. My memories haven’t returned, and I doubt they will, but I just know that it was you who I was waiting for.”

Draco falls silent, letting your words fall over him and sink into his skin, settling deep within his bones.

Years. It had been years since that night in the astronomy tower where he took your memories. It had been years since he felt the longing and love; there had been no-one lese and there would be no-one else. For Draco, there was only ever you… and you had waited.

You had waited for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco repeats, hands continuing to run through his hair in frustration as he paces the room. He faces you; grey eyes wild with emotion, “How are you not angry with me?”

“I am angry with you! I’m furious with you, Draco! You took my memories, but if you say I agreed to it, I’m just as angry with myself for allowing myself to forget you.”

“What do we do?” He asks, a hand running down his face as he tries to figure out the next step.

“Forgiveness,” You state simply, “We try to move on.”

Draco’s hands drop limply at his side as he gasps, “Forgiveness?”

“What happened after you erased my memories, Draco?”

“There was a war. I was on the wrong side,” is all he says. He isn’t ready to go into too much detail. That’s another story for another day.

“Was that what you were trying to protect me from? The wrong side?”

Draco nods wordlessly. He saw things going south so quickly but his parents hadn’t. They pushed and they pushed; inducting him into the same pureblood fanaticism they relished. “How can you even think of forgiving me? I took your memories. I stole them from you, and you won’t ever get them back,” He argues, wanting to know whether you truly understood what you were doing by forgiving him.

“Let me ask you something, Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you plan on leaving again?”

He shakes his head immediately. He doesn’t think he could leave you even if he tried.

You shrug your shoulders, “That’s how I can think of forgiving you.”

“I don’t understand,” He whispers; his own self-hatred confused by your words.

“The wizarding war was about to descend into war. We were confused, scared teenagers who didn’t see another option. You asked my permission, Draco, and I granted it clearly.”

“But-”

You cut him off, “No buts. I said yes. I gave permission and we cannot change the past, Draco but we can control our future. It’s going to require work on both sides, but you can tell me about what I’m missing and at the same time we can forge something new.”

“What do you mean?”

You smile shyly, taking that all important step towards him, “Make some new memories with me, Draco.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @just-a-belgian-girl @aspiringsloth20 @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine

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ninbayphua-moyan · 3 years

Text

Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds

Thunderous grey clouds hung heavy in the sky as I made my way towards the lecture hall. My body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion and each leaden step I took felt heavier than the last. I stopped, wanting to turn back, but time and time again, my body refused to obey as my legs carried me towards my destination.

Half an hour later, I found myself standing outside the empty lecture hall despite the countless hesitations along the way. Sighing, I sank to the floor and closed my eyes, too tired to remain upright. That’s what university does to you. It sucks out your soul, your passion, and your youth, leaving nothing behind but an empty husk of a human being.

A familiar voice calling my name pricked my hazy, sleep deprived brain and I cracked open my heavy eyelids. My facial muscles moved like clockwork, automatically forming a smile to greet my friend.

“You look like a corpse!” Chu Ying exclaimed worriedly at the sight of the heavy dark circles beneath my vacant eyes.

“Haven’t been getting much sleep this week…” I replied with a nonchalant shrug as I quickly scrunched up my eyes until they turned into little crescents of laughter, “assignments due soon.”

Seemingly convinced by my explanation, she gave me a look of sympathetic encouragement and left. The second no one was looking, I let the smile fall. Amazing what a simple smile could conceal. You could probably murder someone, smile, plead innocent and everyone would believe you. Sighing softly under my breath, I grabbed my bag and joined the gathering crowd of students as they trickled into the dimly lit lecture theatre.

My laptop sat quietly on the desk, an empty word document laid open on its illuminated screen as the lecturer’s monotonous voiced droned on and on in the background. I should have been taking down notes but my mind was too preoccupied with my issues with the Undergraduate Office to focus on what the lecturer was saying.

A rhythmic vibration drew my attention towards the phone sitting on my lap. Glancing at the pop-up notification, a wave of anxiety and hope surged through my body as I registered who the sender was – the Undergraduate‘s Office. Quickly, I pulled up the email and immediately felt my heart sinking after reading the first line.

All seminar groups are full and we cannot move students.

Lies.

Another notification, this time, from my personal tutor.

It’s only week 3, relax.

Disappointment. Betrayal. Frustration. Anger. I clenched my trembling hands into fists as the tsunami of emotions threatened to explode and spill out of my shaking body. Half of me wanted to storm over to the Undergraduate’s office and let loose the unbridled rage coursing through my veins at the unfair treatment. The other half of me wanted to lash out at my tutor’s condescending advice. My body trembled at the barely, ever so barely contained anger.

Sixteen thousand pounds. That would be eighty-four thousand two hundred and seventy-nine ringgit each year in school fees. Fees which didn’t even include the amount I needed to spend in order to buy the books required for the modules. Sixteen thousand pounds per year just to get an education, an education that I wasn’t even getting at this point and her advice for me was to relax? How could I when my parents worked their entire youth away, saving every cent just so they could send me, all the way to Britain to get a proper education! Did they even know what the stakes of sending me abroad to study was?!

My father’s average yearly income is twenty-four thousand ringgits, barely twenty-eight percent of my yearly school fees. Was it that unreasonable to want to be in a class that will allow me to learn and improve after paying for that much money out of my parents’ own pocket?! Why would anyone in their right mind come half way across the globe, paying that ridiculous amount of money, and being so far away from family and home for years, just to fool around? If that had been my intention, I wouldn’t even have bothered going to university in the first place, let alone coming all the way to Cardiff!

University will be fun they said. You’ll meet open-minded people passionate about learning they said. Hah! That’s the biggest misconception if there ever was one. First of all, the university doesn’t care about whether you actually learn anything so long as you're paying the fees. The majority of lecturers or seminar leaders will only do the most minimal amount of work required and by that, I mean three hundred words of prose only per weekly assignment. What kind of creative work could anyone produce under three hundred words? In prose! Some don’t even bother with critical commentary which is just as essential as the creative pieces. Not only does the lack of practice in writing critical commentaries and limited word count for the creative pieces inhibit students from developing any work of significance, it also underprepares students for the three-thousand-word portfolio due at the end of the semester.

Secondly, British universities are also especially discriminatory towards outsiders or people of colour, often treating minorities and international students with hostility or disregard. I’ve experienced this discrimination first hand upon requesting a seminar change. Despite having emailed the Undergraduate Office at the same time with the exact same reasons, I was denied the change whilst my British classmate was immediately allowed to swap seminars. The office even went so far as to lie about the class being full even though I was told by the professor leading that very seminar that it wasn’t. So much for the integrity of the institution.

At the end of the day, international students are nothing but cash cows to British universities.[1] Not only do they have to pay double of what British students pay in terms of fees, they also have to deal with the discriminations that come alongside being an outsider. I understood that in this day and age, education was a business, and that the university itself was, essentially, a business, but doesn’t actual passion for learning still count for something? Or was I wrong in believing in that as well? Oh, so naïve, so very naïve!

Old memories started to surface amongst the turmoil of emotions. My father and his worn-out clothes, refusing each time to buy new ones for himself just to save a little more money. My mother mending them as best she could whilst we slept, never once complaining. Images of my father’s prematurely greying hair and bloodshot eyes as he worked his health away to provide for his children’s future. My mother’s back bent low, labouring away at some project or another in order to make ends meet. Yet, they never once showed us how tired or how tough things were. There was always enough food on the table and they always had a smile on their faces around us. Sometimes, I noticed that they would eat a lot less than usual but whenever I asked, they merely joked and said they were trying to lose weight. They could have enjoyed their youth, their honeymoon, but they decided to save it all, sacrificing their health and comfort just to ensure mine by sending me here.

I remember the times where they would secretly check their wallets whenever I begged them to buy me a book. Oh, how those very books painted and fuelled my illusions of Britain’s perfection. If only I had known the reality of it all before applying to study here. But it’s too late for regrets now.

A sharp stinging pricked the back of my eyes, tears threatening to fall as my body shook with suppressed, uncontrollable rage. Maybe if I was a little braver…maybe if I fought a little harder…maybe if I confronted them a bit more…maybe…maybe…maybe…

Then as quickly as they appeared, the tsunami of emotions faded away, leaving behind an empty husk. My clenched fists loosen and fell limply at my sides as a quiet, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Nothing was going to change. No matter how hard I fought, the end results will remain the same so what’s the point of even trying in the first place?

As the cold hard reality of the situation finally presented itself, I slumped against the chair, my empty laptop screen staring blankly back at me. Resignation dragged me deeper and deeper into the murky depths of my mind. I was drowning. No one knew and no one cared. But that’s fine. The ending remains the same regardless. Always the same…

The sound of rustling papers and loud chatter momentarily draws me out of the murky waters. Realising that the lecture had ended, I gathered my things and shuffled towards the exit, my mind returning once more to the depths of the void. Outside, the rain was pouring. I plodded down the streets drenched to the bone as my legs moved mechanically towards my flat. A stifling numbness engulfed my mind as I trudged on in silence, the howling wind battering my shivering, rain-soaked body from all sides. Rounding the corner, I pulled out a key-card and entered the cramped grey flat. Out of sheer habit, I grabbed the letters from my letterbox and stuffed them into my coat pocket before heading upstairs.

Entering the dingy room, I dropped my backpack on the bed and sank to the floor. Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared vacantly at the bleak wall. My phone rang insistently in my pocket but I didn’t answer, too tired to move. The crushing weight on my lungs forced out whatever little oxygen I managed to draw, making each breath a struggle. The clamouring voices in my mind grew louder and louder, growing in intensity yet forcefully contained, like built-up pressure without release on the brink of implosion.

You’re useless

I’m…not…

You can’t even stand up for yourself or fight for what you believe is right

Yes I can! And I’m trying! I’ve –

You’re a disappointment to your parents and your family

I’m not! I swear! I –

You’ll never amount up to anything

That’s not true! I –

You’re pathetic

No –

Nothing but a Failure

Stop saying –

Human garbage

Please! Just –

Waste of space

“SHUT UP!”

Silence. Nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing in the darkness.

The world would be better off without you

I don’t know how long I had stayed there on the floor but by the time I came around, my dripping wet clothes were nearly dry. The chaotic calamity within had finally died down and I was filled with an eerie calmness. A deafening silence blanketed the air, pierced only by the hypnotic rumbling of trains across tracks. Ah yes…the railway…my ticket to solving everything…just two blocks away…and it’ll all be over…permanently…

Forcing my lethargic limbs to move, I wobbled onto my feet and stumbled towards the door. A tiny parcel fell out of my pocket and the handwriting on it made me paused. It was my mother’s. Even under the dimness of the moonlight trickling in, there was no mistaking that immaculately cursive hand.

Letting go of the door handle, I kneeled down to pick up the neatly wrapped package. Then, slowly, as if afraid it would fall apart at the slightest touch, I began unwrapping the parcel. Upon opening the box, tears welled at the corner of my eyes. Six little cylindrical bundles of haw flakes were carefully packed within, each attached to a tightly rolled up strip of paper. Gently untying the scrolls from the sweets, I began reading them one at a time.

Jie![2] I got you your favourite sweets! Wanted to buy you more of them but Ma said there wasn’t enough space in the box. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a big box of them once I’ve saved up enough money.

– Di[3]

My heart ached as I thought about how much it must have costed for them to ship the parcel all the way from Penang to Britain. And with the little amount of pocket money…it must have taken Di-Di months of saving to be able to afford buying that one bundle of sweets…

Jie, just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to hold everything in on your own y’know? It’s okay to rely on others a bit more from time to time. Enjoy the sweets you idiot, you’re crazy about those haw flakes. No idea why you like them either, they aren’t even that nice.

– Mei[4]

Tears pricked the back of my eyes as my sister’s grumpy voice echoed in my ears. I could even see the disbelieving eye roll at my odd preferences in sweets after the last sentence. How I’ve missed our senseless squabbles and late-night chats….

A-Yun, being an international student in the UK isn’t always the easiest thing, especially when you’re a minority there. You’ve already taken the necessary steps and have done all you can in that situation. Remember, it’s the end result and not the process that defines a victory. Remember what Sun Tzu mentioned in The Art of War? ‘The most important rule to victory is to know when to pick your fights and how to fight it’. Not all battles need to be fought to win the war. Never forget our family values and never lose sight of your goal. Don’t worry about finances, let me handle that. Just focus on your studies and aim for that first-class honours. The best revenge is to succeed despite their efforts to stop you. Continue to work hard and don’t give up. Know that regardless of the outcome, your Ma and I are proud of you and that we love you very, very much.

– Ba[5]

A sob catches at the back of my throat as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Acute pangs of longing weighed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

A-Yun[6] ah, if it ever becomes too much to bear at Cardiff, come home. Ma will make you your favourite dishes. I know you want to do well but don’t overwork yourself. Remember to get enough rest and try to change your bad habit of skipping meals. Two boiled eggs alone don’t count as a proper meal either!

– Ma[7]

A sheepish giggle escaped my lips despite the tears, Ma’s exasperated voice ringing in my ears. I could almost picture the look of indignation on her face as she judges my terrible meal choices before proceeding to fill my bowl with steamy boiled dumplings.

Ah…Ma’s famous boiled dumplings…the saltiness of minced pork marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil…the refreshing sweetness of spring onions and carrots contrasting the pork’s saltiness…flecks of finely chopped hei-mu-er adding a chewy texture to the tender meat whilst thin sheets of delicately wrapped dough encapsulated it all…the slight bitterness of the herbal broth complementing the savoury dumplings…[8] My stomach growled in protest as I smiled fondly at the memory.

Wiping away the remaining tears, I unrolled the last strip of paper. Elegant brushstrokes painted familiar characters in horizontal lines. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled sitting on A-Gong’s [9] lap in the garden as kid, watching him practice calligraphy. I remembered how he used to read his poems aloud as I gaze at his hands guiding the bamboo brush across the ivory sheet, entranced by its flowing movements. Each word written was like a piece of art, each stroke of ink painting a meaning of its own.

Tranquil night’s darkness, the moon shines bright, From the mud the lotus rises, its petals pure despite. Vermillion red blossom like wildly raging flames; Elegant, virtuous, delicate, yet exquisitely untamed. The wise once said that adversity yields flair, An upright heart, oblique shadows don’t scare. Dripping water with time wears the stubborn stone, Sturdy wood too can be cut with rope saws alone! [10]

A strange tranquility wrapped itself around me as I read the poem, A-Gong’s calm and mellow voice resonating in my ears. It was almost as if he was standing right before me with the usual toothless smile and twinkling eyes on his wizen face. Tenderly cradling the small box of sweets, a faint smile graced my lips. Their vermillion red and gold wrappings shone with a certain warmth under the soft light of the moon. Gently unwrapping one of the thumb-size bundles with shaking hands, I popped a disk-like piece into my mouth.

Immediately, a wave of warmth spread throughout my cold and hollowed body, almost as if it was infused with the life-giving heat of home. The familiar tart sweetness of the hawthorn berries cleared the heavy fog that clouded my mind and for the first time in a long while, I felt energy slowly seeping back into my worn-out soul, reigniting the snuffed-out fire within. Strange how something so small, barely the size of my thumb, could bring so much comfort and hope. That night, the moon shone a little brighter than usual, and the normally barren sky seemed to be exploding with billions of twinkling stars.

NOTES

[1] Alina Schartner & Yoonjoo Cho, ‘“Empty signifiers” and “dreamy ideals”: perceptions of the “international university” among higher education students and staff at a British university’, Higher Education, 74 (2017), 455-472

[2] ‘Jie’ means older sister in Chinese

[3] 'Di’ means younger brother in Chinese

[4] 'Mei’ means younger sister in Chinese

[5] ‘Ba’ means father in Chinese

[6] ‘Yun’ is written as ‘云’ meaning ‘cloud’

[7] 'Ma’ means mother in Chinese

[8] Hei-mu-er is the Mandarin term for black cloud ear fungus, a type of mushroom often used in Chinese cuisines.

[9] ‘A-Gong’ means grandfather in Chinese (specifically, the Hainanese pronounciation)

[10] This is a self written and self translated poem I wrote. The original Chinese version can be found here.

[11] ‘Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds’ is a play on 守得云开见月明 meaning the moon will shine brightly again when the clouds part, and 麻雀虽小五脏俱全 meaning though a sparrow is small, it has all the vital organs.

Author's Notes:

So this is one of my earlier prose pieces from uni (all the way back from first year lol). I don’t usually post prose? Not prose of this length at least. Anyways, I thought I’d take the leap and try posting them online now since I decided to start doing that for my poetry pieces? The rest of my prose pieces throughout uni somehow ended up becoming interlinked with several recurring characters though there are some inconsistencies since they were initially intended as stand-alone pieces rather than a series of somewhat loosely linked short stories. I’ll be posting them in story timeline sequence (or at least as closely to a sequence as I can since I didn’t exactly plan out the timeline of these pieces either) rather than in the sequence it was written in so there might be a slight fluctuation in writing style cuz they do kinda change over the years? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 1~

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

#ninbayphua 墨彦 #prose #short story #I'm new to sharing stories or prose I've written online so please be kind #constructive critisms are always welcomed #please don't repost without permission

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octania · 4 years

Text

Obi Akitaru x Reader (NSFW,18+)

This is a commission I did for the sweet @super-spooder. I appreciate her support in this way greatly and I was so happy that she liked it and she gave me her permission to redo the fic in a “Reader” version. I hope you enjoy it. :)

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: coworkers falling in love,public sex, dirty talk, creampie,

Short description: You are company’s 8 doctor, and you set your eyes for your captain. You tried to run from your feelings but did not know that the same problem is shattering Captain’s Akitaru heart, who will not stop until he has you in his arms.

__________________________________________________________

The light shone softly along her irises. I had never seen them up close like this before, because if I had, I wouldn't have stepped away. Nothing divided us anymore, there was nothing between us, not even the air, because I could no longer restrain myself. I will take the opportunity to the end, because maybe I will never get a chance like this again. She spoke once more, I would swear I heard the same thing the first time, but it seemed so unreal, I had to hear it once more.

“I don’t care about nothing but you. I will risk everything, I am sure of it, just to be with you. ”- the words came from (Y/N) soft lips, that seemed sweet like honey. Now I will finally be able to taste them, she gave me her permission, my feelings did not travel down a one-way road after all.

Obi gasped closer to her lovely face, his hands desperately grabbing at her waist as lungs grabbed the air. At last the facade of false denial cracked and he could set free what he had tried in vain to bury within himself. But the image of (Y/N)’s angelic face began to crack, blurring like turbulent water, letting an unpleasant light cover his vision.

He blinked. Once, twice, absorbing the feeling of rough sheets beneath his half-naked body. The faded wall once again replaced the reflection of his deepest desires, he once more became a slave to his dreams and awoke in the shackles of reality. His jaw clenched, he pulled the covers timidly, turning angrily on his stomach. His eyes were accustomed to the dark and awkward picture of reality, but his heart raced at the thought of returning to a world without her. That is, even worse, the world with her close but he cannot reach for her, he must not…

His fingers ached from the convulsive grip with which he held the sheets. He reached for her, little by little, ignoring the obstacles that clearly stood there, but something was shutting him down. She? He could have sworn the blush on her face streaked across her cheeks every time he gave her a restrained lovely word or praise, but why then run away from him after every time she gave him a smile? Why does her voice crack or stutter every time he is close to her or talks to her a little longer? If the truth is so fatal and she does not see him as he sees her?

In the night when she gets lonely, I wonder does she ever think about me?

The need to be her consolation, her support and the only body touching hers rose in his chest like a powerful storm. Anger and need, longing and pain mingled. It was his weakness from the moment she walked through the door of Company 8. If he had known how much his heart would be devoured by the cold teeth of loneliness, he would have forwarded her employment papers to Company 1. Maybe then he could finally approach her at the level of a human being and not a superior, he would not be burdened by a business relationship, and he would not have to choose what is appropriate and what is not.

Like it matters?

As if that would stop him if he only knew she shared his longing.It didn't stop him now, because he had been trying for months. It started innocent at first, from the first day he saw her through the window, approaching their company. How the wind played with the strands of her hair, how the light shines on the color of her eyes, how she holds herself proudly but still with two feet on the ground. He remembers staring longingly at the young woman. Surprise and adrenaline rushed through his veins as she turned off the street toward the main gate of their building. Just a few seconds later, a couple of light bangs echoed through the hallway as she knocked. He couldn't move, he was mesmerized and confused. He couldn't even get himself to stand when she appeared before his eyes again. Maki cheerfully escorted her to his office.“Here she is! Captain Akitaru, this is our new doctor! ” - she said excitedly, smiling in a welcoming manner to the young woman who had arrived.Her steps were graceful. A dark gray tunic fell over her hips, while her long legs barely gave Obi the opportunity to unglue his eyes from them. She held out her small hand, speaking in a voice that dwells in his most intimate dreams to this day . "My name is (Y/N), it is a pleasure to meet you captain Akitaru." No, he was wrong. He knew from the first moment how much her presence would cost him, but he would not trade his suffering for anything, he would never send her away.

* * *

"I will not tell you again lieutenant Hinawa, your eating habits have to change." – (Y/N) anxiously measured lieutenant’s pressure, while at the same time her eyes shifted along the result papers she had just received.

“The food you are consuming has a low fiber and vitamin value, and you push your body to the extreme limits on the missions and working overtime as well. It affects your health, and from your blood results I can clearly see you lack magnesium which explains your migraines, thiamine which is to blame for your sore muscles, and biotin which raises your cholesterol!”- her voice rose for a few octaves as she read the blood results.

She dropped the pressure gauge on the table unsatisfactorily, forcing Lieutenant Hinawa, who is otherwise known for his icy gaze and stony expression, to be ashamed of his actions. She took a deep breath, her voice now sounding more worried like mother's.

"I know you work a lot, but you have to take care of yourself. I will prescribe you a couple of vitamins in tablets to improve your state a bit, but you must urgently include the list of foods that I will compile for you in your diet. I don't want your condition to get worse. ”- the devotion she felt for the members of the company could be compared to the mother's instinct when defending her young. She took their health not only seriously, not only as an obligation, but as her purpose, and she only attributed every omission to herself as a mistake. Hinawa lowered his head and squeezed his knees with his hands, making a slight bow as a sign of respect and agreement.

“Yes doctor (Y/N). I apologize.” - He said humbly like a scolded child. "Hay, you don't have to apologize to me, I just want you to take care of yourself… because if you don't, I will have you force fed carrots and apples, washing it down with orange juice." - she giggled, handing him the prescription. A restrained smile of gratitude appeared on the lieutenant's face as he picked up the prescription, rising from his chair, bowing once more deeply before heading for the door. In the solitude of her office, (Y/N) arched her back against the plastic chair and tilted her head back, closing her eyes. She massaged her tired eyelids with her fingers, thinking how hypocritical it is to scold others about caring for their own health when she is much worse than them. This was her third night that she barely slept, because she was overworking herself.

For breakfast, she had two large cups of coffee with a ton of sugar and a couple of dry crackers, which really wouldn’t even have been a part of her meal if her stomach hadn’t rustled sadly and betrayed her condition.

“So, how is our lieutenant doing? I saw his list of recommended fruits and vegetables, and it really goes forever. ”- a deep male voice made (Y/N) jump out of her chair, almost having a heart attack. She opened her eyes in wonder as she scanned the room for the source of the voice, squeezing her T-shirt on her chest from shock. Her already jumpy heart from the surprise, only pounded even harder against her rib cage when she saw two delicate irises, colored like the whiskey through which the sunlight is shining.

“Captain Akitaru! I didn’t hear you coming in. ” - she leaned on her legs, nervously fixing the white lab coat on her hips. He shrugged his broad shoulders as he watched her with a calm expression on his face, a gentle smile flickering on his lips. She could feel her cheeks begin to fire up, the air escaping from her lungs and making her breathe faster. She wrapped one arm around her waist, repeating endlessly in her head to calm down. This was happening more and more often.

Her anxiety would come to the surface every time Obi was next to her. Previously, she had managed to cover the corners of her lips, which without her permission automatically curled into a shy smile every time he looked at her. She would bite her lip, clear her throat, and look away. But now, a fleeting smile was the least of the problems. The treacherous red colors constantly painted her face, her pulse exceeded the limits of normal, her tongue twisted and she stammered if she had to talk to him for too long. Shame flooded the inside of her chest as the thought she so desperately wanted to bury pierced the surface, like a flower in growth and spread its petals of truth.

She liked him. She liked him more then she could ever admit or allow to herself.

When she first felt that her devotion and sympathy for the captain transcended the boundaries of respect and turned into something more intimate and personal, for the first time she took a day off. She felt guilty, caged inside something where there was no real way out to freedom, she could only hide along with her secret. All day she pondered the events that had brought her to the brink and pushed her into the abyss of these hidden feelings. She was convinced that the captain's affection for everyone was the same, and when he brought her coffee, asked her about her day, was always there to help her, it was the same thing he would do for anyone else in their company circle, and then she allowed herself to distort his intentions and began to view him as something more than a superior. Like a man. A handsome man with a heart of gold, a look that made her knees shake, shoulders as wide as if he carried the whole weight of the world on them, and a courage that could only be seen in sci-fi superhero movies. From that point on, she began to avoid him, as smoothly and painlessly as she could. She couldn't look him in the eye, she couldn't allow herself to see his gestures as anything more than mere decency.

How blind she really was.

She came to work earlier than anyone, just to keep the hallways empty so she could sneak like a ghost to her office. She went home last, doing the impossible jobs that made her sleepy head fall to the table and force her to sleep for an hour from exhaustion. But somehow that didn't work either. She began to see him in the craziest hours of the morning, while dawn was barely breaking through the dark clouds, sitting in his office from which the door was always open, a gesture showing that anyone could always come in for help or advice, greeting her warmly, beginning even an innocent conversation with her, but she would hastily answer a few words and disappear down the hall. As she went home at a time when the big yellow moon was already standing proudly in the starry sky, she could see his tired face under the lamp of a desk scanning papers or worse, hear the pounding of iron bars coming from their private gym that was literally placed in front of her office. She had to go that way, she had to, there was no other way out. At least she thought so until she tried to sneak out of her office on tiptoe, tapping her black shoes as softly as she could, praying to Sol that her dark clothes would blend in with the shadows in the hallway. But she was wrong.

Obi’s eyes were like hawks, patiently waiting for the prey to make a move. He had been working out tirelessly for two hours, staying after everyone but her. He knew she would come out last, and that would give him a chance to catch her alone. Maybe that changes something. Maybe if they are alone, something will be different after all.

“(Y/N) I thought you left. ”- an innocent lie. His strong arms lowering the weights next to the bench. Drops of sweat ran down his broad neck over his back. His undershirt clung to his pronounced muscles as if he had just come out of the water. Abs like carved from the stone, moving in waves as he caught his breath.

“C-captain Ak-guitar, I-I..I was just leaving. I am sorry if I disturbed you. ” - as if hypnotized, she followed his wide torso as he approached. His gasps intoxicated her innocent ears, reminding her of the way men breathe when they fuc…..

She couldn't even finish the thought, her lips trembled, there was a hurricane in her head, when her legs rushed down the hall. She could hear his voice echoing down the walls of the hallway, calling to her and asking if everything was okay, but she couldn't stop, she couldn't look at him. Her eyes filled with tears at her weakness. It was the last day she thought the only way out through the door was possible.

She wanted to make her escape possible at all costs, so the idea of going out or coming in through the window no longer seemed insane at all. She was sneaking behind the building in the early morning, coming to her office window on the ground floor, which she had left open last night, when she ran home through it in the same way as a thief would in the late hours of the night. But even that solution didn't last long, when she made a mistake and didn't look at which cars were packed in the driveway of Company 8. Truth be told, she didn't even blame herself, fatigue squeezed her like a parasite, and her concentration in the morning was zero. She was already halfway up the window, barely dragging her gear with one hand behind her, when she heard a familiar voice.

“Doctor? What in the Sol’s name are you doing? ” - Vulcan watched with his emerald eyes in amazement as (Y/N) barely held on to the window frame, almost falling down on her head when Vulcan called to her.

“Vulcan! Oh I..I .. ”- she turned her head in panic, her cheeks red as a ripe apple.

“I forgot my keys! Yes. I forgot my keys and I didn’t know that there was someone here. ” - she awkwardly shifted inside the building, accidentally dropping equipment that fell under the window.

"Oh. Well you should have knocked, Captain Obi was already in, he could have let you in.”- said Vulcan collecting (Y/N)’s things and slowly adding them to her.

Of course he is there… ..that is why I am here, making a fool out of myself…

"Silly me, I guess I need some rest after all." - she scratched the back of her head nervously, bowing to the young man out of gratitude, trying to close the window as soon as possible.

“But..how come the window is open? Is it broken? ” -Vulcan said before (Y/N) closed the window.

“No! Um..I guess I forgot the close it the night before. ”- she delved deeper into her excuses, realizing more and more how big a problem she is struggling with.

"Don't worry, I'll tell Shinra and Arthur to check every window from now on to make sure they're closed when we leave." - he said with a hearty smile, turning and waving goodbye. She followed him with her eyes for a bit with a sad look of defeat. This was her last idea of how to sneak in and out of the building, and it is now a thing of the past. She would have to face the captain again. A crystal tear danced in the corner of her eye as a rush of emotion passed through her being. She felt cornered, and the only thought that just crossed her mind didn't help. Her heart craved solace, and her brain created the only scenario that could provide it, and that was Obi’s long arms wrapped around her fragile shoulders, hugging her and whispering in her ear that everything was fine and that he was there now. She shook her head as if trying to push that scene as far as she could, opening her eyes.

No… no… this is not right..I can’t…

After that day, she decided to deal with her problem head on. Well, at least in some way. She sucked in the raging waves of her desire and tried to keep the encounters with Obi brief, more professional than usual, and above all, public. Always to be around people. She even started to leave her door wide open when there was no patient in, so if she sees him, someone would always pass in the hallways shortly after, and she would give her best to indulge in a conversation with that person, making them to join the two of them. But now, Obi was in her office alone, and he closed the door behind him.

He did not say anything, he just kept walking in her direction slowly, his eyes the color of dark honey staring in hers, making her take a few steps back when she bumped in the table behind her.

"H-hinawa will be ok if he follows the list I made him." - she answered nervously, trying not to stutter, exhaling gratefully when Obi stopped a meter away from her.

“I agree, good nutrition is very important. I would like to hear you professional opinion and advice on it. Maybe..you could show me how to properly eat over a dinner. ” - his voice exuded self-confidence, but he could hear the buzzing in his ears from the pressure as blood flowed rapidly through his body as his heart quickly pumped it.

She can’t misinterpret this.

He thought as he clenched his fists impatiently inside the pockets of his orange fire pants. But he was wrong. She didn’t have to misinterpreted it, she only has to go back to her endless denial and dodge the bullet.

Dinner… ..? Did he say… .d..dinner?

She could barely stand on her feet when she realized what he had asked her. She lowered her gaze, her hair covered her face as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.

Is it possible he wants the same thing as I do? Not! Impossible! Even if he wants to, we can't,… we can't… He is my captain, and I am the doctor of this company.

Her heart was now skipping a beat as the panic attack clawed its way up to her very core. She knew if she looked him in the eyes and tried to speak, her voice would break and her tears would fall. She had to run. She had to get out of here. Without even looking up, she slipped between the chair and the table, dodging Obi in a full circle, not turning back, wanting to reach the door quickly. When she grabbed the doorknob, she could feel a glimmer of relief as she deftly directed an answer to Obi, who stood quietly behind her.

“Of course! That is a great idea! I can show everyone tonight at the party we are having! ”- how she managed to forget about it, about one golden ticket that was now in her hands, party where all the members of Company 8 will be, and they will have dinner together. She didn't let him answer, but flew out of the room as if the devils were chasing her. And she was haunted, the darkest demons of her forbidden desires who were now fed with his inappropriate question.

* * *

This warm summer night in the company garden was different than usual. It was decorated with shiny little lights in various colors, hanging from the high tree branches, balloons being glued to the doors and some of them lying on the floor on top of the glittery confetti. They dragged two wide tables from the conference room, filling them with paper glasses, hard plastic dishware, various appetizers they ordered from the catering a few blocks away, a cake server sinking into an untouched cake, a big bowl of punch, a few beers, sodas, and a box filled with ice mixed with energy drinks.

From all this choices, (Y/N)’s hand instantly reached for the cooled can of energy drink. She snapped the metal opener, bringing the bubbly liquid to her glossy lips. She hummed when she tasted the beverage, enjoying the waking up sensation it brought to her senses. She turned, viewing all of the company members enjoying their time together. This was her first time celebrating the company’s anniversary with them, and she loved it already.

Arthur and Shinra playing like two little kids, throwing balloons at each other screaming in playful rage, Hinawa picking the vegetables from the metal plates filled with food, honoring his word to the doctor, the girls giggling and commenting how Vulcan is trying his best to tie his tie but keeps falling, blushing and turning so they can’t see, but they just keep fallowing the poor guy around and innocently teasing him. Only one person was missing. She felt a cold sting of panic traveling along her spine. Pushing down the unpleasant feeling, she closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to convince herself that everything will be just fine. She practiced this at home, for the love of Sol, for hours. After this morning and her talk with Obi, she made her best move in denial yet. Deciding that over thinking it as always will only bring more harm, so she decided to brush it off as a misunderstanding. He must have thought the same thing, the dinner party tonight. That was all she allowed herself to conclude, exhaling slowly and feeling the relaxation take over. But then she opened her eyes, and her heart started racing once more.

Wearing his official captain’s uniform which consisted of a blue jacket with his medals, a white shirt and a dark blue tie underneath the jacket, and neatly ironed pants with a matching color. His broad shoulders looked even bigger under this fancy clothing, his biceps that did not appreciate being covered stretching the materiel to its limits, and his muscular chest standing even more out under that white shirt.

(Y/N) knew her cheeks were rosy already, as she swallowed the saliva that accumulated in her mouth, trying to calm her hands from shaking and greet the captain properly. She tried to bow, but a warm feeling on her shoulder that was exposed because of her strapless cocktail dress and a firm but gentile pressure made her stand back up straight. Obi’s palm was now resting on her delicate skin, not moving it even after he made his point about No need to bow thing.

“(Y/N)..you look..lovely.”- he said every word slowly, carefully, like he himself is trying to get accustomed to them. He wanted to say so much more, but even with his new born bravery and dedication of accepting how he feels about her, he knew they were not alone and from what he gathered, (Y/N) only got more agitated when he tried to approach her in front other members. When they are alone, she runs, but when others are around, she is clearly upset. He pulled his hand back, hating the feeling of removing his skin from hers.

“Thank you Captain.”- she said restrainedly, again lowering her gaze, searching for the coverage of her hair falling over her face. She was trying to think of a way to end this conversation fast, excuse herself and go away to find safety by talking to someone else, but before she could muster any good ideas, Obi’s body got closer, almost towering over her. She rose her eyes quickly, widening them in shock as her eyes were locked on his, his face now inches away. Everything happened almost in slow motion, in her head this lasted for hours, when it was only for a brief moment, when he leaned, brushing his chest on her arm, reaching for a cup of punch on the table behind her. She did not even notice what he was actually doing, the closeness was too much for her. Her anxiety was through the roof, her breath shallow, and her mind blank when his enchanting perfume intoxicated her senses. All alarms in her head started screaming and echoing in her head, her feet shivering as she choked on her own whines. How weak he made her, how insanely fragile to his presence. She could not bear it, this fight in a ring can only be won by one and it is always him. She needed to escape once again, as her eyes filled with tears.

“Excuse me.”- a muffled sound escaped her lips as she rushed past him, dodging the gaze of everyone in the garden and walking as fast as she could to the bathroom.

She splashed cold water on her flustered face. The pea-sized drops rushed down her cheek to her neck, as (Y/N) shivered under the icy feeling. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, as the salty tears now combined with water on her skin, mildly covering her real state. This got out of hand, she knew it from the moment she started to giggle and feel butterflies in her stomach every time he spoke to her. She should have dealt with it right then and there, not let it go so far that she can’t stand being around him no more. Nothing stings harder than forbidden love, and at least now she can admit it to herself, speak plainly in her own mind. She will have to quit, leave this place and these people she already considered family behind just to spare them of her unprofessional behavior and her betrayal, falling for a man that is her commander.

This is how it is meant to be…there is nothing I can do about it no more…it is written in the stars..

She could swear in that moment her heart broke in half. She could feel the meat of the muscle that gives you life slowly splitting in the middle.

“Why do you always run away?”- a deep whisper echoed the on the bathroom tiles. In that voice pain was hearable, deepness of the emotion that was buried somewhere for too long. (Y/N) turned just to face him once again, but this time she had no strength for pretending, she just turned her head to hide her tears and said in a whiny voice:

“Please Captain, I want to be alone.”- seeing her like this made Obi almost lose the ground under his feet. His protective instinct made him rush to her, but just before his reaching hand touched her, he stopped, realizing that his sudden movements made this to happen. He tried but never actually said it out load, to be clear. He took a deep breath, fighting the need to wrap his hands around her fragile body and hold her tight until the first morning light comes, shows her how he wants to be the one who protect her from harm, not the one causing it.

“The truth is, I am not feeling well lately..so I need your help.” – hearing this words from him made something in (Y/N) to snap. Her doctor side drilled its way up to the surface and concern for his well being took the lead. She turned, facing him with her cheeks painted with dark stains of her mascara.

“What happened? Are you in pain? When did it start?”- she started to check him with her eyes, looking for some kind of a injury, but there was nothing.

“You can’t see it from outside..It started 10 months ago, one morning, and I’ve been worse ever since. I’ve been distracted, and I can’t do it no more.”- he said clenching his fists. Her vision got blurry from the tears still being in there, but they did not fall. She listened, squeezing her lips in a straight line.

“I am in love with you, (Y/N). From the moment you took a turn on the street and walked in our company.” – his tensed muscles suddenly relaxed, like a huge weight have been lifted of his shoulders.

“I need to know do you feel the same, because I can’t stand to see you dodging me with any chance you got. Don’t think I did not notice. If you don’t want me, I will sto…”

“It is not that I don’t want it! I just..We..we can’t..”- her voice shattering like glass, barely managing to finish her sentences.

“Why?! Why do you think we can’t?”- Obi tried to stay calm, but being unable to hold her close, and hearing that she feels the same way but is denying it , got him close to the edge.

“Because you are my captain, and I am your subordinate! It is unethical! No one would understand!”- she screamed, unleashing the suffering she held inside, the opinion that tortured her, the fear of the judgment from others.

“So?! That are only useless titles! Worthless positions!”- he took one step closer unnoticed, slowly narrowing the space between them.

“No one would approve…I am not the one for you.”- she sniffled, trying to wipe away the rolling tears with a shaking hand, again crumbling under the feeling of a breaking heart.

“Because you are the one for me, I am willing to risk everything else. I don’t care if I have to resign, I don’t care what people would say…only thing I do care about it you.”- this time he knew it was not a dream, and there is nothing that could hold him back now. His hands landed on her thin waist, pulling her on him. She gasped as she crashed on his chest, feeling so small and fragile under him.

“Capt..”- her words have been shushed when his lips crashed on hers. The hungry mouth kissed her like she was his food and water and he was walking starved in the desert for decades. (Y/N) had her eyes half opened, looking how angelic face holds the expression of relief and happiness, the feelings that now consumed him when he finally tasted his forbidden fruit. His soft lips shifted on hers, opening them slowly as his tongue started to explore her mouth, finding hers and traveling along its surface, starting an erotic dance between their mouths. She let herself go, feeling how her feet became numb, her body screaming for him and wants to pull his huge one closer like a magnet. His wide palms shifted along her waist, squeezing it, exploring her shape along her back and down to her hips, sinking his fingers in the tender flesh.

“O-obi.”- she moaned between kisses, sinking her nails in his chest, feeling how adrenaline flows through her, giving herself to him to the fullest. His hands sifted a bit more, cupping her ass and lifting her up on the sink, opening her legs with his knee and shattering the space between them once more and he pushed himself on her.

“I want you (Y/N). I need you.” – he whispered, kissing her jaw, licking his way down to her collarbone. She moaned his name wrapping her thighs around him. His fingers found their way to the zipper of her dress along her ribs, pushing it down slowly. But before he lowered it, he tilted his head up, gazing at her, looking for permission. She blinked with her dark lashes, as she nodded , biting her lip. He gripped her with more force, barely controlling his wild desire. He bit the materiel of her cocktail dress, pulling it down from her bust. A dark lace bra without stripes held her tits with little force, making them almost fall out without him even touching them, but he did not plan to wait for that to happen. He unbuckled the buckle in the middle, releasing her breasts.

Seeing her big soft flesh bare in front of him made his hardened member swell a bit more. He placed her delicate nipple between his teeth ,pulling slowly then mending it with his kiss and tongue, while the other breast was squeezed with his hand. He played with the doughy flesh, making his fingers skin deep in and his grip got harder, placing the nipple between his fingers and pinching it, making (Y/N) to cry out his name while he was working both of her nipples with his talent.

She tasted good as she smelled. The minty scent filled his nostrils, making him inhale more deeply to catch every bit of it. The sensitive nipples were somehow sweet, brushing against the smooth surface of his tongue. He sucked harder, lifting the other one he had in his hand and pulling the delicate spot in the same time as he bit the other nipple. (Y/N) felt her juices soaking her black thong, how her fingers intertwined with his dark brown hair , pulling him closer, wanting him to devour her more. But he was hungry for something else. Still massaging her breast, he lowered his head down, kissing along her belly while pulling her dress down off her with his free hand. The lower he got, the wider did (Y/N) spread her legs.

Her sexual instinct made her open up for him like a flower bud, giving him access to her most intimate parts. He waste no time, removing the panties to the side, letting the heat of her soaked hole hit his face. He licked his lips on the sight ahead, slowly gathering the icing from her folds with the tip of his tongue. When she felt his tender muscles playing around her pussy, she cried out louder, giving her best to stay at least a bit quiet, but he did not make that job easy. He stuck his tongue deeper between her folds, licking her slit up and down, growling quietly from the satisfaction.

“You are delicious…much better than how I dreamed you would be..”- he murmured before shoving his tongue inside her, pumping it in as deep as he could reach, while teasing her clit with his index finger, pushing the nerve button tenderly as he fucked her with his tongue, while the juices smeared around his lips.

“D-Don’t say such things…”- she said biting on her knuckles, trying to suppress the lewd sounds coming from her mouth.

“But you are (Y/N). Your little pussy taste so good. I want to eat it whole.”- he whispered, as his voice sent vibrations along her delicate flesh, making her legs shiver. She could feel the tension building in her stomach, the feeling of sweet release coming closer. He sucked in her pussy lips along with her clit before shoving his tongue back between her velvety walls, returning both of his hand to her tits, pinching her nipples and pulling them hard. Her climax kicked in and she covered her mouth to hide the whiny sound of her orgasm, but Obi was quicker, grabbing her wrists and pulling them off her mouth.

“No. I want to hear you cum (Y/N).”-he twisted her nipple lightly, grabbing the whole breast with it and massaging it in fast motions while he licked her clit, making the electric feeling take over her body as she came and screamed his name as loud as she could. Her head started falling down, but Obi was ready to catch her, picking her up once more and carrying her to the wall. He pinned her bare back on the cold tiles, as the icy feeling against her skin get her a bit more concentrated after that wild orgasm.

“I will fuck you now baby.”- he pressed his lips on her, as she heard a sound of him unzipping his pants. She did not even have the chance to see what was coming, when she felt a light sting between her legs. She tried to relax her muscles to make the huge thing come in smoothly, but even that and her juices did not help. Obi’s rock hard length stretched her like nothing before, barely managing to fit in. She buried her head in his muscular shoulder as he continued to slowly push it.

“You are so tight baby..Fuck..”- he forced his way in, enjoying the clenching of her inner walls around his throbbing cock.

“O-obi …it is too big.”-she gasped for air, feeling overly opened.

“You are doing great baby..”- he whispered before jerking his hips upward, filling her to the end with his dick. His base hit her folds, as he stand still for a moment to let her get used to his size, then he started moving. Rocking his hips back and forth, harder, making (Y/N) to scratch his back under his shit while she moaned uncontrolably.

“Damn…you are perfect…you have no idea how many times I imagined this..how long I waited..”- he gasped his words, hitting hard between her shaky legs, as her lower back slammed on the tiles. He grabbed her ass cheeks and slammed her on his dick while he still drilled his way in, in the same time, lowering his head and starting sucking on her tits, leaving reddish marks all over her bust, sucking the flesh with passion, making his way down to her nipple, just to suck on it as he did on now swollen places before.

His thrust became shallow, faster, as he chased his orgasm. His fast hits just made her already overly stimulated clit to send more electric waves along her spine, filling her with another adrenaline rush, going back down to her lower parts and she felt she will cum one more time. The tone of her voice became higher, as she pulled him closer with her thighs. His stone hard biceps tensing as he murmured her name in her ear.

“Fuck..I will..I will cum (Y/N).”- he murmured around her nipple as he slammed wildly in her cunt, making the last hit harder than any before, nailing her to the wall as he filled her with his cum. She felt the warm feeling in the lower part of her belly, knowing how he is pumping her womb with his sperm. He pulled out gently, still holding her on the wall. His seductive smile and gentile eyes now focused on her, brushing his nose on hers.

“Please, never run away from me again. “- he asked, voice filled with emotions.

“I won’t.”- she said with teary eyes. His soft lips once again found hers, locking this promise and rewriting the faith written in the stars.

#Fire force #Obi akitaru #enen no shouboutai #obi akitaru x reader #fire force #obi akitaru

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f0rever15elf · 4 years

Text

I’m Sorry

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: T Word count: 1,961 Warnings: Alcohol mention, swearing, drinking/getting drunk alone, angst, verbal fighting, no beta

Summary: All couples fight eventually, but this time leaves you questioning your relationship with Marcus

A/N: This is a fic for the following anonymous request: “ Hi!! I was wondering if your Pedro requests are still open? Cause if they are I’d like to request a Marcus Pike or Frankie Morales piece, where they like get into an argument with you and it’s like super angsty, but y’all make up in the end ((: “ I hope you enjoy it dear!

Masterlist | Ao3

“You absolute CHILD!” you shriek as you slam the door open, storming into the home you shared with Marcus.

“Oh, I’m the child?! You’re the one throwing a temper tantrum!” Marcus slams the door closed with just as much force as you slammed it open.

“Yes, Pike. You’re the child! I cannot believe you right now.” You wheel on him, stabbing your finger against his chest as you glare up at him. “Do you even realize how fucking embarrassed I am right now? I’m never going to be able to show my face at a work function ever again all because you decided to turn into a little green-eyed monster! Child!” Marcus snarls, grabbing your wrist to pull it away from his chest. His grip was firm, but even in the heat of the anger and jealousy you could see bubbling in his eyes, he was still gentle enough to not hurt you.

“And what would you have had me do, huh?! Just let your ex sit there and cozy up to you like that? He had his hands on you and his eyes hadn’t left you all freaking night!”

You yank your wrist from his grasp, absolutely seething. “We’re coworkers! We have an image to upkeep as far as being cordial with each other, especially in front of share holders! Marcus, there were investors there, and your little outburst has put every single deal involving them in jeopardy!” You rip your shoes off, the uncomfortable heels not aiding your mood in the slightest. “All because you got jealous of my ex. All because you couldn’t stand to see me being friendly with someone who use to be in my life. I have never done something like that to you! Not when your high school sweetheart left you flowers. Not when Lisbon sauntered her happy ass into your office, perched herself on you desk, and FIXED YOUR FUCKING HAIR!” Marcus’ nostrils flare as he towers over you, his voice low when he speaks again.

“Don’t bring them into this, this isn’t about them.”

“Oh like hell it isn’t! You know why I didn’t care about those two? Cause I was confident you wouldn’t do anything to hurt or betray me. Because I fucking love you and trust you! But apparently you don’t feel the same way, if your self confidence is so low that you can’t stand to see me laughing with my ex without deciding it’s an appropriate time to throw hands!” That was a low blow, and you knew it, but you were so angry the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. The two of you stand there in the living room, shoulders heaving as you pant for air. You could hear a pin drop, and the tension was so thick it felt suffocating. Slowly, the anger fades from Marcus’ eyes, replaced only with pain as his expression shifts. You cut him deep with that comment, you know you did, and it hurt to see that pain in his gentle eyes.

“M...Marcus…” Your voice is much softer now as you reach for his hand, but he takes a step back out of your reach, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he whispers, turning and grabbing the car keys from the bowl as he all but runs from the house. You stand there frozen, hand outstretched as you listen to the sound of the car engine starting followed by the tires squealing as he tears out of the driveway. Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over as you begin to tremble.

What have you done?

The minutes turn into hours as you sit in the dark of your living room, waiting on your Marcus to return. An empty wine bottle sits on the coffee table next to a second nearly empty one. You swirl the pale liquid in your glass before bringing it to your lips to down the rest of it. Your once manicured nails have been bitten down to the nail bed, a nasty habit of yours when your anxiety gets the better of you. A habit that hadn’t reared its ugly head since the day you met Marcus… Two in the morning and he still isn’t home and you’re getting worried. You had messed up, and big time. You know how much Marcus struggles with his own confidence after how Lisbon had treated him. You know that, and you still felt the need to fling it in his face. Words said out of anger, words you didn’t mean...you couldn’t take them back now, no matter how much you wished you could.

A fresh round of sobs bubble from your throat as your hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to hold them back. Marcus is the best thing to have ever happened to you, how the hell could you do something like this to him, no matter how angry you were. You rub your eyes, looking like a raccoon from the smeared makeup, before you stagger to your feet. You wanted Marcus. You needed him. You needed him here, at home, where you could apologize until your voice goes hoarse and it still wouldn’t be enough.

The world spins around you, the two bottles of wine catching up to you as you stagger through the living room before falling to your knees. You cradle your face in your hands, sobs wracking your chest. Please come home Marcus, please come home. You don’t hear the key in the lock over the sound of your sobs, but when you feel the rush of air from the door opening, your head snaps up, bleary eyes searching desperately for the love of your life.

“Marcus?” you whimper, barely audible.

“Oh, love...what did you do?” he murmurs as he shuts the door before coming to your side, cradling your cheek gently. Desperate hands reach out to grab his shirt, now wrinkled and untucked from his pants, his jacket missing and sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry Marcus!” you wail, collapsing against him. His gentle arms wrap around you and he sighs, resting his head on top of yours. “I s-shouldn’t h-ha-have said wh-what I did! I was wr-wrong and c-cruel! P-please d-don’t leave m-me!” you plead, trembling against him.

“Leave you? Darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He leans back and tilts your chin up to look at him, paying no mind to the black splotches your makeup leaves against his once crisp white button down. His thumb traces along your chin before his hand moves to cup your face, running his thumb along your cheek bone. “You smell like wine...how much have you had?” You shake your head, ignoring the question as you continue to cling to him, your sobs slowing.

“I love you and I d-din’t mean what I said,” you whimper. “Don go again, p-please don g-go again.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere, I just needed to cool down. Calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He brushes your hair from your face as best he can before pulling you back against his chest, slowly rocking you in the middle of the floor. His hand pets your hair gently, soothingly as the remaining cries slowly abate. “Let’s get you to bed, love. Alright? We can discuss this more in the morning.” You mumble something unintelligible against his chest as he helps you stagger to your feet, guiding you to the bedroom. He carefully sits you on the bed, helping you undress down to your bra and underwear, removing your jewelry before going to get a warm cloth, helping to wipe your face. Finally, he hands you a glass of water which you stubbornly refuse at first. “Baby, please? For me?” You crumble, taking the glass and chugging it. He smiles and takes the glass back before gently laying you down so you’re slightly elevated.

When he joins you in bed you roll to snuggle against him, soaking in his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. The last words from your lips before you slip into unconsciousness are a very slurred I’m sorry.

The light of the day streaking across your face is what wakes you in the morning, and you groan as you come around, your head absolutely pounding. Your eyes feel like they’re full of sand and you can barely open them. Every joint in your body hurts and your mouth tastes like sandpaper. Slowly sitting up, you see a glass of water sitting on the nightstand next to two pain pills which you quickly take, downing the whole glass. As you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes in an attempt to dull the ache, last night comes rushing back to you and a wave of intense shame washes over you. A quiet rustling draws your attention to the door, and you seem Marcus peeking in. He gives you his gorgeous smile, one you feel you don’t deserve as he comes in.

“Good morning beautiful,” he whispers, knowing your head is probably killing you.

“Hi, Marcus…” He takes a seat on the bed next to you, taking your hand.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit...for a few reasons.” You look down at your connected hands, yours fitting so perfectly into his. “I’m sorry.”

“Want to elaborate on that?” He asks gently, lifting your face to look at him. There is a pained light in his eyes still that grows when he sees the shame and sadness in your own.

“For everything. For yelling, for that low blow, for...for getting drunk alone, for accusing you of bullshit and...and I…” you begin to tremble, his hand on your face the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “And I was so terrible to you and I’m so sorry, Marcus, I’m so fucking sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as his hand leaves your face to place on the back of your head, pulling you against him. He smells as he always does, like cinnamon and coffee and his fresh aftershave and you use that smell to ground yourself.

“I’m sorry too, love of my life. I shouldn’t have behaved that way at the banquet, and I’ve already taken measures to mitigate what damage I may have done.” You shake your head, pulling back to look up at him.

“Screw the deals. They’re temporary.” You reach up to cup his cheek, your heart swelling as he leans into your touch. “You’re the one I’m in love with, the one I want to spend forever with. Everything else can burn to the ground, I just need you. I’ll always need you.” He smiles at you, that pain in his eyes fading as he watches you for a moment before leaning in to press his lips gently to yours. When he pulls back, he brushes your hair from your face before pressing his forehead to yours.

“We both acted like a couple of fools last night. Let’s put it behind us, ok? We’ll move forward and be better.” He takes your hand and places it over his heart. “It’s yours, completely and totally. I trust and love you with everything I am. I’ll be better, for you. For us.” Your eyes prickle with tears and you sniffle before leaning up to kiss him again.

“I love you too Marcus, so much. You’re my everything. I’ll be better for you, because you only deserve the best.”

He grins, placing a kiss on your nose. “Hey, that’s my line.”

You giggle softly, cuddling into him as he lays you back down to get a few more hours of rest. It’s all ok, you think. It’s all going to be ok. You still have your Marcus, and that is all that matters.

~~~~~

Tag Lists: Permanent : @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @tangledlove27, @paintballkid711, @lose-eels, @adamdrivercouldchokeme

Tag list is open! Fic Requests are open!

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #the mentalist #my fic #pedro pascal

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 5)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: The usual :)

A/N: Hi! I really hope you like this chapter, and that you are enjoying the story so far. I didn’t notice many people reading chapter 4, and it was posted out of schedule, cause I decided every one wednesday I’m gonna post an extra chapter of something related to this story, so just in case I’m linking it here. Thank you for reading, hope you like it, and please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius

Your eyes travel over the ship and its crew without you meaning to, taking in curiously the wooden ship that seems to have two bows instead of one. The sea laps at the worn wood but of course, it holds and breaks the waves with ease as you move further and further away from the city captured by Stithulf and his men.

The salty wind makes a mess of your hair, and you reach up unconsciously to move it out of the way, when the rattling of chains and the weight on your wrists stops you. A bubble of panic, of terror and of impotence starts at your chest, but you shut it down as quickly as you can, refusing to show weakness in front of these Norsemen.

Narses takes a seat on your side, his rough fingers moving your wind-swept hair out of the way so he can press a kiss on your bare neck in greeting. You smile faintly at him, and put your hand on his thigh with ease, ignoring Galla’s stare.

“We will be in Sparta in a matter of days,” The girl informs instead of voicing her real thoughts that you see shining in her dark gaze, and you nod. After a breath, she states, “The Laconians won’t take happily to the last of Lysander’s blood marrying a Thebesian.”

“I was raised by a Varangian and we just lost the war I decided to start,” You inform her without stopping to think about the pain of defeat, “Do you truly believe the biggest of their concerns is who I’m taking to bed?”

“I love you too, dear.” Narses states dryly under his breath, and you turn to him, offering him a smile that he returns with ease, promising he was jesting.

“My advice, little one?” Sieghild calls out, and you three turn to watch the Varangian approach you from the stern of the trireme. Without waiting for your answer, the redhead continues, “Do not pretend not to have your share of arrogance, of pride. Embrace it, for you are of Spartan blood. Embrace their brutality, their pride, their strength. Show weakness once and you will be like a lamb surrounded by lions.”

You look into her green eyes, and something in her words makes you think she speaks from experience. Rorik, your mind recalls, and you feel a pang of pain for your mother, but don’t say anything about it.

“You sound proud of the Laconians, Varangian.” Galla teases around a smile, leaning back on the wooden edge.

“Nothing on Viking berserkers,” She dismisses without hesitation before turning to you again, “But your blood is that of warriors, little one. And…you are my daughter, I raised you,” She points an inked finger your way, a threat and a caution, “and Viking women don’t raise lambs.”

“Priestess,” You captor calls out arrogantly, taking your attention away from your memories and your eyes away from the sea. King Ivar sits on a wooden crate by one of the edges of the ship, his hands toying with his crutch as he watches you.

When you lift your eyebrows, he motions for a place at his side, “Come sit with me.”

Sieghild’s horror stories of what Vikings do to prisoners, how they fight, how they kill, return to your mind like passing memories, setting your nerves alight and making your heart pound in your chest. It unnerves you more than unbridled rage, this courtesy.

You stand your ground and spit back, “Thinking I will jump ship?”

The Viking looks at you with a terrifying smile on his face, like he is reminding you of winning a fight you didn’t know you partook in. “You know, I went through a lot of trouble to find you.” He says, fingers near his mouth as his clear eyes roam over your red clad figure.

“Am I to be impressed?” You ask, your own eyes narrowed. You are well aware you are playing with fire, but whatever ought to happen to you will happen regardless of how you act. And granting the Varangian the satisfaction of seeing how scared, how unmoored, how exposed you feel is something you want to avoid.

Instead of holding your gaze, the Viking looks over your shoulder and gestures with a hand.

The sharp edge of a battle axe setting silently at the side of your neck brings you to stiff attention and forces all the breath out your lungs. The warrior that holds it looks ahead, you notice through a side-glace, keeping obedient eyes on his King.

“Ivar, is this really necessary?” The voice of the Viking that saved your skin in Stithulf’s docks breaks the silence. You watch the young man straighten in his place, biting into an apple but keeping his eyes on the King.

“She’s my prize, brother.” King Ivar reminds him, a dangerous edge to his voice that lets loose a new kind of tension in the air.

The two brothers remain still, measuring each other for a few moments, before the Prince sighs and desists, walking away into somewhere in the ship you cannot see.

So this is what you have been reduced to: a spoiled King’s plaything. Delightful.

The King turns his attention back to you, and the cold that runs down your spine when you face his pale eyes makes the blade of the axe sitting at your neck nothing but a bonus.

Viking women don’t raise lambs.

You straighten your spine and stare him down, daring him even when you know how dangerous it is to do so. And you could swear the beginning of a smile teases at Ivar’s lips.

In answer to your previous question, as if pretending the interaction with his brother didn’t happen, the King says,

“You are smarter than that,” He dismisses, and the blade leaves its place at the side of your neck silently. Still, you say nothing in response, so he gestures again to the empty space at his side, “Sit.”

You bite your tongue and take the seat, eyeing him coldly and angrily the entire time. This only seems to please him further, and it is infuriating and terrifying.

“Why am I here, King Ivar?” You ask quietly instead of voicing other thoughts, and look into his eyes trying to find any attempt to lie.

“I will explain later,” He says simply, the arrogance of a spoiled child in the gesture of his hand that you grit your teeth at, but say nothing. He looks up at you, his chin turned downwards and if you didn’t know better the gesture would look innocent. The King starts again, “And now you say my name, so I think I should finally know yours.”

You kept your name a secret for a long time, from many a man. Not that it means anything, not that it carries any value anymore. But…it is yours. It is yours to invoke and to know, yours to voice, yours to give away.

Names bind us, names define us; that’s what Attica taught you. Names are dangerous things when one aims to be free, because names chain us. To a family, to a legacy, to an ideal, to a home. To nostalgia.

You didn’t want Ivar knowing your name then, the same way you didn’t want to acknowledge his, because it wouldn’t make you two just…you two. It would make you Daughter of Athens, Heir to Sparta, Anassa of the Attics. It would make him King of Kattegat, Son of Ragnar Lothbrok, Ivar the Boneless.

But those hopes of escaping a world of chains and burdens, it was so foolish and childish you feel not only regret but embarrassment at how you almost thought you could trust the man now before you. Those hopes that you could be anything more than a witch, a queen, a betrothed; those hopes escaped you when they put chains on your wrists.

So, you tell him quietly, and ignore the pang of…something in your chest when he tries the foreign syllables in his tongue a few times.

“Now you know all my secrets, King Ivar. Happy?” You ask dryly, looking at him from the corner of your eye as your face turns to the sea.

He hums to himself, clearly not believing you, but stays silent for the time being, and as time trickles down you realize you feel less and less eyes on the two of you. If his fame is to be believed, him taking a prisoner alive is reason of curiosity if not outright disbelief, so you try not to think too much of it.

“You didn’t tell me you were their Queen.” The Viking starts, and you shrug.

“My kingdom is ashes, and my people are dead. I have no interest in being queen over death,” You reply almost mechanically, but then catch yourself and frown his way, “You didn’t tell me you were counting on making me a prisoner, either.”

The anger is clear in his face as he sighs, his head moving slightly with the movement. Angering him shouldn’t delight you the way it does, for it may mean pain and death for you, but the glimpse of something real, something that is because of you, that brings control back to you; is enough and more than worth it.

“You are not a prisoner.” He grits out, but all you do is lift your shackled hands in response.

His gaze holds yours for a few moments, his jaw set tight. But you remain still and trying with all your might that your expression doesn’t betray your fear, your anxiety, your pain.

His loud bark of a name startles you, but you stay still as he motions for the warrior he called up to remove your chains. After a moment of hesitation, the young Viking approaches you, kneeling in front of you and making quick work of the iron bindings.

Soon enough the shackles around your wrists fall to the floor. You refuse to show the relief your sore skin feels at the newfound freedom, instead murmuring a thanks to the warrior as he takes his leave away from the two of you.

Lifting your eyes to the King, you raise your eyebrows at his almost expectant silence, “I am not thanking you.”

But he only smiles, and you could swear there’s an edge of hunger in his pale eyes.

____

Apollo’s chariot is almost at the end of its journey when the rattling of chains startles you from restless sleep, the monotonous movement of the ship having lulled you to sleep on a corner of the ship not so subtly guarded by the King like a dog protecting an old bone.

Two chained women who you assume to be slaves given as part of Stithulf’s deal with Ivar turn wide eyes to you as they see you move, huddled together a few feet from you.

Your eyes sweep the area around you and you find no trace of the King, but a glimpse of the man that announced himself as Hvitserk keeping vigilant eyes on you from the distance tells you the King hasn’t let go of this particular bone yet.

Still, you turn to the women.

“Are you injured?” You ask in a poor attempt at their language, and while one of them seems to consider your question for a moment the other grips a necklace at her throat and mutters something to herself. Of course, their cross can protect them from the Mediterranean witch, how could you forget. Gritting your teeth, you look away, unable to avoid the sting of shame and hurt.

Stealing a glance to the Prince that lingers with his watchful gaze on you as he eats an apple, you stand up on stiff legs and roll your shoulders as you walk to a part of the ship away from the women but also away from most of the Vikings.

The presence of the King behind you is not silent, the heavy stabs of the crutch on the wooden floor of the ship letting you know he approaches. But even without those sounds, you ponder, you’d still feel his curious and cruel eyes set upon you, like you do now.

The Viking calls your name, and you face him to see he is offering you a knife, handle turned to you.

Your wide eyes go from the small blade in his bandaged hand, up his arm and up to meet his own eyes, but the King does not falter, still offering you the weapon.

“What are…Why are you offering me that?”

“It’s yours,” He promises, moving his hand and inciting you to take it. With caution, you do, closing your fingers around the circular handle and bringing the knife close to you. Leaning back, seemingly satisfied, the King says, “After stealing it from me and almost gauging out that Saxon’s eye, Priestess, you have earned yourself a weapon.”

You do not know if he means it as a compliment or a patronizing way of recognizing what you did, so of course you respond with a curl of your lip and looking down at the knife.

“You are certain I won’t use it against you?” You ask before you can stop yourself, but the King only huffs a breath.

“It would be interesting to see you try, Priestess.”

“I may not be like one of your shieldmaidens but I know how to hurt.” You offer, if a bit defensive, raising your eyes to meet his.

But Ivar smiles, and although the darkness in his expression doesn’t surprise you, the hunger in it does.

“That’s the thing, Priestess, you hurt,” A small, cruelly delighted laugh leaves his lips as he regards you like he did on that carnage that occurred outside of the city’s walls. “You could have done so much with that knife in your small hand, and you kno this. You could have slit your own throat, killed yourself before becoming a ‘Varangian’s prisoner’; you could have tried to kill me, punished me for putting chains on you,” His eyes are intense when his smile quietens, when his expression, although just as hungry and dark, becomes more a truth than a mask. Ivar’s voice drops when he promises, “You could have killed Stithulf. But you didn’t. You want him dead, but you didn’t kill him.”

You force your gaze away from his in what feels like an acceptance of defeat, and grit your teeth, trying to ignore the memory of blood on your lips. It tasted sweet when it shouldn’t have.

“I am not like you, I do not…delight myself with death, my King.” You offer still, reminding yourself you will not let the cruel nature of the man that imprisoned you change your own.

“That man you killed in that field,” Your body freezes in your seat, for a moment the errant thought of having killed someone he wants revenge for making your blood run cold. The King leans an elbow on his iron-encased thigh, his face close to yours, eyes intent on reading your every expression, “Why did you do it?”

“What? H-He would have killed me.”

“Was it just that that made you do it?” He insists, voice a purr and even if phrased as a question he looks into your eyes like he knows the answer.

“Yes.” You reply stiffly, teeth gritted.

The King laughs darkly, gesturing with his hand as if attempting to placate you. You do not, and instead of voicing whatever the blood in your veins wants you to -and get you killed for-, you bite your tongue.

“Then, if it was just survival, just a woman of the Gods defending herself; why is it that you want Stithulf dead, Priestess?” Ivar asks, voice dark and eyes with that same intensity as if he looks past the title turned burden that your people gave you and sees the parts of you that fill you with shame and regret. The Viking leans even closer, and continues, “I know you want him dead. And you don’t want to give him a clean death, he does not deserve it. You want to make him bleed, you want to make him scream; like you did to that warrior in the field.

You remain frozen in place, enthralled and terrified all at once. The King leans even closer, or maybe you do, and your breaths are almost one.

He watches you with that same intensity that he did from across the battlefield, where you stood in shaky ground with blood on your face, your mouth, your hands, your dress.

“I saw you, remember that. It was not a vow to your Gods that made you bash his face with the shield until he couldn’t fight anymore, it was not your desire to return to your…peaceful city that made you rip out his skin with your teeth, your Goddess did not kill him pushing that arrow into his eye.” You can only look back at him, eyes wide and heart beating fast. Ivar’s smile widens, tip of his pink tongue tracing his lower lip before he rasps out, “No, it was none of that…was it?”

I wanted to kill him, I wanted to make him scream in pain. I wanted to make him pay for what his brothers in arms did to mine, to Narses.

In his face I saw the face of every man that thought he could raise a hand to me, that silenced me, that wanted to take what’s mine.

But you refuse to voice those thoughts, you refuse to let that part of you breathe, and instead hiss,

“I come from a kingdom of peace and civility, and no matter what assumptions you make, I shall not forget that.” You tell him, almost feeling you are talking to yourself, repeating to yourself the same thoughts that you’ve been forcing into your mind for years now.

It is wrong to want death. It is wrong to want blood. It is wrong to want chaos.

You cannot find your belonging surrounded by death and iron, you tell yourself, but a whisper in the back of your mind offers: you will not find your belonging amongst flowers.

So you force your eyes to focus on the horizon of the sea meeting the sky all around you, not daring to even breathe.

“Of course, your home of flower fields and warmth.” He mocks, and although you steal a glance his way, your stomach lurching at his taunt, you say nothing else.

Admitting you starved in the flower fields of Eleusis, admitting you chased war and death like old friends asking you to dance, admitting your drive to deny the Byzantine Christians their foothold in Attica was more than the desire for freedom; it would all mean that your people died for nothing more than a fraud, that the priestess they followed and loved was a mirage, that you failed not only your legacy but yourself.

It would mean you are not your mother’s daughter, it would mean the baby they decided would be a follower of the Goddess of Spring failed the Gods themselves by craving chaos.

____

Hi, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this, I hope you like where it is going. I’d love to know what you think of this story so far!

Ik some correlations to the myth are very on-the-nose here, and they will continue to be bc that’s the point of the story, but we’ll pretend the Priestess can’t tell, for suspension of disbelief’s sake lol.

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #vikings #vikings imagine #νοσταλγία #νοσταλγία masterlist

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bbaronpiper · 4 years

Text

Words cut like knives

anddd we’re back to angst! this was requested by @lourd-ita. sorry it took a month when I said it’ll be up in a few days but I hope you’ll like it

9. Is that what you think of me?

got the video on IG and I turned it to gif. Credits to the owner of the video :)

Arón x reader

Arón was sitting on a chair on your shared apartment with his leg bouncing up and down with his phone in hand looking at it constantly, groaning in frustration. Anxiety getting the best of him as he tried to call you for the seventh time tonight and still got no response, not to mention the multiple text messages he sent you asking where you were. But of course, you didn’t know that as you were busy having fun with your friends.

Your friends were a mixed of different genders but mostly men. Your relationship with them are definitely platonic, you mess around and protect each other like brothers and sisters. Arón knew this and got no problem with it as he has friends that are women as well. He never got jealous of them ‘cos he said you were friends with them way before you guys met and he respects that.

Until tonight. Not when you haven’t replied to him not even once. Not when he saw a tagged photo of you with your friends right before dinner. It was a simple photo but your guy friend has his arm around you. He wasn’t even touching you his hand and arms are placed on the back of your seat. For some reason, Arón felt his face turn into hot red in anger and jealousy.

It was exactly 12 am when you arrived home. You weren’t drunk just tipsy. As soon as you open the door, Arón stood up and walked over to where you’re gonna see him right away and leaned on the wall with arms crossed. Oh, you are in deep shit.

“Finally! Cinderella’s home!” he exclaimed sarcastically.

You felt your heart beats a little faster as you walked up to him knowing he’s pissed. “you waited?” You asked as you kissed him on the lips. He lets you but he stares at you and had his eyebrows furrowed. Yep. You are fucked.

“Where were you?” he said with his jaw clenched obviously trying to keep himself from exploding.

“I was out with my friends, I told you last week that I’ll meet with them tonight, right?”

“No, you didn’t” he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“Baby, I did” you put your hand on his chest hoping you’ll get him to calm down.

“Let’s say you did, you didn’t think of reminding me today? I called you several times!” his voice getting higher now as your heart pounds on your chest. You hated it when you fight.

“My phone died. I was busy at work I forgot to charge it and went straight to our meeting place right after work!” you defended. “I didn’t know you forgot what today was”

“oh, so now it’s my fault?!” he scoffed.

“I didn’t say that Arón.” You defended but tried to remain calm. You didn’t want to add fuel to his anger.

He turned his back on you and walk towards the bedroom. you catched up to him before he got to the door.

“C’mon Arón, don’t be like this” you gripped on his forearm to stop him.

“Like what Y/N?! I am your fucking boyfriend I should get to know these things!” he screamed. He finally exploded and yanked his arms away from you. You were taken back by his actions he never yelled at you before. your face showed hurt and shock. He mirrored your expression as well but he didn’t dwell on it as his face changed back to anger in a second.

He was so angry he kept on talking fast as you just stood there listening to every word he says. Some sentences are in Spanish. Most time you find it hot but knowing the current situation, he spoke in his mother tongue out of anger and it scared you to be honest. Of course, you didn’t understand and you didn’t dare ask him what he said until he spoke in English.

“Why do you have to be such a slut Y/N!?” he looked straight at you.

“Excuse me?” you whispered as you felt a sharp pain on your chest.

“You heard me Y/N!” he took a step forward as you backed up. “You like it, huh? When you’re around men, knowing you turn them on? You enjoy their company even when you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home worried sick! You didn’t even bother to tell your fucking boyfriend where you were. What else are you not telling me, hmm? Were you fucking them Y/N? which one? Huh?! Oh, maybe all of them!” he continued to grill you until you backed up completely against the bedroom door.

The sound of your hand colliding on his cheek echoed across the room. You slapped him. You didn’t mean to do it but he really hurt your feelings.

“Is that what you think of me?” your tears are threatening to build up, your voice getting shaky.

He looked at you with wide eyes and guilt across his face. All of his anger dropped instantly. “No baby, that’s not what I meant. I’m so-”

“I hate you Arón!” You cut him off by pushing him away from you and went to your shared bedroom. you took a deep breath and hold it in to stop your tears from falling. Arón quickly followed you so you walked faster until you reached the bathroom inside your shared bedroom and locked the door. You let out the air you held and let yourself cry. You heard a knock on the door so you turned on the faucet on the bathtub and let the water run hoping it will drown the sound of your cries.

“Y/N, please open the door.” He pleaded. You didn’t answer as you were busy trying to stop yourself from crying. You cannot believe the words that came out of his mouth. You sat on the floor weeping. His words cut you like knives, it kept on repeating in your head and it’s killing you slowly as it dawned on you.

“Please, Y/N. Let’s talk, baby” Arón tried to persuade you again. “you know I didn’t mean it” his guilt was eating him alive as well. You told him you hated him and he knew he fucked up. You never say things you didn’t mean and it scared him to death.

Silence. Nothing was heard besides your cries and whimpers that he can hear on the other side of the door. Arón paced back and forth not knowing what to do ‘til he came up on the door again and knocked.

“I’m sorry Y/N, please come out, let’s fix this” you knew he was close to tears as well as you heard his voice trembles.

“Go away!” is all you managed to say.

He kept on talking and pleading on the other side while you strip out of your clothes and dip yourself on the bathtub. You managed to block out his pleading voice. It stopped after a while anyway. You splash your face with water hoping it would clear your mind as to what you need to do. You were contemplating whether to forgive him with all the begging he said or leave him. After all, he called you a slut. You love yourself enough to let anyone call you things like that specially when it’s not true.

After what felt like an eternity on hell. You decided to get out of the bathtub and wrapped yourself in your robe. You looked yourself on the mirror, shut your eyes tightly wiping away the last tears on your cheek, took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom.

Arón quickly stood up from the floor beside the bathroom door. You didn’t dare to look at him and went straight to your dresser. You grabbed a simple v-neck shirt and a pair of jeans. As soon as he saw you grabbed your jeans, he panicked. He knew you wouldn’t spend the night with him and it made him anxious. He walked up to you but didn’t dare to touch you. He knew better than to touch you when you’re pissed knowing it’ll trigger your anger and he doesn’t want that right now. He just stood there pulling at his hair harshly not knowing what to do nor say until you grabbed your suitcase and starts packing your clothes.

“what are you doing?” he asked softly as he blinked rapidly trying to figure out if what he’s seeing is real. Of course, you didn’t answer him. It was obvious.

“Y/N?...” he tried again walking closer to you carefully like he’s walking on a floor with bombs scattered around. You knew he’s scared. You heard it in his voice. Again, you didn’t answer him. You just continued to pile your clothes on your suitcases faster.

“Stop!” Arón said desperately. “Stop, baby. Please” he begged grabbing your arm. “I’m sorry!”

You jerked his hand away like what he did to you earlier and scoffed. You refused to say a word knowing you’ll just burst out in tears again. He started to grab the clothes you put in your suitcase and stuff it back into your dresser. You ignored him and continued to grab your clothes from the dresser to your suitcase while Arón puts it back in again where you got it from. You eventually got tired of it.

“The fuck do you want Arón?!” You screamed in frustration, your chin quivering as tears build up on your eyes again. Your chest felt heavy as you looked at his face. He looked so scared, his eyes and nose were red as well as his cheeks.

“I want you to stay” he said as he tried to touch your face but you backed up.

“After what you said tonight? No. thanks!” you then continued what you were doing before.

“I said I was sorry” he let out a frustrated sigh

How dare he to give you an attitude right now. It made your blood boil.

“You think its that simple? You’ll say you’re sorry and the pain will magically go away?!” you stared at him sternly you might punch a hole in him in a while. “I’m a slut huh? Lets-“

He cut you off by saying “That’s not what I -” which made you want to slap him again but you just clenched your fist instead so you cut him off too.

“Shut. The. fuck up. I’m not done talking!” you said with gritted teeth. All your anger was out now. You never felt this much anger before but his words really got to you. you can’t accept the fact that after all you’ve been through, he had the audacity to call you a slut and to accuse you of cheating. He then closed his mouth and looks at you like a lost puppy.

“So, as I was saying.” You faced him completely now. Standing a few inches away from each other. “You think I’m a slut? Okay. Let’s talk about what slut means. Does it mean liking every single naked pictures of women I see on Instagram like you do? Does a slut let other woman grind on them and kiss them on the cheeks at a party like you do? Huh? Or was it like exchanging “friendly” messages all throughout the day with heart emojis like YOU do? huh? tell me Arón. C’mon, enlighten me. I want to make sure you know what slut means!” you were so angry you didn’t realize you were pointing on his chest pushing him lightly every time you’re gonna spit out words. You were breathing heavily as you finished talking. You waited for him to speak.

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. He didn’t know it’ll all backfire on him. He was just worried about you when you didn’t come home but one thing led to another and he’s well aware he fucked things up. He tried to open his mouth and close it like a goddamn fish out of water but no words came out.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You rolled your eyes and went back to packing while Arón on the other hand was so close on peeing himself as fear creeps in on him. He’s afraid to lose you. He didn’t want to. He’s not ready for it but the boy is stupid enough to call you out like that.

You screamed as you felt a pair of arms suddenly scoop you up away from the dresser. He then sat you on bed and knelt in front of you. He took both of your hands, clasped them together and held it in his own. He placed a kiss on it then looked up at you. he let out a tear and spoke.

“I don’t want to lose you Y/N” he sniffed.

“You just did” you spat back. The look on his eyes made you want to melt.

“No! No, please. I know I’m stupid. I fucked things up most of the time but I won’t let you go. I can’t” His hands traveled up to your forearms. Rubbing it lightly. “You’re not a sl..” he trailed off refusing to say it again. “You’re far from that. you’re the best woman I ever met. I knew you’ll never cheat on me, I’m sorry for accusing you. I’m sorry for all of the things I said. I truly didn’t mean a single word. I was just angry and jealous I didn’t think about it at all. I know it’s not an excuse but please forgive me. I swear to you this will never happen again. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll treat you better. I love you baby. you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Please, pleasseeee, stay?” he was crying now but you remained silent.

He grabbed you by the back of your neck, placing a kiss all over your face. “please” *kiss on the left cheek* “I’m sorry” *kiss on the tip of the nose* “I love you” *kiss on the right cheek* “Y/N, please” *kiss on the forehead* “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry princesa, I’m sorry” he kept on repeating. thinking begging is the only way to make you stay.

“you really hurt me, Arón” a single tear left your eye and he kissed it away as well.

“I know, baby, I know” he continued kissing your face. “tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it. Just don’t hate me” he spoke close to your lips.

“I don’t hate you” you whispered. “I was just disappointed. I never thought you would say that to me.”

He nodded in understanding as he pressed his forehead on yours and mumble “I’m sorry”. You let him. He hurt you but the love you have for him was greater than the pain he caused you. so, you placed your hand on his chest. You felt his heart pounding against it and you smiled a little knowing you caused that.

“Do you forgive me?” he swallowed hard, afraid of your answer, afraid you’ll make up your mind and leave him for good.

You smiled and nodded a little. “hmm” He returned the smile and placed a soft kiss on your lips. “Gracias, Y/N” he said relieved.

“fucking asshole” you muttered jokingly and nudged him a little. You pulled him in for another kiss but deeper this time. You felt him smiling within the kiss before he pushed his tongue in your mouth which you happily sucked in return. He gently pushed you back in bed and hover over you. you stopped him and turned your head to the side.

“no sex for you tonight, cabron” you stick out your tongue. He tried to grab it but failed. He just pouts in return. “Don’t use that on me now, this is your doing” you laughed as he mumbled “I know” and went back to pouting.

“off to bed then?” he asked and you nodded in return. After all, it was 3am now.

Both of you stripped out of your clothes and settled in bed in a spooning position.

Just before you drift off to sleep, you spoke. “Arón, I’m sorry too” you turned around to face him “for worrying you. I should’ve texted you, it would save us from all the trouble tonight”

“hmm. I’m sorry too. I was such a jerk. I won’t hurt you again” He smiled and rubbed your back “but just so you know, you really scared the shit out of me tonight, bonita.” He laughed a little.

“You should still be. I’ll shave off all of your goddamn little curls you love so much the minute you fall asleep and turn you back again into a fucking ava-” he placed his hand on your mouth suddenly which caused you to giggle.

“Please don’t say it”

“avatar” your voiced was muffled. You licked his hand which made him let go of you.

“Fine. I guess I deserved your wrath” he said dramatically.

----

You must’ve fallen asleep somehow only to be woken up by Arón’s sudden movements. You opened your eyes to see him sitting up on the bed with his hands on his head checking if he still has hair. He let out a sigh of relief when he confirmed he still has it. You then laughed your ass off. He really thought you’d shaved it. what a silly boy.

“what? just checking” he looked down at you and laughed along. You started to get up as well but he stopped you. “Don’t get up. I’ll bring you breakfast in a moment” he planted a kiss on your lips before getting out of the bed.

He yelled “te quiero!” just before he closed the door behind him.

Oh well, he really meant it when he said he’ll make it up to you.

#aron piper imagines #aron piper fanfic #aron piper x reader #aron piper #aron piper x you #elite imagines #aron imagines #angst #aron angst #aron fluff

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