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free-pool-trash · 3 years

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dancing with our hands tied - peter maximoff

here it is you guys... the ✨very spicy✨ sequel to delicate which can be read here <3 (had to keep the rep song title theme going here)

please for the love of god let me know how this is I’ve never written smut before so please go crazy with the asks/comments/reblogs on this one I’d really appreciate it😩😓

word count: 4k 😳 (it’s not all smut dont get too excited)

warnings: +18 content, sexy times, unprotected wrap it before you tap it, swearing, i tried to keep vulgarity on a low level but i decided to just commit towards the end lmao, insinuation to sex from the beginning , some fluff and a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in there too, wandavision spoilers

You can definitely read this as a stand alone but it’ll make more sense if you read delicate first !! enjoy <3

masterlist

The days you spent in WestView had been tiring. Wanda seemed to be losing her composure with each day that passed, you watched how she became more and more skeptical of Peter and found yourself growing all the more anxious with the situation you’d run head first into. But, you were with Peter, your mind and his mind were free of Wanda’s influence and she’d been kind enough to appoint the pair of you your own house in the neighbourhood, a few doors down from her own, so, you couldn’t complain too much.

Today was a relatively quiet day, but you had a feeling that just meant you were in the calm before the storm. Tonight was, apparently, Halloween. Despite the fact that it was nowhere near October, you were more than happy to play along with Wanda’s over the top festivities.

Peter and Tommy had just zoomed into your and Peter’s bedroom, sporting matching outfits and excited expressions as they looked at you expectantly, “Well? What’d ya think?” Peter asked, motioning between himself and Tommy. The littlest speedster awaited your answer with wide, hopeful eyes, wanting validation from his cool uncle’s even cooler ‘friend’.

Yeah, you’d made out on Wanda’s couch but you still hadn’t addressed the question of where exactly your relationship stood. It felt as though the pair of you were both actively avoiding the awkward conversation, opting instead to simply fall into bed together every single night and completely disregard the boundaries of friendship in favour of hearing each other moaning until the early hours of the morning.

With a smile you let out a low whistle, “Looking good boys. I gotta say, Tommy, I think you’re outshining your uncle right now.”

You had to laugh when Tommy smirked triumphantly at Peter, “I told you she liked me more than you.” He boasted proudly and your laughs grew louder when Peter huffed angrily. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his bottom lip out childishly.

“Y/n, tell him you like me more.” Peter demanded, again, childishly.

You only grinned, “No comment.” You told him airily, making your way to your closet and hesitantly pulling out the latex costume Wanda created for you off of the rail, holding it by the hanger skeptically.

It was Peter’s turn to let out a whistle when his eyes scanned the skimpy looking leotard suspended by the hanger. The fabric mimicked the design of Peter and Tommy’s outfits although it seemed Wanda had gone out of her way to make yours ever so slightly sexier. The leotard was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and a silver lightning bolt ran through the light blue material. The only saving grace was the silver tights that hung from the hanger as well, at least you’d have some kind coverage. With one last peek into the closet, your eyes landed on a pair of white, knee high gogo boots.

“Christ…” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing at the thought of wearing the ensemble out in public, if it was cold tonight Wanda would be in for an aggressive telling off. With a deep sigh you turned to the two speedsters who were both staring at you, waiting for you to say something. “I guess we’re all gonna be matching tonight.”

“Sweet!” Tommy exclaimed while Peter only smirked. Peter, with a lot of effort, moved his attention from your costume to his nephew.

“Why don’t you go hang out with your brother for a while? I gotta talk to Y/n for a sec.” Tommy welcomed the suggestion, only nodding his head before he had sped out of your house and back to his own.

A gust of wind hit your face as Peter sped himself in front of you, the man didn’t hide his intentions as he gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him. Swaying his body against yours and bringing his lips to the exposed skin of your neck. He trailed his lips up your neck, sucking and nipping, smirking when you let out small noises of approval. When his lips reached the spot behind your ear, he gave a final, harsh suck which had your breath hitching and whining when he pulled away.

To be honest, you’d love to be able to call him your boyfriend and be certain that he thought of you as his girlfriend, but at the moment you were perfectly happy with whatever the fuck the two of you had going on if it meant you could keep feeling him against you like this.

“I cannot wait to see you wearing that.” He all but groaned against your ear, his voice deep and gravelly. The butterflies in your stomach went feral at his words and you had to pull your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from letting out a moan from his tone of voice alone, not to mention the fact that his crotch was pressed up against yours, he was excited to say the least.

Your hands slid up his chest and settled on either side of Peter’s neck, you gently pulled his head out from the crook of your nape and teasingly raised an eyebrow at him, “Maybe later I’ll let you help me get out of it.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips, he squeezed your hips in response, tugging you into him even further for some kind of relief then pressed his lips to yours briefly, murmuring against them, “That’s definitely a plan I can get behind.”

Giving him one last kiss, you pried his hands from your hips and pushed him away, “Alright, get lost I need to get ready.”

“Meet me at Wanda’s?” You nodded at his question, letting out a deep sigh you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding when he finally sped out of the room.

After a second of cooling down, you pulled on the outfit and you’d be the first to admit; Wanda knew what she was doing with this one. You looked incredible, albeit a little stupid in the costume, but still incredible.

When you made your way over to Wanda’s to meet up with the others, you let out a laugh seeing as Wanda was essentially wearing the same outfit as you, only with the added extras of a cape and gloves.

“Hey! Why are you dressed the same as Uncle P and Tommy?” Billy asked you curiously, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he glanced between you and Peter for answers. The speedster in question was smirking proudly, his arm finding a spot wrapped around your shoulder.

“Because she’s totally obsessed with me.” He lied with an over dramatic sigh, causing Tommy to laugh.

You rolled your eyes, elbowing him in the ribs playfully before focusing your attention onto Wanda, “I think it’s safe to say that Wanda and I will be winning best couples costume.” Wanda gave you a knowing grin and a not at all subtle wink in response to your statement.

“Only the best for the best.” She replied, walking forward and linking her arm with yours, stealing you away from Peter who whined in protest, “Oh hush, you can have her back later.”

Telepathy definitely had its perks, one of those perks being you could tell there was more to Wanda than just being an evil puppeteer. The two of you got along extremely well, you were actually growing to see her as a friend. It helped that you knew her story, though. You sympathised with her, knowing full well that if you lost the love of your life you’d probably create a false reality to be with him too. You’d already followed him into a fake reality so you supposed it wasn’t really too much of a stretch to imagine yourself in Wanda’s position.

As the night went on, yourself, Wanda and Peter were sitting around in town square, the twins having run off somewhere. Tensions were high between the interreality siblings at the minute, Peter seemed to be having the time of his life getting on Wanda’s last nerve, poking and prodding at her lifestyle choices.

“Lay off, Pete.” You warned quietly, your stare serious as you felt Wanda becoming impatient with the mutant. Your breathing stopped for a moment and you let put a horrified gasp, your hand clapped over your mouth as you stared at the image in front of you.

Peter’s skin was grey, his eyes were milky and he was littered in what you could only assume to be bullet holes- he was dead- no, you realised as you caught Wanda’s pained expression, he was Pietro.

Wanda regained her composure after a few seconds but the sight of Peter dead was enough to shake you to your very core and you found yourself shaking where you stood.

You didn’t even have a chance to regain your composure before shit had hit the fan. It had happened in a blur, Billy and Tommy were frantic and worried about Vision being in trouble and next thing you knew Wanda was sending Peter flying with a ball of energy after he made a smartass comment about Vision not dying twice.

Quickly, you ran to Peter’s side, he was groaning in pain and looking up at you through squinted eyes, “What the hell was that all about?” He grumbled, hiding his head in your lap when you got down on your knees beside him.

With a sigh you let your body fold against his, wrapping your arms around him and letting your head rest against his shoulder, the image of him bleeding out still too fresh and real in your mind. You could berate him for his brash behaviour another time, for now though; you just needed him close.

“Come on, dumbass. Let’s get you home before you decide to cause more trouble.” You mumbled, pulling him up with you. Ignoring his whining while you led him home, your arm remained firmly around his waist the whole way despite the fact he’d recovered from the blast Wanda dealt him after only a few minutes.

When you got back to the house that Wanda had deemed yours upon your arrival, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. Peter was staring at you with a guilty expression as you released a heavy breath through your nose and shuffled into the kitchen, the heels of your boots scraping on the hardwood as you walked.

Like a lost puppy, Peter followed you. Once he reached you lent against the sink he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He knew you weren’t angry at him by the way your arms immediately moved to grip his and tug them tighter around you.

“You know, her real twin- Pietro… he died,” Peter’s face contorted in confusion when you began to speak, he listened with concern as he could already hear your voice beginning to shake, absentmindedly he caught himself tucking you closer against his chest. “For a second… you must have said something that hit a nerve but for a few seconds…” Your voice hitched and you shook your head in an attempt to knock the image out of your mind, though you had a feeling it would haunt you for as long as you lived. When Peter noticed you’d started chewing at your bottom lip, as you always did when something was causing you anxiety, he gently turned you around in his arms so that he could look at you, his arms remaining firmly around you, yours finding a place resting against his chest.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He cooed, his eyes very much alive and staring into yours.

Swallowing thickly you answered, “You looked like him. You were dead.” You told him quietly and he was sure the look of grief on your face, brought on by the thought of him dying, would haunt him for a lifetime.

Your eyes watered as you took in his face. Scanning every part of it, his brown eyes that made you melt, the dimples that could still be faintly seen even when he wasn’t smiling, the lips that took up the vast majority of your thoughts and that tiny furrow between his brows as he looked down at you with worry.

You loved him.

Of course, you’d known this for years. But you needed him to know, and even though you were already well aware the overwhelming feeling is mutual, you needed to hear him say it.

His thumb running under your eye pulled you from your thoughts, “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He whispered softly, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb ran back and forth over your cheek bone. Your stomach flipped at the pet name and you nuzzled against his touch.

“Good. I don’t want to lose you ever again.” You confessed, looking up at him through your lashes fondly as his lips formed an almost sad smile.

Gently, he brought his lips down to meet yours, pouring his heart into the kiss, hoping it would make up for the turmoil he felt responsible for causing you. Too soon, he pulled away.

“Believe me, I’m never leaving your side. I mean come on, I’m without you for like three days and I end up being mind controlled by my sister who isn’t even my sister.” He chuckled out, a grin growing on his face as you began to smile too. He let his eyes close blissfully when you brushed your nose against his, a toothy smile on your face.

“You, Peter Maximoff, are completely hopeless.” You whispered through your smile as he opened his eyes to look at you. His own face sporting an adoring smile.

Your heart skipped a beat the second his next words passed through his smiling lips, “Without you, Y/n L/n, yes I am.” Within a second your arms were around his shoulders and your lips were moving frantically against his. Peter’s hands wasted no time in sliding down to your thighs, gripping them and propping you up onto the kitchen counter.

Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist and your hands got lost in his hair, keeping him as close as humanly possible while his lips migrated to your jaw.

An appreciative hum left your throat as he lapped at the underside of your jaw, leaving a mark before trailing his lips back to your mouth. His tongue licked at your bottom lip as he kissed you, moving it into your mouth the first chance he got. Peter moaned into your mouth when you gave his tongue a light suck.

You grinned at the sound and leaned your weight forward so you were primarily resting against his body, your arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body, your ass barely resting on the counter by that point. Welcoming your movements, Peter’s hands glided up from your thighs to grip your ass and pull you from the counter completely.

He carried you clumsily through the halls of the house, bumping into furniture and pausing to press your body against walls, his eyes closed and lips never separating from yours. You were about a foot away from the stairs when you felt your back make contact with the plaster behind you, your chest heaving when Peter abandoned your lips in favour of littering wet kisses across your chest, no doubt leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake.

You let your head fall back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of Peter nipping and licking at your skin, the man diving back to your neck as soon as he realised that your head thrown back made it entirely exposed to him. You released a breathy moan when his lips ghosted over a sensitive patch of skin, he moved his tongue frantically and you shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath hitting your bruised skin.

“Peter…” You whined when he pushed his crotch up against yours, pressing you further into the wall smirking against your neck when you called his name.

“Yes?” He asked teasingly, rutting his hips against yours once more, deliberately attempting to pull another moan from you, he obviously succeeded. His smirk broadened when you let out a huff and tugged his hair so he’d look at you.

Peter swore he was in heaven when his eyes met yours again, your face was red and your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust as your chest heaved. He could’ve exploded on the spot when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and looked at him innocently, all the while grinding your hips slowly and firmly against his. Peter clenched his jaw and let his eyes fall shut, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you were pretty certain the area would have bruises come tomorrow. You were struggling to care about that though, focusing your energy on the man who had you pinned against the wall.

You brought your lips to Peter’s neck, repaying the favour, not detaching until you left a dark, albeit small, purple bruise on the underside of his jaw. Deciding to prolong the teasing for a little while longer you moved your lips up and let them hover by his ear and you began to let out soft little moans in response to his grinding, the action caused Peter’s movements to become more frantic and your lips to form in a smirk as you felt him hardening against you.

His breath was laboured when he murmured, “Let’s take this upstairs, yeah?” Before you could even answer he had sped the pair of you to the bedroom and you let your feet return to the floor.

As he stood in front of you, you took him in, swollen lips and Halloween hair completely tossed, not to mention the tent in his trousers that was very visible despite the layers of his costume. When your bodies collided again, it was a frenzy of hands, the both of you practically tearing the fabric off the other until you were in nothing but your underwear, kissing sloppily and stumbling towards the bed.

Peter’s lips attached to your chest again the second your back hit the mattress. He groped at your right breast while his tongue sucked on the other, swapping over before you pulled him back up to you.

The way he slotted between your legs and how his forehead rested on yours felt so perfect, you couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” He muttered between kisses against your lips, his hands kneading your breasts as he did.

You were practically dripping by the time his hand slid down your stomach and under the band of your underwear. For someone with super speed he was moving agonisingly slow at the moment, his hand rubbing languidly over your wet core while he swallowed your moans.

“Fuck- God, Peter please.” You whined, your hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more friction than he was giving you.

The sound of your voice, so needy for him, was all he needed before he was pulling your underwear off, tossing the thin material over his shoulder haphazardly and shimmying out of his own boxers, clumsily kicking them away from his ankles, earning a giggle from you.

When he kneeled on the bed between your bent and separated knees you sat yourself up, sliding one hand up his bare chest and resting it against his shoulder while the other slid downward, only stopping once it was wrapped around his shaft. Peter sucked in a harsh breath when your began pumping him softly, the man completely losing it when your thumb swiped over his tip collecting the precum that had gathered and using it to wet the length of his dick as you continued to fuck him with your hand.

As much as Peter was loving the image and feeling of you jacking him off, he knew if you carried on he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Still, he didn’t have the heart to pull your hand away when you were making him feel so good. His head found it’s favourite spot in the crook of your neck and he groaned out against the skin that was littered with little purple and red marks from his earlier work, which he’d be sure to admire later, “Shit, Y/n-“ He croaked through a moan, hands gripping your hips as he fought the urge he had to thrust into your hand, “M’not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that.” He groaned out, almost reluctantly, not truly wanting you to stop while simultaneously craving more.

You stopped your motions at his statement, giggling when he let out a strangled noise of disappointment at the sudden lack of pleasure. Doing the honours, you lined him up with your entrance, letting him take over when his lips connected with yours.

Peter gently pushed you back until your head was resting against your pillow and your back was flush with the mattress. His lips continued to mesh with yours as he pushed into you inch by inch until he bottomed out. The deep groan he released was music to your ears and your hands gripped his biceps when he began to thrust in and out.

A symphony of moans filled the room as Peter had managed to set a steady pace, trying his best not to let his mutation get the best of him, as much as he wanted to just go to town he was determined to make you feel as good as you made him feel and judging by the way your head was thrown back and his name fell from your lips like a prayer; he guessed he was doing an okay job.

In only a few minutes Peter had you gasping and clutching onto him like your life depended on it as he picked up speed, one of his hands reaching down between your bodies to rub your clit, his hips snapping against yours. Soon enough, you felt the pressure in your stomach release, your walls clenching around Peter’s dick as your back arched and you released around him. After only a few more staggered strokes, Peter moaned your name against your lips, finishing inside of you and thrusting lazily, riding out his high and subsequently helping you ride out yours.

You let out a blissful sigh when Peter pulled out and rolled over to lay on his back beside you, his chest heavy and his blonde hair sticking slightly against his forehead.

“That- that was awesome.” He mumbled, intertwining his fingers with yours, holding your hand by his side.

Over the last couple of nights you and Peter had, admittedly, ended up in a similar position but neither of you intended for it to happen. It’d usually start off innocently enough, with cuddling or just talking and then one of you would move in just that little bit closer and things would escalate. But there was something about this time that felt a lot more emotional than the few times before. “It was.” You agreed with an airy giggle, squeezing his hand affectionately.

A gust of air shook you from your haze. Peter had taken it upon himself to clean up the mess the pair of you had left between your legs, a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts now adorned your body matching him as he wore the same.

He was on his side facing you, his arms holding you against his chest securely the same way they had the night you’d shown up in WestView and urged him to kiss you. When he took you in, he kicked himself for missing out on so much of you for so long.

He was certain, one of these days he’d actually speak the three words that followed him around whenever he thought about you, but as he watched your eyes flutter closed, he decided the words would be best spoken some other time. He was well aware you already knew, just as he was well aware that you loved him, it needed to be said. Eventually, but not quite yet.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff smut #peter maximoff imagine #wandavision x reader #wandavision spoilers #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader

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calaofnoldor · 4 years

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Fake It ‘Til You Make It

Characters: Sam x Reader (gender neutral), Dean

Words: 3,295

Summary: Dean and his lady of the night are being obnoxiously loud, so you and Sam devise a plan of retaliation.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, wee bit o’ language, mutual pining and other fun tropes

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on “Dean, Don’t” (there will be a sequel due to positive feedback!) tbh, i’m not sure how i feel about this one, but every single like, comment, and reblog is always super-duper appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Another hunt for the books, another bar tab for your fake credit card. Another leggy blonde for Dean, and another evening spent harboring your secret yet ever-growing crush for Sam Winchester. This was becoming a pattern lately.

You'd decided to join the brothers on their last several hunts after bumping into (and nearly decapitating) Dean in a vamp-infested warehouse in Colorado. That night, you bought him a beer to recompense, but he was rather swiftly distracted by the busty barmaid, and you ended up talking to Sam all night instead.

There was an instant chemistry between the two of you, what with your shared passion for monster lore and college dropout histories, conversation always flowed easily and often without end.

Tonight had been no different, from the moment you walked into the rundown bar in Iowa, and immediately placed a bet on the fate of Dean's evening entertainment.

"Twenty bucks says he goes home with that blonde in the red dress over there," you jerked your head towards the woman in question.

"Oh, you're so on L/N. She's way too classy for him. My money's on that short one over there with the space buns."

"Deal," you shook on it, while struggling to ignore the spark his touch ignited.

Three beers in and you had almost completely forgot about your bet, until Dean swaggered over with one arm draped casually around the shoulders of his blonde conquest. "We're gonna head out for the night, see you guys later."

You waited until the front door closed behind them before turning to Sam with a triumphant grin. "Pay up, Winchester," you held your hand out expectantly.

“How are you so good at that? I’m the one who’s been watching him my whole life.” He shook his head with amiable amusement while digging out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

You shrugged a little, “You learn to read people fairly quickly on the job.”

“Y/N, we have the same job.”

You pretended to ponder this fact for a moment, your brows furrowing, “I guess I’m just a better hunter then?” It was an obvious jest, and you both knew it, as evidenced by the wide, matching smiles that broke out across both your faces.

God, how you loved his smile, especially the genuine ones that brought out his dimples and lit up his eyes, but even more so, you adored any smile behind which you were the cause. Those you stored amidst your most cherished memories and replayed in your mind a hundred times over on nights when the insomnia hit… Oh no, had you been staring for too long?

Abruptly, you turned towards the bartender, waving the newly acquired bill in your hand, and proceeded to order the next round.

Fortunately, the night carried on with its jovial tone, and you were almost able to disregard the desire to touch Sam’s veiny forearms when he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, or the need to run your hands through his luscious locks whenever a wayward strand fell before his glimmering eyes.

“I guess we should head out soon. Dean’s probably gonna want to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Right, yeah.” At this point, you were feeling a little woozy from the alcohol, and Sam’s hands were suddenly grasping your biceps as you rose unsteadily from the barstool.

“I’m OK,” you laughed it off, but instantly missed the warmth of his palms that seemed to seep through your clothes and set your skin alight. Sam simply smiled at you, yet something in his eyes was so resplendent you felt goosebumps replace the fire along your arms. You must have been staring again, for Sam looked away somewhat embarrassedly and asked if there was something on his face.

Ugh, why did he have such an effect on you? You’d been around plenty of male hunters in the past, some nearly just as attractive, but you’d always managed to keep your wits about you. Indeed, your unrelenting rationality was usually a subject of pride for you, yet here you were, a blubbering mess after a mere touch on the arm and that stupid smile.

Looking down, you grumbled a quick apology and a senseless explanation that involved blaming the booze before you took off.

Sam followed after you, but not before double checking that you had grabbed all your belongings. There was a strong and instinctive urge to look after and protect that stirred within him whenever you were around, and he couldn’t neglect it if he tried.

It wasn’t that you were weak and needed someone to look out for you. Sam knew you’d been more or less hunting on your own for years now, and could certainly roll with the best of them, himself and Dean included. No, Sam knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, yet he still could not brush the nagging need to keep you safe and by his side whenever possible.

At times, he felt as if a spell had overcome him and he was no longer in control of his senses when it came to you. It was annoying, really.

Tonight, for instance, Sam could have sworn he spent the better part of your time at the bar glaring down any man who came within three feet of you, foolishly daring to try their chances with you. He was sure you’d notice his strange behavior at some point, but you simply talked the night away with him, smiling that stupendous smile, the one that made him lose his breath.

Everything about you enchanted him, and Sam often found himself wishing he could just dive in and kiss you, hold you in his arms and never let you go. He was sure you could read it all in his eyes by now.

To his disappointment, however, you never gave any indication of reciprocation, always treating him in a strictly platonic manner, whether intentionally or out of ignorance, Sam didn’t know. But he never dared make a move, and he convinced himself that he felt fortunate enough to have you as a friend.

The walk back to the motel wasn’t long, although Sam took deliberately small steps to prolong your time together. When you reached the brothers’ room, your eyes fell upon a grey sock dangling unceremoniously from the doorknob. So Dean had taken Blondie to his motel room.

“How’s that for classy?” you looked up at Sam with a small smirk.

He let out a huff of a laugh and shook his head while staring at the sock. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he spent a night in the Impala.

“Hey, why don’t you just come over to my room,” you suggested as you motioned next door, “We can chill in there for a bit, wait it out?”

Sam’s eyes shot up to your face. All he had to hear was “come over to my room,” and his brain immediately began imagining all the potential scenarios those five little words could lead to… if you felt even an inkling of what he felt for you. He gulped and tried to reel his thoughts in, meeting your gaze with a dreamy look.

“Um… yeah, OK, sure, yeah. That sounds good. I mean, you sure you don’t mind?” he stumbled out.

You laughed that brilliant laugh, “No, I should probably sober up a little before I sleep anyway.”

Sam nodded, afraid of what words might escape if he opened his mouth again, and the two of you made your way towards the adjacent motel room. He watched as your delicate hands worked the key and instantly took note of the angry red scrapes and cuts along your palm when you turned your wrist to unlock the door.

Brows knit with concern, Sam silently berated himself for failing to take better care of you. He remembered you took a nasty fall when the ghost had thrown you aside to get to the brothers as they burned the necklace that tethered it to this realm. You must have landed on the concrete and braced yourself with your hands.

As you both stepped into the dim and modest room, Sam was about to ask for your first aid kit when you suddenly brought your arms overhead and stretched out your lithe body with a soft, satisfactory grunt. When the hem of your shirt rode up, Sam had to look away to stop himself from staring at the anti-possession tattoo that peeked out above your hip bone. Just that sliver of skin was so alluring to him; he really was in deep.

When you lowered your arms back down, you sent him a small, apologetic smile, “Sorry, it just always feels good to do that after a hunt and a night out in town.”

Sam nodded again, still finding it difficult to come up with the right words, but then he remembered his previous mission. “Give me your hand.”

“W-what?” you stuttered, dumbfoundedly. It was your turn to wonder if you’d heard right.

“Your hand, let me see it.” He repeated, and this time he simply caught your wrist and took your hand gingerly in his, turning it such that your palm faced up, so he could examine the extent of the damage.

“Oh,” you breathed out, slightly relieved, “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.” You tried to pull your hand out of his intoxicating grip, but he held on quite firmly.

“Y/N, we need to clean these and bandage them so they don’t get infected.”

He had pulled you rather close to him, to the point where you could feel his body heat emanating towards you, and you hated to admit the proximity was really messing with your mind. All you could think about was the deliciously muscled torso that surely lay beneath those layers of cotton, and what it would feel like to run your hands across it.

Sam took advantage of your lack of response and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. As he went to look for the first aid kit, you couldn’t help but admire his backside, especially when he bent over to rummage through your duffle bag in the corner.

When he returned to your side, you quickly closed your jaw and reached over for the cleaning supplies, but he held it out of your reach and grasped your hand again instead. Your eyes met for moment, and almost as if on cue, a loud, lascivious moan came through the room’s thin walls.

Sam felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily averted his gaze. He mentally cursed his brother’s wanton ways, but when he heard your giggling, all was forgiven.

“I guess someone’s having a good time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this’ll be quite as enjoyable for you.” He motioned to the alcohol in his other hand with a sheepish smile, “I probably don’t need to tell you this is gonna hurt.”

You shook your head slightly, but still winced a little when he poured the disinfectant over your wounds.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sam sounded truly remorseful and you chuckled.

“What are you sorry for? It’s not like you threw me to the ground, and besides, you’re helping me now,” you murmured softly.

“Well you did get in it’s way to protect m- us. And I don’t like to see you in pain.”

He meant ‘people’ of course, you told yourself in vain. He’s obviously a nice guy and he doesn’t like to see anyone in pain. That’s why he’s a hunter. Duh.

You were trying, unsuccessfully, to slow your heart rate when another emphatic cry came from the direction of the older Winchester’s room.

“Oh! Oh my god!” The high pitch had your eyes widening.

“You can call me Dean, sweetheart,” came the muted reply.

You and Sam both rolled your eyes before he continued to treat and bandage your hand. His fingers, though rough, were improbably gentle against your skin and frequently sent shivers down your spine. It was all making you quite jittery and you really weren’t sure you could take it much longer. To exacerbate things, Dean and Blondie managed to vocalize their passions on at least five more occasions by the time Sam completed his work.

It was becoming rather aggravating, particularly because you found it extraordinarily hard to look Sam in the eyes or maintain a normal conversation with him when you were constantly getting bombarded by the sounds of his brother and his lady of the night copulating next door.

You stood as soon as Sam let go of your hand, needing to release some energy. “You know what, we can’t just let them dick us around like this all night!”

Sam laughed at your word choice and looked up at you, a fond curiosity shining through his eyes, “OK, but what could we possibly do to get back at them?”

You paused your pacing for a minute, racking your brain for an answer to their impudence. Sam watched as a gleam appeared in your eyes and a mischievous smile took over your features.

“I’ve got it! My friend and I used to do this back in college when our roommate brought dates home and they got a little too carried away. It’s basically a game of chicken.”

Sam raised his brow in question so you continued, “If they’re gonna be obnoxiously loud with their fornication rituals, then we can go at it too.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s simple. An eye for an eye. We don’t even have to make it sound real, just as long as it’s equally loud and disturbing.”

“Y/N, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? That we pretend to have s-sex?” Sam was feeling considerably dubious about your plan, as he couldn’t imagine himself holding back if you were to act in any way sensual around him, even if it was all make believe.

Just then, another resounding squeal of pleasure travelled to your ears and before Sam could stop you, you took the opportunity to show him what you were talking about.

“Oh! Yes!” You exclaimed salaciously in return.

Sam’s eyes grew as he stared at you in disbelief. Your own eyes were closed and your face contorted to an expression of intense pleasure that Sam had only dreamed about. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his place on the bed, thankful that the first aid kit still sat on his lap as he adjusted his trousers a bit.

“Y/N, I don’t-“

“Come on, Sammy, join me! Trust me, it works every time.”

Sam didn’t have time to contemplate how much he loved the sound of his childhood nickname rolling off your tongue because a second howl came from the next room, this time lower in pitch, though you were there to answer regardless. “Oh my gosh, yes! Right there!”

If Sam thought the effect that you had on him normally was overwhelming, he was undoubtedly unprepared for the way his body responded to you making ludicrously pornographic sounds not two feet from him. Everything seemed to disappear around him until only you remained and held the entirety of his focus.

“Ooh, faster! Harder, Sam!”

Fuck. You said his name. And you said it with lust in your voice. It was as if all his fantasies had come to life before him in some twisted and desperately maddening form. Something in him snapped, and before he knew it, he was standing across from you, staring fixedly at your face, as you shouted in unison.

“Ungh! Oh god, Y/N!”

“Yes, that’s it! Don’t stop!”

Sam’s deep voice compelled your eyes to snap open. He was already looking straight at you, and you could almost taste the tension.

“Oh, baby! You feel so good!”

You didn’t join him this time. You couldn’t. He had you in a trance, his lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, the way his chest moved towards you when he inhaled, the sheer size of him. It was all too much. So you simply stared, feeling your breath come and go faster than you were used to.

There was a split second, or perhaps it was a lifetime, in which the two of you stood still, eyes locked in a fiery exchange, but in the next instant you both lunged forward, lips and teeth and noses and bodies clashing in a passionate, long-awaited display of carnal thirst.

But the kiss ended far too soon for your liking. “Wait, wait, Y/N. I really want this, but you’re probably still drunk, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you or the situation.” Sam panted hurriedly.

You smiled at his chivalry yet shook your head in disagreement, “Sam, don’t be an idjit. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober, and I definitely haven’t wanted anything more than this, right now.” Your voice was just as breathy.

Sam moved his hands back to your face and that glorious, dimpled smile returned, “Baby, are you sure?”

The nickname brought a flutter to your heart, “Yes, I swear to heaven and hell, if you don’t kiss me again, Sam Winchester-“

His lips cut yours off in another bruising yet completely satisfying declaration of need. Your back arched and he brought one hand down to pull your waist flush against his solid form.

“Mmph,” you moaned against his mouth.

God, Sam couldn’t handle the sounds you made. A man could only hold back for so long. His enormous moose hands frantically grabbed at your ass, hoisting you into his arms in no time and carrying you back towards the bed.

Let’s just say Dean and Blondie truly had no idea of the spectacular and thunderous show they were in for.

The next morning, Sam awoke with a warm weight on his chest. He looked down to find your slumbering form nuzzled against him, head tucked beneath his chin and legs messily intertwined. A fond smile crossed his face as he subconsciously tightened his hold on you and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. The feeling of elation didn't fade as he closed his eyes to rest again, but it did recede ever so slightly to the backburner when the door clicked and his brother came barging in. “Alright, rise and shine, lovebirds! That was quite the show you guys put on last night, hope it didn't-“ “Shhh! Dean, shut up!” Sam shushed his brother with a stage whisper whilst scrambling to cover your bare back with the disheveled sheets surrounding you, but Dean had already glimpsed the evidence. “Sammy, you sly dog!” He wiggled his brows, grinning proudly at his little brother, "And here I thought I was the only one who got laid last night." “Dean, get out.” "Yeah ok, I'm gone," he raised his hands in assent. "But tell your sweetheart we're leaving in twenty," Dean added before he finally let the door shut behind him.

His sweetheart. Sam sure liked the sound of that. The corners of his lips struggled not to raise with glee. "Mm, was that Dean?" you mumbled against Sam's chest, fingers tracing the ink of his anti-possession tattoo with half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, just came to tell us we're leaving in twenty." He gave your hip a gentle squeeze "He knows, doesn’t he?" You rubbed your eyes with a yawn. Sam chuckled at your adorably sleepy state. “Yeah, sorry…” he trailed off, unsure of how you would respond to the news.

“Well, don’t be. That just means I get to do this whenever I want.” You lifted your head to kiss him hard, and his hands instinctively cradled your face, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap and completely awake.

“You know, I think we still have about 15 minutes.”

“I like the way you think, Winchester.”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! i’d now like to apologize for this obligatory self plug, but there’s new stuff available at lexicolor.redbubble.com, just fyi :)

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x male!reader #sam winchester x female!reader #mutual pining #sammy's got a crush #fake it #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #my writing #text #fanart #redbubble #lexicolor

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hufflautia · 3 years

Text

A Hidden Darkness

A/N: I wish I had thought of this idea in time for Halloween.

Warnings: This story is a little creepy and has something to do with the supernatural. If you are not comfortable with that kind of stuff, avoid this fic.

Dedicated to @sophiexteresa; thank you for helping me out with British slang :’)

Summary: Slytherin notices that Hufflepuff is acting strange...a little too strange.

Boom!

Ravenclaw immediately drew back from the table, laughing as he pointed at Slytherin; the mini-explosion singed the edges of his hair.

“Bloody hell,” Slytherin grumbled, gingerly rubbing his slightly-burned face. “This game is a load of bollocks.”

He raised an eyebrow as he gathered the remaining cards. “Mate, you were the one who wanted to play Exploding Snap.”

“Yeah, because I wanted the cards to explode in your face.”

Ravenclaw rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of popcorn, chucking it at him.

Slytherin managed to block the attack with his hand, but some landed on his shoulder. As he brushed the popcorn off, he suddenly felt something prodding at the back of his neck. It felt like someone was...sniffing his hair?

He turned around and saw Hufflepuff standing there, her face so close to his that he could feel her breath. “Hey,” he smiled, not registering the fact that it was likely she who just sniffed him. “Alright?”

Hufflepuff gave him a blinding smile and grabbed his hand. “I need you,” she replied, tugging him out of his chair.

“But I’m—”

“Playing cards with Ravenclaw? You can do that later.”

As she led him out of the Great Hall, Slytherin wondered how she knew what he was gonna say. He brushed it off quickly; she could clearly see what they were doing. However, something was definitely strange about her. Hufflepuff would usually greet Ravenclaw kindly if she saw him, but she barely spared him a second glance.

Hufflepuff came to a stop after they passed through the entrance of the Great Hall and turned to face him. “I need to ask you something.”

“Why couldn’t you just ask me before?”

“Because Ravenclaw was there.”

He frowned and said, “But you’ve never had a problem with him before.”

She made a face at him. “He’s an ickle know-it-all. Should’ve socked him in the face, I should.”

He was taken aback—Hufflepuff never behaved like this. She was always sweet and kind, but she was the complete opposite now.

“What’s up with you,” he asked. “You’re acting like a completely different person. And ickle? You’ve never said that before.”

She glared at him. “People change, Slytherin. Besides, I didn’t bring you out there just for you to berate me.” Her tone was calm, but Slytherin could sense the repressed hostility hidden beneath her words.

She seemed to realize that he was staring at her strangely because, in the next moment, she suddenly straightened up and smiled at him widely. "But no reason to fuss about it any longer," she cooed in an oily voice, pinching his cheek. "You're here now, and that's all that matters."

Slytherin studied her face and immediately picked up on the fact that her smile was forced. "Right then," he said slowly, still put off by her demeanor. "What was it you wanted to ask?"

Her expression immediately darkened, and she stepped forward. He fought the urge to take a step back. What was going on with him? This was his girlfriend he was dealing with. She never meant any harm...so why did he feel so uneasy? Her next words sent chills down his spine.

"Would you be able to tell if someone—no, if something were to possess my body?"

Slytherin stared at her, hoping that she would crack a smile and burst out laughing, saying that it was just a prank and she successfully fooled him.

However, she did no such thing. Instead, she stared at him with those dark eyes that he usually found endearing, but there was a coldness to them. An emptiness.

"I..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. What could he say? A feeling of discomfort festered within him, and he spoke again. “Uh, maybe? I think it'd be obvious if you started climbing on the walls or something.”

Nodding, Hufflepuff seemed to mull over his answer before her face broke into a huge smile. “Alrighty then.” She suddenly plucked a piece of popcorn that had been lying in the collar of his shirt and popped it in her mouth. “Can I watch you play Exploding Snap with Ravenclunk?”

“I thought you didn’t like Ravenclunk.”

“I wanna see the cards explode in his face,” she shrugged.

Slytherin hummed a laugh, momentarily forgetting how unusual she was acting, and began leading her back into the Great Hall. He felt a tug at his hand and turned back, only for Hufflepuff to smash her face onto his.

The kiss was rough and sloppy, an alarming contrast to how they normally kissed. Drawing his bottom lip between her teeth, she bit down hard enough to make him pull away abruptly. He gingerly touched his lip and found his fingers to be stained with blood. He looked back up at her, shocked.

A bit of his blood smeared across her teeth, she smiled coyly. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest bit. “You know I get carried away sometimes…”

Slytherin didn’t respond and simply stood there like a statue, face awash with horror as he stared at her.

“I’ve gotta go now. I have lots to do today.” With that, she ambled away, leaving Slytherin standing there and looking as if he had just seen a ghost.

Hufflepuff wandered through the corridors, letting her hands brush against the cobblestone wall as she inhaled the sweet smell drifting from the Kitchens.

I have to admit, the voice cackled. This is quite luxurious. It’s interesting to be human for once. Smell, taste, touch. I have much to explore.

Please, Hufflepuff begged, trapped within the confines of her body against her own will. Let me go!

Peeves laughed gleefully inside her mind.

But I’m having so much fun.

FIN.

Check out my masterlist! | Kind comments and reblogs are most appreciated :)

Author’s note:

This may be my least favorite fic out of all that I have written. Last night, when I was writing it, I didn’t feel happy and a part of me wanted to discard what I wrote so far because I was like “jessica this is so dumb” but I didn’t wanna throw out what I wrote so far. I’m not even sure if Peeves is able to possess someone’s body, and after I finished writing, I thought “well what if I keep it ambiguous and it’s just some random demon?”. However, I had done some research on how Peeves talks, hence the “ickly”, and I didn’t wanna take out the hints of Hufflepuff not really being Hufflepuff. In addition, it doesn’t seem very hogwarts-like or harry potter related if it were just a random demon. That’s why I thought Filch to be the best option. I thought of this idea yesterday when my sister was acting creepy while we were in the bathroom in the morning. I was brushing my teeth and she was on the toilet, and she straightup looked at me with dead eyes and asked “Would you be able to tell if a demon possessed me?” and I was like

She was twitching and everything, and as I was walking out of the bathroom, she came up right behind me and SNIFFED MY HAIR. Yea, so that was my inspiration for this fic. My initial idea for the ending was that as Hufflepuff walks back with Slytherin to the table, her eyes glow a little and she smiles wickedly. However, I was like hmmmm what if she bits his lips and he bleeds a little?.. Yea, don’t ask me why I thought that. I don’t think I would ever write a fic that includes that bit because slytherpuff doesn’t have that rough-love type of vibe, so I just thought, oh whatever might as well do that now when I have the chance.

In other news, happy March! This is gonna be the month in which I get the rest of my college results and I am a little nervous. Also, I’m going to go on a hiatus because I feel myself going down a spiral right now and it’s likely because my period is coming😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀😀What fun, am I right??? I get bad PMS, so I’m just gonna leave and focus on my own wellbeing for some time because I tend to get depressed during my period. I might write a bunch of stories and then come out from the dark and then post consistently. I think I am kind of posting consistently already; I have never posted as many fics as I had in February, which is interesting and hopefully not a once-in-a-lifetime thing because I’m done with the college process but now I also have to deal with my own issues in terms of mental health and stuff. It sucks but I will get better.

I hope you enjoyed reading this fic. Let me know what you think!

Tags: slytherpuff-shenanigans @axieleration @sunnniiee @just--another--bean @determinedpines @zenobiagrace @asterinflower @cinnamon-roll-unicorn @mossy-axolotl @dumbbitch11 @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @notsowiseravenclaw @arianatorpotterhead @eatacrackerandstop @luciferswife16 @walkinganomaly @asunshinepuff @lewispoolerpayton @adreameratdawn @thewitcheswords @oncergleekpotterhead @princessstoopid @stardustzainy @flvrqnce @multi-fandom-nutjob @eunnieah @iamahufflepuff @1hufflepuff @introvertedrae @princessstoopid @jasminedayz @magnoliamermaid @HOPEFUL-HUFFLEPUFF-PEEVES @peanut-in-the-goal @pufflehuff929 @sophiexteresa @da-fox-rangerrr @dawinehouse @shipping-book-keeper @xxavaloraxx @silverhetdanes @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @elegantcroissantplaidpony @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog @vickeyunicorn @arianatorpotterhead @hmilkwhoney @simpering-simpleton @grandcyclecreation @sweetinvisiblewriter @marvelenthusiast10 @mvlpksvthisht @qiaopa @beardedhumanoid @jadefox05 @justanotherperson @inkedintothepaper @minty-malfoy @trippy-morgan @fangirlgeekandfreak @boilyourteeth @absentmindeduniverse @colettedelaurel @halfelven1 @happy-puff @coloring-bud @in-love-with-remus-lupin @autumnpleaves @crakencc @flyme--tothemoon @hedgepuffgirl @littleemotionalpanda @pancakes-and-sugar @korra4321 @aquietkindofthunder @qixnsriess @porksoba @thatfann @hellounicorn @i-have-a-bad-feeling @aasa2102 @zuko-28 @annie-mcl @clementines-x @writtenfoxscreams @randomwriter23 @cryingabtwandavision @coolninjavoid @urfaveslytherin @malfoys-demigod @tumlbr-trasher @violayaxley @wolfpack-arts-industries99 @zainieees-stuff @milk-leaves @priii @capt-sparrow @blueberry-9-pancakes @stressy-depressy

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frostsinth · 4 years

Text

The Secret We Keep - Pt. 2

Part 1 - MasterList

Good morning, my dudes. Have a new part of the new orc story to celebrate me hitting 300 followers. As always, my eternal love for your support. I am grateful to have such wonderful feedback and overwhelming support for my work.

Thank you, and keep being you! Please comment and reblog with your thoughts. I read every single one. Multiple times. It is my sustenance. Feel free to DM or shoot me an ask if there’s something you’d like to see or any questions you have.

I was humming to myself as usual while I swept out the front shop when a huge shadow fell over me. I started, spinning with a tiny gasp. My hand even went to clutch at my breast in surprise. But as soon as I recognized the disheveled looking behemoth before me, my face split into a smile instead.

“Hans!” I exclaimed excitedly.

I beamed up at him as he bowed his shoulders to duck into the little shop through the door I had left propped open. His slate eyes roamed around, as if looking for something. Not much had changed in the week since I had last seen him. The cow haunches had been replaced by goat’s legs, the mackerel by trout. I had some fresh wild pheasant on the fire in the corner, and its juicy aroma filled the air. I leaned the broom against the wall and smacked the dirt off my hands.

“Welcome back! I was hoping I’d see you again!” I told him eagerly. “Hungry?”

He turned his big eyes on me, frowning. When he made no move to come deeper into the shop, I rolled my eyes in amusement. Perhaps he still wasn’t used to such friendly greetings, I decided as I went over and closed the shop door. Then I took up his big hand in both of mine and gave a gentle tug. His eyes dropped down to my hands, which looked like delicate glass compared to his meaty sausages. Of course, my tug had probably hardly even registered to him. If I was being honest, the effort of lifting his hand with both of mine was almost difficult.

But he allowed me to coax him out the back. I dropped his hand as soon as he started moving and turned to lead the way. A pair of deer were smoking today, and a wild turkey. There was a small pig’s head on the chopping block, its meat skewered and its ears put out to leather on the rack. I had left the door to my room open to let in some of the fresh summer air, and nodded to it.

“Go ahead in. I’m sure you’re sick of venison if you’ve been traveling. How about turkey?” I suggested. “The pig still has a few hours. I’ve got some salmon if you’d prefer.”

He didn’t go immediately to the house nor answer me. I saw his eyes considering the broken gate and the still empty stables. They drifted up to the makeshift skylight, then the crooked door and bent and beaten skewers. A frown tugged his lips in a deep, downward pitch. I hummed a few more lines of my previous song patiently as he looked about, dipping a smaller bucket in the barrel of water by the gate to bring in with us.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” I told him as I hoisted the bucket over my shoulder, “Not long after you left. Erlif and his men were found hogtied and bloody in the old prison. Nobody knows how they got there!” I laughed. “I heard they were shipped off to Osfar. They have a bounty on their head there.”

I waited by the door of the house, but he didn’t seem inclined to follow yet. I saw his eyes considering the meat on the skewers, and I thought I saw his tongue dart out to lick his lips. I felt a little ashamed of the wild meat on the coals. A good butcher would have only cooked and sold domestic grown meat. Raised themselves, if possible. While I was reduced to taking anything I could bargain for.

“You don’t say.” He grumbled in his deep, quiet voice.

“Good riddance, in my opinion.” I replied distractedly, looking a little forlornly at the meat on the skewers. “Sorry about the slim pickings today. Can’t afford to pay the farmers for their stock if I don’t have enough people buying the meat. And if I don’t have enough meat to sell, I won’t be able to buy the stock.” I shrugged. “Endless little circle. Luckily the hunters will sell their game cheap,” I tried to sound cheery at that, but wasn’t sure I managed, “Though I can’t ask for as much as I could for beef and pork.”

Hans scowled at me, and he drummed his big fingers on his ax head. His slate eyes looked me up and down again, and I raised an eyebrow curiously. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking. I sighed quietly, brushing one hand through my hair. I ducked into the house, placing the bucket of water by the door and going over to the barrel nearest the stove. After digging around inside for a moment, I brought my findings back outside.

The orc seemed surprised to see the little coin purse held out to him in my tiny hand. His slate blue eyes shot back up to me, and a fresh scowl settled on his face.

“It’s all there.” I assured him, shifting my weight to my other foot.

He rubbed one rough hand at his scruffy beard. “It was payment for your services.”

I scoffed, leaning back and smiling. “What service? A little kindness to a stranger who helped me out?” I shook my head. “I manage well enough to do that.”

A growl formed in this throat, rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. He slowly reached out and wrapped his huge hand around the pouch. My skin tingled where his fingertips brushed against mine. His brow was knotted, and his lips still set into a deep frown. I considered that for a moment, then smiled.

“It’s nice of you to worry, but I assure you. I’m fine.” I said, then rested my hands back on my hips. “So, are you hungry or not?”

The orc grumbled unintelligibly. The way he looked around my yard, I had a feeling he didn’t quite believe me when I said I was fine. He chewed at his lip thoughtfully, staring at me. I met his gaze, unabashed, and smiled. He grunted, then shook his big head. He tucked the pouch back into his belt slowly.

“Well, I would offer you a drink, but all I have left is water.”

I turned to go into the house, gesturing for him to follow me. Perhaps I could offer him some bread, though I only had a little left. But I paused in the doorway when I realized he wasn’t following. Instead, he turned, making his way over to the gate on the back wall. I followed him after a moment.

“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

Before I could say more, he wrapped one huge hand around the top and bottom of the old broken gate. With one tug, the large gate shattered, ripping off its hinges. I was so surprised my hands went to my mouth. The big orc brought the pieces over to the wall, leaning it against it. Then he considered the scrap wood there before selecting a piece and a few nails.

I bustled over quickly as soon as I realized his intent, holding up my hands.

“You don’t have to do that!” I protested.

He gave a loud, almost startling snort. “I’m not asking.” He growled.

He considered the tiny hammer by the pile, then kicked it aside with a grumble and pulled out his ax, spinning it deftly in his hand. I continued to protest, even going so far as to place my hand on his huge bicep. He froze under my touch, and my words died in my mouth. I looked up at him, meeting his stormy blue eyes. We stayed like that, perhaps for a moment too long. Then I yanked my hand back, taking a little shy step away. I felt a little heat in my cheeks, though I wasn’t sure why. I swallowed a few times, smiling stupidly, flustered.

“W-well, then you’ll have to let me feed you. If you insist on fixing my gate.”

His responding grunt sounded affirmative. Satisfied he wasn’t going to fuss about it, I went back to the house. I adjusted the fresh flowers in the pitcher, trying to sort my thoughts and looking around as I thought about what I could offer him. Then I went over to where I had some dough rising, readying it to put in the oven. I stoked the coals until the little clay stove was back to baking temperature and slid the dough in. Smacking my hands together to get off the excess flour, I pulled out a pair of hollow horns and dipped them into the cool water. I took a sip myself, and brought the other outside to the big orc, placing it on a stump near him. It was a very hot day, after all.

Hans had already neatly trimmed and hammered two slats into place. Even as he worked I felt his eyes on me while I moved about the yard. I went over to the pits, seasoning the meat with some gravy and vinegar as well as dried herbs. Then I took up a hanging cloth and wiped down a few dishes by the water barrel, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He was still watching. I couldn’t help a small, amused smile on my lips as I stacked the wooden plates before taking them inside to place on the small shelf by the larder.

It was only late afternoon; starting anything now would have it dried out and chewy by the time he finished the gate. I would just have to preoccupy myself with something else in the meantime. But I felt guilty letting him work alone in the heat.

So I gathered up my basket of herbs and carried it out on my head to the little yard. I dragged another stump over to the doorway of the shop and set the basket by my feet as I sat down. I would be able to hear if any last minute customers stopped by that way. I took up a few and began braiding them together. My small hands worked nimbly at the familiar task. It was mostly mindless, and allowed me to watch the big orc work.

“Do you have business in the area again?” I asked him conversationally.

He gave another positive sounding grunt, and I smiled, looking down at the forming garland of wild garlic in my lap. What a mystery he was! But I decided, looking at how efficiently he was repairing the gate with just his ax and a pile of scrap wood, my original assessment had been right. He was a laborer of some kind. I berated myself quietly for forgetting about an orc’s sense of pride. Of course he would insist on some sort of payment for the food I had given him last time. Orcs rarely took handouts. I snuck a look at him under my lashes, hiding another smile. Same as me.

“I wish I had more to offer you than water,” I mused aloud, interrupting the soft song I had been humming absentmindedly to myself. “And would you rather the pig or some goat for dinner?”

Hans straightened, reaching up one hand to wipe the back of it over his sweaty forehead. He snatched up the horn of water, guzzling it down. I watched his gullet move as he swallowed, and found my chest tingling at the sight. I blinked a few times to clear my head as he replaced the horn and reached for his belt again.

“Here.” He grunted, holding out a gold coin. I started to protest, but his growl silenced me. “Get a bottle of wine… or whatever you womenfolk like.”

At first, I was torn. My own pride would not allow me to take the offered coin; but my desire to be a good hostess reasoned that a bottle of gin would go quite well with the goat. I sighed, relenting to my latter argument. I replaced the half finished garland in the basket and held out my hands. He delicately placed the coin in my palm. Again, our skin brushed, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Swallowing, I stood, skittering over to the house. I hooked the bucket of water over my arm and brought it out, resting it in the shade before refilling his drinking horn.

“I won’t be long.” I promised, untying the straps of my apron hesitantly.

I glanced at him, then at the gate. I was unlikely to have any customers come knocking, but it still felt a little strange leaving him there in the yard all alone. Still, I knew the distillers shop just around the corner wouldn’t be busy. I could be there and back pretty quickly. I draped the apron over the stump, lingering.

He gave another hearty grunt, picking his ax back up. “Go. I’ll keep working.”

A little over half an hour later, I was back, the biggest bottle of mulberry gin they had on hand under my arm. It’d still cost less than the whole gold piece, and I carefully patted the silver coins in my pocket lightly. In my other hand was a fresh bundle of the wildflowers I had seen growing at the corner of the road that led out of town. I hadn’t been able to resist stopping to pick them. I brought them up to my nose to smell as I went to the back wall of the shop.

I nearly dropped both as I came round the corner. The sun was beginning to set, and dusty orange rays splashed across the yard. The air almost hummed with the heat of the day slowly starting to rise up from the ground as the air cooled. But it was the sight of Hans that had me frozen in place like a startled doe.

He was lifting a final slat of wood into place, and the sweat that trickled over his skin caught the orange sunlight making his dark green skin seem to glow. And there was quite a lot of skin to look at. The big orc had discarded his armor and his tunic and was now stripped bare down to his hips. Each movement had his muscles coiling and rippling with raw power. I swore he was less a man and instead simply one giant corded muscle as he reached for his ax and rotated it in one meaty hand to use the back of its head to hammer the final nails in place. Unlike those on his arms and shoulders, his muscles on his chest and abdomen were not defined. His was not the body made for show; they were the muscles made for work. Thick and tough, they did not jiggle or sag when he relaxed them, but they were more uniformed in shape and not distinct as individual muscles. Rather an entire torso designed to get the job done. And certainly, he was getting the job done; the gate was almost finished. Like watching a snake move through the grass, I found myself transfixed, unable to move.

It took him taking a step back and placing his hands on his hips as he admired his handiwork for me to come back to my senses. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to recover, for the big orc turned, as if sensing my eyes on him. I quickly fumbled a sheepish grin, blinking rapidly and letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I hope you like mulberry gin,” I told him breathlessly, finding my feet well enough to close the remaining gap between us, “I thought it would pair very well with the goat-”

A soft ‘eep!’ escaped my lips as my foot caught on an errant board. I tumbled forward, arms going wide. My hands scrambled for the bottle, dropping the flowers in favor of saving the glass. I braced myself for impact, clutching the bottle to me and squeezing my eyes shut.

It came as a surprise when I didn’t suddenly feel the wind knocked from my lungs. Or the sting of the ground against my shoulder. In fact, I actually almost felt weightless, and a soft tingle of air hit the back of my neck as my hair lifted from it. A deeply rich smell filled my nose, and there was something firm but gentle at my back.

I cracked open an eye, and found it met by dark stormy blues. Slowly, I opened the other, feeling my breath hitch and my heart race beneath my skin.

I was delicately cradled in Hans’ arms, with one of his hands at my back and the other beneath my legs. He had dropped to one knee in his lunge to catch me, and bent over my body with his heavy brow knotted up. As he looked down at me, his hot breath splashed against my face, and I drew in another whiff of his thick scent. He seemed equally surprised to find me in his arms, but neither of us moved to change positions. I found myself simply staring, lost in his big eyes.

Finally, he gave a soft grunt, and slowly, carefully, lowered my feet back to the ground. I found myself quivering, and took a deep, steadying breath. The big orc dropped his hand almost reluctantly from my back, straightening up. I smiled at him again, dropping my eyes.

“Sorry.” I mumbled bashfully, thumbing the bottle between my hands.

He shrugged those huge shoulders, reaching up one hand and scratching at the back of his neck. I had to work hard not to stare at his broad chest and solid looking abdomen as he did.

“I shouldn’t have left shit lying around.” He grumbled, reaching down to pick up the offending piece of wood. He chucked the huge plank off to the side with about as little effort as swatting at a fly. “Just gotta mount the gate.” He finished, glancing over at the opening I had just walked through in the clay wall of the yard.

“O-oh! Right, yes.” I stammered, feeling heat rising to my cheeks again. I pushed my hair back from my face, looking about. “I’ll finish searing the meat while you do.” I frowned a little sadly, noticing the scattered flowers littering the yard. “You can wash up at the trough after if you’d like. The water is fresh.”

He followed my gaze around the ground, nodding. When he turned back to the gate, I bustled quickly into the shop to grab the goat. Focus, focus! I scolded myself, expertly taking the meat down and adjusting the coals to a hotter blaze. I shifted the pheasant to the side, letting it keep warm without continuing to cook. I’d have to slice it later and leave it to salt overnight. I reached under the table and grabbed my herbs and molasses, quickly spreading some over the outside of the leg. It sizzled as the coals burned hotter under it, and I used my handheld bellows to breathe a little more air onto them until they glowed orange. Kind of how Hans had in the sunlight. I shook my head, scolding myself again.

If only my father could see me now! Losing my head over a man. And an orc at that! He would have been in stitches on the floor. Would have teased me endlessly. At first, the thought of my late father warmed my smile. But then his memory and loss sobered me, and I slowly turned and braised the leg in quiet thought. Things had gotten a lot harder since his passing; this little run down town had a bad reputation, and a young, unmarried woman living alone was as dangerous as too much bellow work on hot coals. I sighed, turning the leg again and considering the crust that had formed. I would figure it out though. I always did.

A short while later, the leg was done. I grabbed my carving knife and put the leg on a wood slab, turning and ducking back out to the evening air with the gin under my arm again. It was refreshingly cool after the hot day, though I was certain it had probably only dropped just a few degrees. Still, without the sun beating down overhead or the fire on my face, it felt marvelous.

As I crossed the yard, I snuck a look at Hans out of the corner of my eye. He was testing the gate, swinging it slowly open and closed. He was still shirtless, and I greedily soaked up the sight of him. I shook my head again, clearing my throat and ducking through the open door of my house. No time for that now!

I quickly set the table, clearing the clutter and trying to rearrange the wilting flowers. It was a shame the new bouquet hadn’t made it; these could really use refreshing. But they would have to do. The bread in the oven had just finished, and I took it out and drew in a deep breath of its warm scent as I brought it over to the table. Gin, drinking horns, leg roast, plates, carving knife. I had just about everything set. I turned back to my little larder, thinking to myself a few snap peas would be a nice side for the roast. I heard splashing outside, and knew my time was going to be limited.

I hesitated by the bowl of water on the barrel by the stove. I reached up and twirled a strand of hair between two fingers thoughtfully, looking down at my worn old dress. It was covered in blood and gravy stains, and I smoothed my hands over it restlessly. Looking about, I went over to the pile of things on my bed and pulled out a fresh apron. Less dirty, at least, I thought to myself. Then I rinsed my hands and splashed water at my face, smoothing over my messy locks. I chided myself quietly, not entirely sure why it mattered what I looked like, but couldn’t help but untie the thong in my hair and brush my fingers down its length a few times before retying it.

The shadows had begun to lengthen with the departure of the sun. So I lit candles about the room and went back over to the larder with a small basket. I heard his footsteps, followed by the sound of his shoulders scraping against the door frame.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” I told him, reaching in and scooping a few handfuls of the snap peas into the basket, “I’m not sure if orcs like vegetables too, but I thought-”

My words caught in my throat as I turned back to face him. He was wearing his tunic again, but not his armor, and his hair was slicked back. I could still see the water droplets in his beard. It did nothing to impede how very handsome he suddenly looked. He fiddled with something in his hands, not quite looking up at me. When I managed to tear my eyes away from his now clean face, I noticed the wild flowers clutched in his huge, meaty fists. They looked a little rough, with a few bent stalks, missing petals, and pulverized leaves. But the sight of them had a smile blossoming on my own face.

I walked over, placing the snap peas on the table. Hans awkwardly held out the flowers, peeking at me through dark lashes. My smile grew as I reached out to take them. I couldn’t resist letting my fingers linger on his as I gently slid them from his grip. The touch had him looking up, meeting my eyes with his. I felt my cheeks turn a little pink, and brought the flowers to my nose to give a light sniff.

“Thank you, Hans,” I breathed, running my hand over the petals gently, “That was very kind of you.”

He gave a rumbling grunt that seemed to come from from somewhere deep in his chest. But his brow looked a little less scrunched than usual, and I could have sworn his lips weren’t quite so scowly. I decided he was pleased with himself, and hid my smile as I emptied the old flowers from the pitcher and replaced them with his. As I did, he slowly settled himself back on the bench, looking over the food.

I settled opposite him, bringing the carving knife over to me. I made quick work of the leg, separating it from the bone and cutting it into manageable pieces with a few well placed strokes of the blade. Hans watched quietly, and I thought I saw his cheek twitch and his brow soften even more. Was he impressed? I gave him a shy smile.

“You won’t make it far as a butcher if you don’t know how to handle a knife.” I told him, then speared a piece of the leg roast on the tip and held it out to him. “Here, tell me what you think.”

He eagerly took the offered piece between his thumb and index, bringing it to his mouth. I heard him suck on it, chewing it slowly. Savoring the flavor. He gave a resounding sound of enjoyment, his tongue darting out to keep escaping juices in his mouth. I smiled, picking a piece for myself and nibbling at it.

“Hmm. More bay leaf next time, I think,” I mused, rolling the flavor around in my mouth critically.

Hans was already reaching for another piece. I uncorked the gin and poured some into the horns. Never a short supply of those around here. I snapped a pea between my teeth, chewing quietly as I swirled the gin beneath my nose. The orc took a deep draught, and gave a happy ‘ahhh’ as he drew the cup back.

I smiled at him. “You act like you’ve never had a good meal!” I teased, sipping at my own gin. The tart liquor paired well with the sweet molasses I had braised the goat with.

He grunted again. “Not often.” He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “Not like this.”

I refilled his cup and took up the bread, breaking it in two. I made sure he got the larger piece. I took up another piece of the meat and offered him the snap peas curiously.

“Well, whenever you’re in the area, stop by.” I told him shyly, and he took a few of the peas in hand, sniffing them thoughtfully. “I’ll make sure you get one.”

Hans seemed to enjoy the crunch of the peas, and took another small handful. I placed the basket back on the table and used my bread to sop up the juices on the cutting board. I sipped at my gin, then refilled the horns again. I could already feel its warmth seeping into my cheeks and the tips of my ears.

“You are alone?” Gurgled the orc conversationally, using my example to sponge the sauce and juices with his bread before bringing it to his mouth.

I nodded. “It used to be my father’s shop. He was an excellent butcher and cook. Taught me everything I know. But he passed away almost a year ago…” I dropped off, burying the sudden pang of loss with another sip of gin.

“Sorry.” Growled the orc, and though his voice was rough, I decided he sounded sincere.

I gave him a smile. “It’s alright. He died peacefully in his sleep. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

He grunted. I remembered suddenly exactly what orcs thought about a so called ’peaceful’ death. I remembered my father once telling me that they considered any death other than that on a battlefield almost shameful. I wondered if he found my statement insulting, and quickly tried to recover.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, feeling flustered, “I hope you don’t mind me saying as much.”

Hans snorted, shaking his big head. “I don’t care.”

I took up a handful of snap peas, popping them one at a time into my mouth. “The only things I know about the world are from what others have told me. I’ve never been outside this village,” I confided in him, “I’m not sure what I would do out in the great big beyond!” I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head.

He looked about my little room, and I felt a blush returning to my cheeks. I could almost hear the question he posed with his gesture. I thought about it for a little, following his eyes around my childhood home. Then I shrugged.

“I wouldn’t mind moving, perhaps someplace quieter, but I like my work.” I said. “No matter where I go, I think I would find myself just setting up shop, same as here. Though I suppose I could see myself on a farm, out in the countryside.”

“No cities?”

I laughed again, finishing off my cup and pouring myself another. “Oh Gods no! I can’t stand crowds of people. And the noise!” I shook my head, looking around, “I enjoy the little things; what I’ve earned with my own two hands.”

He gave another sound, deep in the back of his throat. I thought it sounded approving. I smiled at him, then glanced down at my cup bashfully.

“Do you often have business in the area?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He raised one big, bushy brow at me. “...Sometimes.”

I shuffled my feet under the table. The plates before us were empty, and the shadows of the setting sun had long since disappeared. I considered the bottle of gin between us. It was hardly an excuse to keep him here, I thought, disappointedly, but it was the only thing I had. My head spun with the realization that I wasn’t ready for the orc to leave just yet. I stared numbly down at my cup, trying to find some courage.

“Come.” He growled suddenly, breaking the silence and standing.

I looked up at him, surprised, but followed suit without questioning. He certainly wasn’t much of the conversationalist, but it seemed the big orc never did anything without forethought. Whatever he had in mind, I decided I was curious enough to wait to find out. He took up the gin bottle and ducked his head to pass through the door. I was barely a step behind, holding my own horn nervously between my hands.

Out into the night air, I noticed the finished gate and smiled. I walked over, resting my hand against it. I couldn’t remember the last time the gate hadn’t looked like it would fall apart with a stiff breeze. It was obvious the gate had been repaired; the different types of wood interlaced with each other without much sense or pattern. But it was very sturdy. I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone unwanted coming through there. I traced my fingers over the wood, still smiling to myself.

I heard a soft grunt, and turned towards the source. The big orc had shuffled the stumps together against the side of the house, and was sitting on one. He didn’t look at me, but pulled out the cork of the gin with his teeth and refilled his horn. I slowly wandered over, wringing my hands. He leaned back against the house with a sigh, stretching his long legs out and letting his knees naturally fall apart. I watched quietly, edging a little closer, sipping at my drink.

He took a deep swallow, leaning his head back. I used the opportunity of his distraction to slip even closer. Coming up to his side. I glanced at the stumps, then around the yard. Beyond my tiny little haven, the soft sounds of the town closing up for the night echoed. Doors closing, windows shuttering, and calls of farewell. Trudging boots and soft laughter. Slowly, I lowered myself to sit on the stump next to him.

Hans refilled his cup again, then turned, leaning over me. I stiffened a little, but he merely poured some more gin into my horn. I felt his shoulder brush mine as he did, and my ears felt hot. All too soon he was leaning back again, recorking the bottle and placing it on the ground between us.

“Thanks.” I murmured, looking down into the cup.

He gave a rasping huff, reaching up and running his thumb along his bottom lip. I swirled my drink for a moment, then brought it back to my mouth. I liked the warm feeling wrapping about my core. And though I wouldn’t admit it, not all of that warmth was because of the liquor.

I wasn’t sure what else to talk about. Wasn’t sure if talking was what the big orc had in mind when he had brought us outside. I chanced a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw his head back. Dark eyes looking up at the stars.

I followed his lead, leaning back against the house and tilting my chin up. I sighed deeply, forcing myself to relax. Took another sip to aid the process and tucked my ankles comfortably against the barrel. The position had my knees falling dangerously close to his thigh, but I tried to ignore that fact. Wondered if he noticed how closely we were sitting together. Or if he even cared.

“...You know, I had a man come to my shop the other day and tried to sell me his dog. His dog!” I giggled, finding the edges of my words slightly slurred. “And no matter what I told him, he kept trying to convince me the meat would ‘taste like chicken’...” I glanced at Hans out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t seem to mind the story. I took another deep sip of the gin. “The man was drunk as a skunk, and I almost took him up on the offer. Not for the meat, mind,” I added quickly, “I don’t frown at any kind of meat, but that skinny hound would have been gamey as hell. Would have just been bad business to buy him for that. No, I wanted to buy him because I didn’t like to see the way he treated the poor thing.” I sighed. “It probably sounds hypocritical, but I hate to see an animal suffer-” I tapped my chin thoughtfully “-You know, maybe I should get a beast like that for around here. I’ve sure got enough bones lying around.”

I smiled, taking another sip and glancing at the orc again. He seemed to be listening quietly, his head tilted slightly towards me as he looked up at the heavens. He took a deep drag from his horn, and I watched his lips curl around the cup with a hungry eye.

“Though I’d want a big dog,” I said quickly, dragging my eyes away from his face. “Those tiny yappers they keep around in those big houses are only good for kindling.”

That garnered me a short, huffing snort. I thought it might even be a laugh. I grinned, tracing the rim of my cup with my thumb.

“Would be hard to find one around here, even if I had the coin to buy it.” I shrugged, tossing back the last of my gin and reaching for the bottle. “Probably better I don’t. Big old hound like that would probably stink…”

I dropped off as my hand brushed his, also reaching for the bottle. We froze again, and I craned my neck back to look up at him. His big eyes met mine, and I felt my mouth drop a little to see the way the moonlight glimmered there. Somewhere in the distance, a lute started playing amid the soft chatter of the tavern through an open door.

He turned his hand suddenly, catching mine in it and swallowing it up in his palm. I blushed a little, feeling my ears burning hotter than the midday sun. But I didn’t pull my hand away. Slowly, he brought it up, looking down at it. Running his big thumb over my knuckles. His hand was firm and strong, and quite warm, but despite the callouses, his touch was very soft and gentle. He turned it over, thumbing open my fingers to trace his fingers over my rough palms.

“...Worker’s hands…” I murmured apologetically, feeling suddenly a little ashamed I didn’t have the soft, pristine hands of a lady.

He shook his big head, his thick locks like a lion’s mane about him. “... I like them.”

He brought my hand up higher, unhurried, bending down slightly to meet it. Then he haltingly traced my knuckles lightly in a line along his lips. My breath fluttered in my chest, and I was sure my heart skipped more than one beat. In fact, I was pretty sure it had stopped all together. His large tusk brushed against my finger as he moved my hand slowly back and forth, sending a little shiver of excitement racing down my spine.

I had subconsciously shifted a little closer, and when his eyes lifted again, I was nearly leaning against his huge bicep. Our eyes met again, and we sat in silence for a long moment.

“I should be going.” He rumbled finally, beginning to straighten up.

“Oh…” I breathed, finally finding the air returning to my lungs in a rush. It came ladened with more than a small helping of disappointment.

But he didn’t release my hand as he stood, so I stood as well. Standing perhaps just a hair too close to him than was necessarily appropriate. My eyes flicked to his big lips, and I saw them twitch slightly under my scrutiny.

His free hand went to the pouch at his belt, and he turned, digging through it for a moment. He turned over my hand as he did, then pressed three gold coins into my palm and closed my fingers around it.

“But-”

“I want to buy a pig.” He interrupted before I could finish my protest. “A whole roast pig.”

I was surprised, and looked down at his hand clasped around mine. “Three gold would buy you two pigs! Maybe three!”

He shrugged. “Then I want three pigs.”

“But-”

“How long?” He interrupted again, and I felt him squeeze my hand in his gently.

I fell silent, breathing in the warm night air. Each breath I drew felt thin, and my heart pounded so loudly against my ribcage I was sure he could hear it. I tried to find a reasonable answer to his question amid my spinning thoughts.

“Four days.” I replied finally, then remembered something, turning to dig in my pocket with my own free hand. “Wait, I have your change from the gin-”

“Keep it.”

“But-”

He growled softly, effectively cutting me off again. My eyes jumped up, but his big brow seemed smoother. Not angry or annoyed. He studied my face for a moment, then reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Get some more gin… it was good.”

He finally dropped my hand, shuffling in place for a moment before turning with a grunt. He walked over to where his armor rested, draped on the fence. I watched him, unsure what to do with myself in that moment. Finding myself at a loss for words.

Gathering up his armor, he tossed it over one shoulder, then looked back at me. I gave him a cheery smile, but dropped my gaze shyly. I heard him shift his weight.

“Four days.” He promised.

I didn’t have the strength to lift my head until I heard him opening the repaired gate. Then I watched him disappear into the night, my head spinning.

...

UPDATE: Part Three HERE

#slow burn #orc lover #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #terato #dnd #exophilia #the secret we keep #oc #update #monster romance #budding romance #other tags here

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orwocolor · 3 years

Text

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Five

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Nighmares

Summary: Your friend is there for you when you need him, and maybe you’re starting to feel something more.

Author’s Note: IT FEELS GREAT TO BE BACK!!! Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym.

“Y/N! I’m back!” a shout comes from the hall and a loud bang of the door closing shut announces Gwil’s return.

You struggle to get to your feet but the moment your weight shifts to your injured ankle, you hiss through gritted teeth. There is not much left to do but to remain on the couch, nonchalantly sprawled out as if the position you’ve gotten into was intended.

“Erm, Y/N?” Gwil makes a move to the kitchen when he stops dead in his tracks as he spots you lying on the couch, your legs swung over the armrest in an awkward angle.

“Did you get the ice cream?” you ask innocently to divert his attention from the obvious mishap you’ve managed to cause in his 10-minute-long absence.

His brows furrow and he licks his lips before he responds. “Yes, I did. Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard about the new yoga position?” The whole situation is so bizarre, you can’t prevent a small giggle from escaping you. “Lying sideways on a couch with one arm squashed between your body and the cushion, and with your legs hanging over the armrest in a way to successfully feel the blood in your legs draining away so that you’re sure you’re gonna have pins and needles in them afterwards for hours, well… That’s the good stuff right there, man.” Your eyes sparkle with glee and, to continue in your blatant lie, you mean to throw your hair over your shoulder as if to imply there’s no room for arguing and that the conversation is over, but as you jerk your head, instead of your hair flawlessly flying around your face in a perfect way, it gets stuck underneath your shoulder and you smack your head against a throw pillow.

Despite your burst of giggles being muffled by the pillow, your laughter is evident in the way your body uncontrollably shakes on the coach.

Gwilym is laughing now too and after quickly discarding the grocery bags at the kitchen island, he rushes to your side. With one of his strong arms supporting your back and his warm fingers taking a hold of your hand, he helps you stand up, an occasional giggle escaping either his or your lips, and sets you down again. He takes a seat right next to you and throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows arched in question and a glint of amusement still present in his blue eyes.

You let your gaze rest on his face for a moment before you spit out the truth.

“Okay, fine. I just wanted to get us some popcorn and I couldn’t recall where exactly I left it the last time the girls were over for a movie night. So, I figured I might as well find it myself. But I couldn’t find the bloody crutches…” you trail off and throw your arms in a dismissive gesture.

“Although I bet the picture of you jumping on one foot just to promptly crash down on the sofa must have been hilarious,” he starts and nudges you with his shoulder, “you should have waited for me, I’m sure I would be able to find the popcorn myself,” he continues softly and brushes a strand of your hair that has fallen to your eyes.

“Well, you were already getting the ice cream I’d sent you for, so.” You shrug and shake your head. “I guess,” you pause and look around your living room, which is uncharacteristically tidied up, the result of Gwilym’s frequent visits he’s been paying you every day since the accident. Your life hasn’t been the same since he moved next door, has it? “Nevermind.” You give him a smile, but it’s not quite reaching your eyes. “What are we having for dinner?” you ask instead, hoping he’ll drop the previous subject.

That earns you a wide grin from Gwil and you release a sigh of relief. He promptly stands up to rummage through the bags he’s brought with him; the rustle of his socks against the carpet has become a familiar sound by now.

“Ta da!” He turns around to reveal two packages of frozen vegetables.

“Really?” You can’t believe this man. “Really?” you echo with disbelief seeping to your voice.

“What?” he tries defensively. “Ever since our journey to the hospital, I’ve been craving some good ol’ risotto. And since you didn’t let me cook it for you that night from our makeshift ice-packages, I had to go and buy new ones.” He moves to the kitchen area and starts storing various items into their designated places. God, a week in your kitchen and he already knows what needs to be put where, probably orienting there much better than you do.

“The vegetable had been out of the freezer for several hours so by the time we got back, it had turned into a mush and you know it,” you shout at him to the kitchen, your voice louder so as to howl down the kitchen cabinets being open and closed again.

Gwilym’s head peers over the kitchen island.

“Spoilsport.”

“I’ve still got one hand that’s alright so don’t be surprised when a pillow lands on your head,” you say matter-of-factly but reach for remote control to turn on the telly.

“I doubt that, I know your aim,” he answers after a minute, busying himself with the meal preparations.

Oh, really? Well, in that case…

You grab one of the cushions and toss it in his direction, but it plops down on the kitchen tiles, a good six feet away from him. Gwil barks out a laugh and you groan in defeat, but when he bends down to lift the pillow from the floor and get even with you, it’s your turn to laugh out loud when the pillow almost knocks down a rubber tree standing in the opposite corner of the room.

“I’m making dinner, okay, I’m distracted!” he explains, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“And I’m injured,” you retort in the same manner.

“Peace?” he asks softly and arches his eyebrows.

“Peace,” you agree, smiling, and let him get back to cooking dinner for you.

Mindlessly flicking through the channels, you watch Gwil from the corner of your eye as he turns on the stove and tosses the vegetable into a frying pan, the water with rice already bubbling in the background.

You get lost in your thoughts as they swirl in your mind with pictures of the last couple of days.

Gwilym’s kept his promise and has been coming over to your place practically every day. Apart from cooking and keeping your flat clean and tidy, which is something you will be forever grateful for because with both of those chores you just can’t be particularly bothered even when your ankle isn’t protesting with every little movement, Gwilym has been most of all keeping you company. Jane and Charlotte have popped by every now and then to help you with showering (the bloody tube, why not just install a shower stall?) or to spend the movie night at yours on one occasion, for which Gwil has always retired to his own apartment, not meaning to intrude on your tradition.

One night, he also invited Ben to come over, of course with your permission, and all three of you played several board games. You’ve tried to repay Gwil’s care by helping him run his lines for his auditions. At first, you were absolutely awful, giggling and feeling warmth spreading across your cheeks, but soon enough you got the hang of it and managed to read the lines with pretended professionalism.

You and Gwil have also started watching several TV shows, especially the cooking and home design ones, which were the best to turn your brains off to (and occasionally doze off to) in the late evenings. Being the gentleman he is, Gwil refused to join you in your bed at first and watched the screen of your laptop form the chair snuggled in the corner of your bedroom. But eventually, he yielded to your pleading eyes and stubborn refusal to press play until he stopped being so silly. Nonetheless, he has always made sure to lie carefully on the covers of your bed even though you were tucked in so that there has remained a duvet between your bodies. Every now and then he fussed for a minute with pillows that were supporting your foot to make sure that your ankle remained elevated just to give you a sheepish smile when he noticed you were watching him with amusement.

You’re smiling now too at the picture of his lovely eyes adorned with small wrinkles in the outer corners. Holding the TV remote still in your hand, you realise you can’t find anything of interest and so you turn the TV off again.

Besides, the dinner is almost ready based on the delicious smell.

“So, who was it?” Jane asks matter-of-factly as she stretches her arms for you to lean on.

“That was Gwil.” Grabbing her forearms, you carefully swing your injured leg over the bathtub rim. “I must have mentioned him,” you add quickly when Jane cocks her perfectly shaped eyebrow. You avoid the eye-contact, suddenly focused on making sure the knot on the towel wrapped around your torso is tied properly.

“No, you haven’t. All you said was that your neighbour had been taking care of you.” Slinking your arm around her shoulders, you shift your weight and get yourself out of the bathtub completely. You pull your face at the odd sensation in your ankle, the pain you have been gradually becoming used to. “I only assumed you were talking about Mrs Thompson from 3A. You’re not the type to befriend your neighbours so eagerly.”

You let the last remark slip and berate yourself inwardly for not telling Jane the identity of your nurse/cleaner/companion sooner. Now it looks like you have kept it from her because there was a reason to. Which there was not. Nuh-uh.

You could have been spared of this conversation, had they not bumped into each other at your door as Jane was letting herself in and Gwil was leaving for his own flat. If only you hadn’t been so selfish, happy to be in his company, and would have let him go a few minutes sooner.

“So, who is he?” Jane presses and takes another towel from a nearby handle to wrap it around your shoulders.

No longer having the strength to keep upright, you perch yourself on the bathtub edge, the cold porcelain causing goose bumps on your thighs. “I already told you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, he’s just a friend, okay?” you finally give up. “He’s helping me with cooking and tidying up and overall, he’s just keeping me company. He’s currently looking for a job, which means that when he’s not auditioning for a role, he’s usually home anyway, so why not hang out together? So yes, he’s my friend.”

“I’m your friend, too, you know?” Jane offers.

“But you’ve got a full-time job and live several bus and tube stops away, not next door. It’s just a matter of proximity.”

“Aaand, what kind of proximity are we talking about here?” Jane’s eyes glint mischievously, and you spray her with droplets of water that have been clinging to your fingers. “Fine, fine,” she laughs and before handing you your bathrobe, she wipes her slightly damp face into it, which earns her a displeased groan from you.

“Okay, I’ll drop it,” she continues once she settles you on the coach, “but you can bet I’m telling Charlotte.”

You roll your eyes, but do not argue. The moment Jane makes up her mind, there’s not much you can do about it.

“Speaking of Charlotte, anything new about her birthday party?”

“I thought you would never ask!” Her eyes sparkle and she pulls out a thick notebook from her purse. “I’ve got so many ideas. Okay, hear me out. Glitter.”

“No,” you laugh out loud.

“Come on!”

“No, I’ve got the veto and I’m exercising it right now.”

“Urgh, fine.” She turns several pages. No way the idea revolving around glitter has been so elaborated.

“A movie night party?”

“We all have had a movie-themed birthday party. And I think Charlotte’s had two already.”

“Okay, not a movie night.” She crosses out the line in her notepad and is leafing through it some more.

“Jungle.”

“Jungle?”

“Yeah, jungle. Remember, when she had visited the Panama islands, she just couldn’t stop gushing over it. Her flat is already filled with hundreds of plants so as for the decoration, we don’t have to do much. Just a couple of balloons, fruity drinks and sweets, maybe we can set the thermostat to a higher temperature. And if we don’t manage to clean it up there in time, we can say it’s just part of the décor, right?”

“I kinda like it,” you admit with a smile and Jane’s winning grin seals the deal. “Yeah, I can imagine it. Yellow and dark green balloons, some more plants, fruity drinks. I’m on board.”

“Great! And it’s not going to be so expensive either, which is more than appreciated. By the way, how are you doing financially? Is there anything I can do in this respect?”

“No, there’s no need, thank you,” you wave her off. “The sick leave is not so bad, and I’ve still got the money my grandpa left me.”

“Wait, you’ve still got that?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure out what to spend it on. I’ve got everything I need; you see. But I guess it’s losing its worth as time goes by. I should invest it rather sooner than later.”

“Sounds right to me.” She gives it some thought. “Oh, maybe we could throw a massive birthday party for Charlotte!”

“Look, I love you both, but no,” you giggle.

“It was worth a try,” she chirps. “We’ll plan the details next time I come around to help you shower?”

“Actually, I’m getting much better with the crunches; the wrist has almost healed. So next time, it’s gonna be without the striptease for free for you, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, dang it, you’ll rob me of the highlight of my week.”

You look up from your laptop screen and give Gwil a questioning look as he enters your bedroom, dragging his bag and jacket behind him. He simply drops them on the floor and crashes down next to you. Promptly closing his eyes and releasing a deep sigh, he goes motionless.

“That bad?” you ask after a few seconds of silence.

“The worst,” he groans and drags his hand down his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back and rub your palm against his shoulder. He peers with one eye over his splayed hand at you and the line between his brows deepens.

“It was awful,” he huffs and proceeds to stare at the ceiling as his fingers remain on his jaw.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask and place your laptop on the floor before you twist on your side and give Gwil your complete attention.

"Yes,” he responds eventually. “Or no. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ve got time, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.”

You mean to give him a reassuring hug but because of your position on the bed, it ends up looking as if you were cuddling up to him. Once you realise your mistake, you shuffle a few inches back. Your palm, however, warm and reassuring, remains on Gwil’s chest.

“It was awful,” he echoes and turns his head to look into your eyes. “Ben and I had been waiting ages for the casting director to show up and when he did, he wasn’t ready at all, kept calling me ‘Will’, yelled at me for not reading my lines when it actually wasn’t my cue, overall dismissed my approach to the character and then he just waved me off. This time, he didn’t even bother to tell me I would be hearing from them soon.”

Your thumb starts drawing soothing circles on Gwilym’s chest as any words of reassurance die in your throat.

“I’d been nervous about that audition the whole day and for what reason?”

“Well,” you try, sure that nothing you will just say can elevate his mood. You have found out a few days ago, that the best cure for Gwil’s brooding isa small glass of something stronger and good night sleep. But you could not exactly stay silent. “If it was really the worst, if you really reached the deep, deep bottom, then it can only get better, right?” You nudge him gently and give him a small smile which he reciprocates.

“Right,” he sighs, and his gaze falls again.

“Shall I get out the tumblers?”

“Not really,” he pauses and ponders over it. “Can we just watch something?”

“Sure!” you agree eagerly and dive down to retrieve your laptop. Quickly searching for a festive episode of Bake Off, you place the laptop on your thighs, rotating it so that Gwil can see, and after a few minutes of making up your mind, you press yourself to Gwil’s side. Although you are aware that it is going to take some time for the clouds on his brows to evaporate, a warm touch might help at least a bit.

After the first Bake Off challenge, Gwil snakes his arms beneath you and wraps it around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. And several minutes later, he feels exhaustion creeping up at him, the stressful events of the day finally taking their toll. He tries to fight the sleep, but he knows it is a losing battle.

A heavy weight of darkness falls on your chest and pins you down. You make an attempt to take a deep breath, but the invisible rock crashes you down. Pushing your arms upwards, you try to fight the suffocating darkness, but your palms are met with cold emptiness. Your mouth falls open and a strangled whimper escapes you, then another, until you’re screaming at the top your lungs despite making no sound at all. Your blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding loudly is cut through with a voice calling your name.

“Y/N!”

You jerk yourself to sit upright in your bed, gasping for breath with eyes wide open. You pull a face at the pain shooting in your wrist and ankle.

A pair of warm arms wrap around your torso, fingers gently stroke your sides and every slow caress wipes the god-awful nightmare far away.

“You’re good, everything is alright, you’re not alone, I’m here,” Gwil keeps muttering into your hair as he presses you to his side, his embrace firm, letting you know that everything he says is true. Taking a deep breath, you burrow your head into the crook of his neck. There are tears in the corner of your eyes but you blink them away and if one or two teardrops fall down your cheeks, they disappear on Gwil’s t-shirt, turning the material one shade darker, which no one can see anyway in the blackness-filled bedroom.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper almost inaudibly against Gwilym’s chest once you calm down and at first, you’re not even sure whether he has heard you.

After a beat of silence, you hear the soft murmur of his voice. “Oh, darling, you have nothing to apologise for. What do you need? A glass of water? Maybe I should turn on the lights?”

“No, no, just –” you take a shaking breath, “just don’t go,” you breathe out eventually.

“Never,” he says and plants a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

Next morning, a ray of sunshine tickles your nose. You make a face, your eyes squeezing and nose scrunching up, and shuffle further away from the window to find retreat in a shadow. You slowly open your eyes and feel the dryness in your throat. Last night surges forward in your thoughts and you are filled with mixed feelings. Loneliness, shame, connection, relief, content.

Rolling over, you almost lie down on Gwilym’s hand, his arm stretched out before him, crossing the gap between your bodies, as soft snores leave his mouth every few seconds. His sleeping state allows you to take a proper look at his face. His piercing dark blue eyes are usually those that capture your attention but now when they are hidden behind the eyelids, you get the opportunity to inspect his face more carefully. Your eyes follow the lines of his prominent nose and cheekbones, spotting the birthmark on his right cheek, and fall on his pink lips, which are slightly open in his sleep. You have to smile; he looks utterly adorable. And you are positively grinning when he hums and smacks his lips.

“Good morning,” you whisper softly in case he has not woken up yet. But an almost inaudible groan confirms your suspicion.

He blinks away his sleep and gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before his gaze falls on your face.

“Good morning,” he replies and brings his outstretched arm towards you to let his hand rub gently your shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you admit truthfully and give him a smile. Meanwhile, your hand clasps over his. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he says and looks up at you through his eyelashes.

You only nod but remain silent as you relish in the peaceful moment. None of you dares to move, certain that once you do so, the spell under which you both are will break. But at the same time, you long to bring him closer to you, to cross the invisible wall that is between you, the wall built from unspoken truths and confessions. However, you also realise how precarious it is to give in to that thought. The analogy of playing with fire comes to your mind but you frown inwardly, not entirely certain it fits. No, you feel the pull and you are sure so does he, the intangible power bringing you to one another. You picture yourself as a child playing with magnets and holding them in each hand to feel them inching closer. But both remain in safe vicinity so as not to jump in your hands and attach to each other. If that happens, you know there is no going back, the force too strong to allow them to let go on their own accord.

“Jane was here yesterday,” you whisper eventually, your head going around with everything that goes on in your mind.

“Yeah?” Gwilym’s eyes flick to yours.

“Yeah. We’re going to organise a jungle-themed party for Charlotte.”

“Nice,” he says appreciatively and gives you a smile. “You still wanna bake that cake? I think we could replace blueberries and raspberries with pineapple, kiwi, and maybe mango?”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you squeeze his hand that you still hold in yours. “I would love that.”

Taglist: @lv7867, @spacedustmazzello, @queenwouldyourathers, @im-an-adult-ish, @fairestkillerqueenofall, @supernaturalee, @queenlover05, @geek-and-proud, @chlobo6, @mrsmazzello, @timeandpixiedust, @kerouacsroad, @gwilsmainhoe

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee fic #multichapter #fluff #vee writes #*mine

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Text

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 7 - Stuck

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Could two friendships on the rocks result in two new ones?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: Posting a tad early this week. Hope you enjoy!

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 6

I'm sitting here stuck And plastered to my seat I th i nk up a reason to leave When you finally stop speaking I'll take a long slow Walk down Washington Street Half asleep on my feet Half aware if I'm dreaming

Hermione managed to stow herself away in the library for nearly sixteen hours, one of her personal bests, before Madame Pince kicked her out. The grave woman nearly threw her from the premises, claiming she was closing the library early and that despite her biases Hermione should spend some time away from the stacks of books. So now she wandered the castle, lost in thoughts of tournaments, legislature, hidden agendas, and friendship. The castle held the same familiar chill as her feet chose her destination, eventually leading her to a part of the castle only recently familiar to her. At the end of a long corridor, illuminated by two torches placed on either side, hung a painting. Mechanically, Hermione sat on the cold stone, tucking her robes around her, and stared at the landscape that drew her in the first time she saw it three days ago.

Like most paintings in the wizarding world it was enchanted, but instead of some historical witch or wizard as the focal point, the only movement in the frame was the soft sway of long grass and leaves that rustled in the wind. The sun peaked in and out of the clouds, casting ever changing rays of light across the meadow. She felt a calm envelope her as she looked at the bright yellows and peaches of the Adonis and honeysuckle dispersed throughout the grass. Several bees visited the flowers before disappearing from the frame. Hermione followed one as it zigzagged towards the edge of the field near the trees. It stopped on a small patch of zinnias and Hermione felt herself hit with a wave of emotions that had been threatening to capsize her all day. A single tear ran down her cheek as she thought of Ron and Harry. While she was quite familiar with solitude, having grown up an only child and often alienated by her peers, here, sitting on the floor of an empty corridor, she felt for the first time utterly alone.

And despite Harry and Ron’s cruel treatment towards her, she still felt responsible for fixing it. She spent all afternoon trying to figure out how to get her two best friends to cease being angry with each other and how to keep Harry alive this year. By the end she felt no closer to a solution for either problem. Tears continued to fall silently down her face. Hermione’s vision blurred over white gardenias and blue periwinkles, and she remembered the last time she encountered the painting. Her thoughts had been stupid – trivial ramblings questioning her worth as a woman and whether any boy would ever like her. That time the field had been nothing but white heather. What a lovely bit of magic, thought Hermione.

Eventually, when her joints were stiff and backside sore, Hermione stood and made her way back to Gryffindor tower. She walked through the threshold of the portrait hole, thankful that she hadn’t been caught out of bed by Filch or a teacher. Looking around the empty common room, Hermione realized that despite the emotional drain of the day she wasn’t tired. So, she picked up a nearby book left on a table and sat down on the sofa in front of the fire. It hurt to read, her eyes red and puffy from the crying she’d done earlier, but still she pushed on. She had only been there a short while when the sound of the portrait hole opening took her by surprise. Who could be getting in this late? she wondered. Her question was answered when a pair of shaggy red-headed hooligans walked through the opening. Hermione willed herself to be as small as possible. The last thing she needed was the two of them making fun of her in a rare moment of weakness. Much to her dismay the pair noticed her immediately. They walked towards her with large impish grins and Hermione desperately tried to think of how she could get them to go away. Despite her bright nature her brain did nothing for her in that moment and she was left to sink further into the couch, hoping it would swallow her whole.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here Freddie?”

“Why it looks to be our favorite fourth year Georgie.”

The twins seated themselves on either side of her. Hermione hid further into her book, hiding her red eyes and splotchy face. So much for being the brightest witch of her age. She couldn’t even figure out how to escape two bumbling Weasleys.

“Burning the midnight oil Granger?” Fred asked, shaking his hair out of his face.

“You should really give it a rest there,” George teased, nudging her shoulder.

“Yeah, give everyone else in your class a chance. They’ll never come close to your marks if you’re staying up this late studying every night,” added Fred. Hermione remained silent, hidden behind her book. When they received no response, they tried another approach.

“As you can see our grey hair and wrinkles have completely faded,” George pointed out.

“Yes, except I don’t remember the bags under George’s eyes being quite so bad. You better hope that wears off mate or I will definitely be the more handsome twin.” Fred received a smack on the back of the head from his brother for his cheeky remark.

“What Granger? No, ‘I told you so’?” Fred directed his attention back to the little witch between them as he rubbed the back of his head.

“No, ‘you should have listened to me’?”

“No, comment on our dim-witted attempts at fame and fortune?”

They wagged their eyebrows at her, but Hermione remained behind her book, hoping they would consider it a calculated and obvious sign that she was ignoring them. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, her lack of response only fueling their desire to investigate further. Fred reached over and tugged at the top of the book.

“Hey, what’s this then?” Fred asked, getting a peak at her complexion. He reached towards her face and swiped a thumb across the reddened skin under her eyes. “Why are you crying Granger?”

Hermione shied away from the contact and cursed herself for not doing a glamour spell or at least a disillusionment spell on herself.

“It’s nothing. Um, sad book is all,” she lied, trying to feign indifference. Sad book? Of all the excuses, Hermione berated herself. George grabbed the book from her hands and inspected it.

“I never knew Charms could be so heart-wrenching…we’re not idiots Hermione,” George stated plainly.

“Are you alright?” Fred asked as he lifted her chin. For a second time that night, Hermione felt the weight of the past twenty-four hours fall on her. This time, it was as though her body had been waiting for some sign that it was okay to fall apart, and the twins’ kind gestures had been just that. A short sob escaped her throat and her eyes began to sting as fresh tears welled, daring to spill past her lashes.

“Alright, alright. Come here,” Fred cooed, scooting closer and pulling Hermione onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in tight. George followed suit, draping her legs over his lap, and giving her calf a reassuring squeeze. Hermione buried her face in Fred’s chest and continued to sob harder than she’d ever cried before. The two silently comforted her, George rubbing a hand up and down her leg and Fred stroking her hair. They sat like that for a while, never saying a word – simply acting as figures of stability. Finally, when her body was no longer wracked with little tremors and her cries subsided into sniffles, Hermione pulled away from Fred and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.

“Feel better?” Fred asked, brushing her smothering hair from her face. Hermione nodded, realizing in horror that not only was she currently on top of the twins, but she had ruined Fred’s sweater. Scooting off of their laps, she sniffed and mumbled a meek apology.

“It’s just a few tears. Now, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Fred asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“Did someone step on one of your books?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Did you do poorly on an essay?”

Hermione shook her head again and scoffed at the idea.

“Is it…girly problems?” George made a face at the thought.

This caused Hermione to let out a short giggle and shake her head again.

“Then what is it?” Fred pushed.

“You’re going to think it’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, wiping her red and swollen eyes. She knew she must look an awful fright. When they didn’t say anything, she took it as her cue to continue. “It’s Harry and Ron; they’re mad at me. Harry, because he’s convinced that everyone’s against him even though I’m not, and Ronald, because I’m not angry with Harry. I know they’re both under a lot of stress what with the tournament and Ron’s jealousy, but I guess I just feel like neither of them really care how I feel.” She sniffed, shaking her head at how pathetic she must sound.

George looked at his brother. “I should have known that our thick-headed little brother had something to do with all of this. First of all, we don’t think it’s ridiculous,” George stated firmly.

“And secondly, you have every right to be upset,” added Fred.

“Really?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Of course! They’re being selfish gits and I have half a mind to put itching powder in all their clothes,” Fred fumed.

“But because we know that’s probably the last thing you want us to do—” started George.

“—we won’t. Instead we will remind you that you’re Hermione Granger and absolutely too good for either of those imbeciles.”

“So, next time you see our little Ronikins…”

“—you can tell him exactly where to shove his attitude.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. You really don’t have to be this nice.”

“Nonsense, you may be our idiot baby brother’s friend, but we’ve grown quite fond of you,” said Fred with a friendly nudge of her shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re like a second sister to us. No one gets to mess with you but us and that includes our brother and the Boy Who Lived. It’s sort of a rule.” George leaned across Fred and tapped a finger to the end of her nose. Hermione let out a small laugh that turned into an overwhelming yawn. Realizing she was utterly exhausted, Hermione waited for the small bit of anxiety that now came with the thought of sleep these days. To her surprise, it never came.

“Alright Fred, looks like we’ve worn her out.”

“I think you’re right George. Up we go! Time for bed!” Fred decreed, hooking his arms under Hermione, and lifting her into the air.

“Frederick Weasley! Put me down! I am entirely capable of walking. I’m tired, not paralyzed! Hermione crossed her arms and gave the boy a disapproving look. Fred merely smiled politely before placing her down at the base of the stairs leading up to the girls’ dormitories. Hermione let out a little huff and ran her hands over her mussed hair, attempting to flatten it.

“Goodnight you two…and thank you. I suppose I owe you. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll tell you why your aging potion didn’t work, and how you could have actually gotten your names in,” Hermione stated with a small smile.

“I’m calling you on that one Granger,” scoffed George.

“Even you’re not that brilliant!” the twins exclaimed in unison.

Hermione raised a brow and with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, she shrugged her shoulders and began to walk up the stairs.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” she threw back at them as she disappeared around the bend.

It was a strange day at Hogwarts that following Monday morning. The weather outside was dark and gloomy once again, but the mood of the students was quite the opposite. The first challenge of the tournament was only three weeks away and the school was abuzz over what it could be, and who would come out on top. Hermione heard whispers in her morning classes of Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory; it seems they were everyone’s bet. Then of course there were the harsh words and accusations toward her best friend. It hurt her heart to hear such dreadful things about someone she cared for, even if he was being a complete jerk. Malfoy was the worst, with his open mocking and constant bullying in Care of Magical Creatures. Many times, Hermione fantasized about wiping the stupid smirk off his face like she had the year before. But instead she ended up taking her frustrations out on two second year Hufflepuffs gossiping in the library that afternoon.

“It would do you two well to not talk about things you know nothing about—" she seethed, sliding her things into her bag “—and no talking in the library. Or else I’ll be tasked to inform Madame Pince.”

She regretted the way she spoke to the younger students. While it certainly taught them a lesson on gossiping, she shouldn’t have been so harsh – they were still young. She didn’t even have her usual excuse of sleep deprivation to blame either. Much to her surprise, after departing to her room, she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. In fact, she slept so deeply and so peacefully that she missed her alarm and had to rush to make it to her first class on time. It wasn’t until she was in her seat, quill in hand, that the memories of the night before came rushing back and Hermione had to focus to determine whether it had all been a strange dream or not. The oddities only continued to pile up, as just before lunch she realized she had completely forgotten to write a short Transfiguration essay that was due later that day. She had no idea how it managed to slip her mind, as it was very out of character for her to forget an assignment at all. She rushed to the library, forgoing lunch and came upon the next strange thing to happen that day. Viktor Krum, of all people, was seated at her favorite table. This forced her to sit at a different one, much too far from the window overlooking the lake and much too close to the stacks, which resulted in her overhearing the two Hufflepuffs.

Now, as she made her way to the Great Hall for dinner, stomach growling, she realized her sour response might have been a result of low blood sugar.

It seemed Hermione’s whole day was destined to be a whirlwind of obstacles, for as she entered the Great Hall, she faced her next challenge – where to sit. Ronald sat with Seamus, Dean, Pavarti, and a few other Gryffindors in their year near the end of the long table and for fear of confrontation, Hermione decided that sitting with them was probably the last thing she wanted to do. A little further down the table, Harry sat sullen next to Neville Longbottom. The presence of the sandy blonde boy gave Hermione hope. Maybe Harry’s finally over his delusions, she thought making her way over and seating herself across from them.

“Hullo Hermione!” greeted Neville in a friendly tone. Neville was one of her favorite classmates. Where he was bumbling and lacking in self-confidence, he made up for it in kindness, acceptance, and all-around goodness. It was always surprising to her that he hadn’t been a top pick for Hufflepuff. But then again, his actions their first year gave insight to his true potential.

“Hullo Neville. How are you coming along with the Charms essay?” she asked, setting her bag down next to her.

“Not very good. I’ve got all the ideas but I’m not quite sure how to put them down. I may need some more help…” he admitted bashfully, looking down to his plate.

“That’s alright Neville. That’s a fairly common problem. I’d be more than hap—”

“Why are you sitting here?” Harry cut her off. Hermione, shocked by his outburst, was at a loss for words. “I don’t appreciate you sitting with me just to act spy for Ron,” he spat bitterly, not even looking up from his food.

“Harry, I’m not—”

“Look, I know how you and Ron feel, and I know how everyone else feels. So just stop pretending,” he snarled harshly, looking up at her with cold eyes. Hermione pursed her lips and stood, utterly embarrassed. She tried hard not to look at Neville’s pitying face as she lifted her book bag onto her shoulder and walked to an empty spot at the table. Staring at the wood grain of the tabletop, Hermione wondered if it was even worth trying to eat something. Willing herself not to cry, a movement caught the corner of her eye and voices began to speak to her.

“Not hungry Granger?”

“That’s a shame. The spread looks exceptionally delicious tonight.”

“He’s right. I think it might be the house elves trying to show off for the new guests.”

“We have a bet going as for how long they’ll keep it up.”

“George here thinks it will be over by January.”

“But Fred insists that it will keep up till Durmstrang and Beauxbatons leave.”

“What’s your take on it, Granger?”

Hermione lifted her head and stared at the red-headed twin sitting next to her in utter confusion. She glanced at his face and recognized him as Fred, but couldn’t manage to process the fact that she had to in fact speak. She must have been staring for too long because Fred pressed further.

“You know, because you know all about them?” He looked at her expectantly, but Hermione’s mind remained a foggy mess.

“What?” she asked dumbly.

“You know, because of all the research you’ve done for your organization. What’s it called again? S.P.E.W.?” George added helpfully from across the table.

“You know about the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?” said Hermione in surprise.

“Of course—” started Fred.

“How could we not? You’ve given us at least twenty buttons so far this year!”

“To pass out to others! You did pass them out, right?” Hermione looked from Fred to George. The pair wore guilty expressions.

“We may have charmed them to, I guess you could say, spew actual vomit and then pinned them to the back of Filch’s robes,” admitted Fred scratching the back of his head.

“Frederick! I gave you those so people could see them!” Hermione reached forward and started to pile her plate high with potatoes, vegetables, and chicken.

“Well technically, a whole bunch of people saw them,” remarked George, starting to fill his plate as well.

“Unfortunately, it was as Filch was slipping and falling into a giant puddle of vomit,” said Fred with a chuckle, looking skyward at the memory.

Hermione pouted into her chicken, cutting into it with her knife.

“Don’t look so sour Granger. It’s probably for the best—” George reached across the table and grabbed a steaming, buttered roll from a basket “—we’ve been down to the kitchens loads of times and not a single one of them gives a toss about house elf rights. In fact, they view the idea of getting paid for their work as insulting.”

“That’s because they don’t know any better!” cried Hermione, throwing down her fork.

“Now Granger, don’t go infantilizing them. If they’re smart enough for you to think they should be equal members of society, then they’re smart enough to decide whether they want to be paid or not for their work,” Fred chided, picking up his napkin and wiping at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but found, very surprisingly, that she had nothing to say. She’d never considered that before. Curiously, she stared at Fred. He had a very valid point. It still rubbed her the wrong way when she thought about it. To enslave an entire race of individuals and not pay them or give them any choice? They had no real rights, no real say in anything. Some of them were treated so poorly they resorted to punishing themselves. In the muggle world, something like that would have started wars. But things were different in the wizarding world. There were customs she was unfamiliar with and mindsets she couldn’t begin to understand. She continued to muse on the topic as they sat eating silently. Once she had had her fill, Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and asked the question that had been on her mind all throughout dinner.

“Why are you two sitting with me and not your friends?”

She felt the heavy weight of Fred’s arm fall over her shoulders and she looked up at him.

“Are we not allowed to partake in the loveliness of your warm and inviting personality Granger?” he teased, calling out the brashness of her behavior thus far.

“Yeah, maybe we genuinely want to spend time with our favorite little book worm,” added George with a wink.

“Or, maybe you remembered that I promised to tell you how you could have gotten past the age barrier on the goblet and now you’re looking for me to pay up,” Hermione pointed out rolling her eyes.

“Drats Freddie! She’s figured us out.”

“Told you she would Georgie. She’s too bright to let our trickery get past her.”

“Brightest witch of our age I hear.”

“Really? Of our age? Imagine that.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at their banter. It wasn’t every day her intelligence was praised as opposed to ridiculed. “Are you two quite done or do you not wish to hear my secrets?”

“Alright Granger let’s hear it then. Where did we go wrong?” Fred asked taking his arm off her shoulder and turning on the bench to face her. Hermione glanced between the two expectant faces and then began.

“Well there are three ways in which you could have gotten your names into the goblet. The first two have to do with maturity—”

“Maturity? I happen to be quite mature, thank you!” George stated in mock hurt.

“Right…and the third has to do with common sense.”

“She’s got us there Georgie. That is something we tend to lack,” Fred added sarcastically.

“To be fair, you two had the right idea when you made the aging potion. However, it’s not enough for you to appear a few months older. It’s your soul as well as your body that must age,” Hermione continued. She appeared to now have the twins’ full attentions.

“How would we do that then?” Fred ask earnestly.

“The first way of course would have been to wait until you turned seventeen, somehow come into possession of a time-turner, sent yourself into the past and then put your names in the goblet. However, it’s extremely ill-advised and dangerous to meddle with time and so it’s probably best that you didn’t do that. Not to mention, time-turners are highly regulated and incredibly hard to get your hands on. The second way would have been with a maturing draught. The first difficulty with that is the rarity and price of the ingredients. The second is that the potion becomes more complicated and takes longer to make as the amount you want to mature increases and for you two, I imagine it would have taken a very long time for you to brew.” She ended her last comment with a smirk, chest swelling with pride as the twins’ mouths hung open.

“Did you just hear that Freddie? I think our little Granger just made a joke.”

“And at our expense it seems.”

Hermione let out a small laugh before continuing, “Of course that is all conjecture.”

“Wait. So, it’s all just theory then! You have no idea if that would even work?” George exclaimed.

“Brightest witch of our age indeed…” Fred added, earning a playful slap from the witch sitting next to him.

“Well it’s not as if Dumbledore took me aside and told me exactly how to get past the age line. But I think those are as good as any theory you’re likely to hear!” she defended herself.

“What was the third way? You said there was a third way. Hopefully, this one is better than conjecture.” George rolled his eyes.

“Well isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked, looking between the two.

“Obviously not,” said Fred.

“You could have just bribed an older student to put your names in for you,” Hermione stated plainly. There was a moment of silence amongst the group, and then all three burst into laughter. Their cries turned heads from all around the Great Hall, but none of them seemed to notice or care.

“There was no way that George or I were going to spend our heard-earned sickles on some seventh-year prat for a chance at eternal fame and glory!” Fred stated when he finally found his breath.

“Yeah, not when we can get that all on our own!” agreed George.

“Goblet be damned!” Fred exclaimed loudly, standing up to make his point. Hermione quickly grabbed him by his robes and pulled him back down, embarrassed by his outburst but still laughing all the same.

“To be fair, we did try and bribe Jordan with some very enticing Honeydukes chocolate, but he wouldn’t go for it! Can you believe that? Some friend he is…” George shook his head in disappointment.

“Gee, I can’t imagine why a few chocolate frogs didn’t convince him to aid in your rule breaking,” Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.

“What’s wrong with chocolate frogs?!” the twins asked together.

“I think we should head back to the tower,” said Hermione, looking around her with a surprised expression.

Fred stopped and did the same only to realize that the Great Hall was nearly empty. It seems while they were busy talking and laughing, the rest of the school had left to go about their nights. Fred found that once he and George got the little witch to open up, it was like a faucet with a broken tap. The bushy-haired girl gushed with charisma, humor, and wit. In fact, she spoke as if no one ever asked her about her interests before. He thought that was quite possibly true as all the times he observed the “Golden Trio” in the past, it was usually Ron and Harry talking about quidditch and then rolling their eyes whenever Hermione spoke about anything. Could it be that none of her friends showed any interest in her? Fred couldn’t help but notice the bit of fire hiding behind her eyes when she spoke about magical creature equality, books she had read recently, or subjects she just learned in class. It was the same fire he saw in her more and more these days; he saw it back at the burrow when they talked in the kitchen, in the hallways when he walked her back to the common room, in the woods when they…Fred shook his head of the memory. Nevertheless, there was something about that fire, that strength she showed that absolutely intrigued him.

Standing from their place at the table, they made their way toward Gryffindor tower, continuing their conversation.

“You’re telling me there’s no market for love potions?” George asked incredulously.

“I’m not saying there isn’t some market for it. I’m merely saying they’re silly, and highly dangerous when you think about it. I can’t believe they’re not banned!” cried Hermione, tucking a curl behind her ear. Fred, too engrossed with the movement of her hand, neglected to chime in on the argument.

“Come on Hermione, they’re not as bad as you’re making them out to be.” George rolled his eyes.

“Really?—” Hermione spun on the spot, walking backwards as she spoke “—Okay, for the pure purpose of debate let’s say I was to concoct a love potion and give it to Fred.”

That sentence caught Fred’s attention quite well.

“Go on,” spoke Fred and George.

“And let’s say that as a result he fell madly in love with me. You wouldn’t see anything wrong with that?”

Fred snorted. “Aside from being in love with a little swot?”

Hermione shot him a dirty look.

“The potion would wear off eventually,” challenged George, clearly still operating within the confines of their argument.

“Not if I kept giving it to him—oof!” Hermione’s sentence was cut short by running into a solid stone bannister at the end of the corridor. Dropping her book bag with a loud thump, her eyes grew large as she started to fall backwards. Using his quidditch reflexes, Fred reached out and grabbed the witch by the forearm before she could topple over the bannister and down the many floors. Once Hermione was set right on her feet, Fred grabbed her book bag from the ground and flung it over his shoulder. Despite the strength he had from many years of quidditch, Fred still gave a little groan at the sheer weight of it.

“Merlin, Hermione. What do you have in here? The entire library?”

“Just the necessities! If you’re going to complain, I can just carry it myself.” Hermione reached for her bag, but Fred swiftly avoided her.

“Now, now. I wasn’t complaining! I’m just surprised you can lift it,” remarked Fred, as they began to walk towards the tower once more.

“What? Because I’m a girl I can’t carry a heavy bag?”

“I think he’s more referring to the fact that you look like you weigh barely eight stone dripping wet and your arms are about a thick as a Bowtruckle’s,” laughed George, pinching Hermione’s arm through her thick sweater.

“I’ll have you know I’m not as feeble as you make me out to be,” sniffed Hermione.

“You hear that Freddie? She’s not as feeble as we make her out to be.”

Fred knew the tone in George’s words all too well. Briefly sharing a wicked grin, the two swooped down and lifted Hermione into the air. She put up a good fight, Fred had to admit that, but in the end, she relented, George’s arms linked under her armpits and Fred’s hands grasped firmly around her ankles. The twins laughed obnoxiously as they rounded the last corner up the stairs and came to the portrait entrance to Gryffindor tower.

“Okay, you can put me down now. You’ve had your laugh!”

“What do you think Freddie? Have we had our fill?” George asked, beaming at his twin.

Fred pursed his lips, pretending to think on the subject for a moment before he shook his head from side to side. “Nah, I don’t think we have. Balderdash!” he yelled the password to the Fat Lady with excess enthusiasm, gripping Hermione tighter when she began to thrash, realizing they were carrying her into the common room.

“Make way, fresh catch of the day!” yelled George over the crowd of Gryffindor students.

“Fred! George! Put me down!”

The two ignored her, grinning from ear to ear as they parted through their interested peers, obviously surprised to see such a sight. It wasn’t uncommon for Fred and George to make a ruckus in the common room, but to make one that included Hermione Granger? Absolutely unheard of.

“Oi!” barked Lee Jordan from a nearby table. “What have you two got there?”

“Oh, this here?” asked Fred casually. “Well while we were out, George and I thought we’d do a bit of bird hunting.”

The comment earned him a few laughs, filling Fred with pride.

“And believe me, she wasn’t the easiest of prey. Isn’t that right Fred?” George asked his brother.

“I wouldn’t say that George. I’d say she nearly leapt into our arms. She did threaten to slip me a love potion.”

That comment earned him a swift kick from Hermione’s right foot. Not paying attention, the kick landed squarely in his gut and Fred dropped her legs as he wrapped his arms ‘round his middle. Now able to use the leverage of her feet, Hermione pulled out of George’s grasp and grabbed her book bag from Fred’s shoulder. She took a moment to stare down at Fred, as he stood doubled over in pain. Her brown eyes narrowed down at him, her hair falling around her face.

“If I had a love potion, you’d be the last person I’d waste it on, Frederick Weasley,” Hermione stated plainly, before patting him lightly on the head and walking towards the girls’ dormitories.

A smattering of ‘oohs’ came from the crowd around them, and Fred had to fight very hard not to go red as he straightened out and watched Hermione Granger exited the common room. Despite having embarrassed him, he couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he watched the curly headed girl walk up the stairs with a bounce in her step. He couldn’t wait to see how she would surprise him next.

Chapter 8 >>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

#fremione #fred x hermione #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #harry potter #friends to lovers #angst #mutual pining

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the-mill-kat · 4 years

Text

Unshaken Chapter 7

Posted April 5, 2020 | Arthur Morgan x Reader (18+) Slow Burn Romance 🐺❤️🦌

Whew, these chapters just keep getting longer and longer as we delve deeper into the story! Please like/comment/reblog, each one really makes my day! Please let me know what you think. That said, enjoy Chapter 7, y’all!

(Photo credit: the-mill-kat)

You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

Arthur hadn’t expected it.

The feeling of Y/N’s soft lips on his skin, though brief, had completely surprised him. He’d truly had no idea that his drawing would bring out that kind of response from her.

He’d only thought of his drawing as a mere momentary ‘thank you' for all she’d done for him, at least until he was physically capable of doing much more, something kind of like hard labor in return for all her troubles, such as hunting or field work.

After having realized what the white lily meant to her, what it stood for in her life, he knew the sketch of the flower would mean a lot to her, but a receiving a kiss on the cheek for it? His mind nearly raced, still feeling the wetness on his cheek that her lips had left behind.

She’d pulled away instantly, and the blush in her cheeks that he noticed was absolutely adorable. She didn’t look at him as she said, “I’m so sorry, Arthur, I didn’t mean … I — I’ve never kissed anyone before. I don’t know what came over me.”

Those words slammed into him hard, taking him aback. This beautiful woman— one who looked after him all this time, putting his own needs before hers, showing so much passion and strength for her work — turned out to be just as delicate as the white lily itself when it came to anything intimate.

In that moment, knowing how embarrassed she was about what she’d done, knowing how truly inexperienced she was, he wanted to lean forward and claim those lips for his own, to be the first one to kiss those beautiful lips, to reassure her that he was grateful for what she’d given him, that her adorable action was nothing to be ashamed of. Even though he hadn’t expected it from her, he found that he was extremely drawn to her for it.

He hadn’t had very much luck with women in the past because of the life he’d led, and who he’d been. No woman would have him, every one of them leaving him in the end because of the choices he’d made and the life style he’d led. But now … with this fresh start to his new life … and with a woman who showed that she clearly cared about him and for his health, he realized he could be a new man, someone who could possibly protect her and keep her safe with the skills he possessed.

He wanted to let her know that she had nothing to worry about.

“Is that right, honey?” He asked her with a grin, still enjoying the nickname he’d given her. Then before she could respond to his question he leaned his head forward and claimed her lips with his own.

Warm. Oh, so very warm. Her lips felt so plump and soft against his rough ones. She opened her mouth in a gasp, and Arthur stole that opportunity to deepen the kiss even further, pushing his tongue between her teeth and colliding it with her own. Part of him couldn’t believe what he was doing, feeling like he was taking complete advantage of her by taking the kiss even further.

But another part of him knew deep down that he actually wanted this woman. Though she was unaware of it, after all this time she’d proven to him that she was someone who deserved passion, someone who was worth protecting, and he was going to do just that, even if it ended up being just the latter. She’d saved his life, so it was the least he could do.

Those words rang in his head again, the ones she’d said to him earlier, still haunting his mind.

I hate them, every outlaw out there.

Damn those words.

He’d been an outlaw all his life, his rough childhood leading him to join a gang he’d eventually come to know as his own family. The family who raised him for so many years to grow into the man he was today.

They were all so misunderstood in a world that absolutely refused their lifestyles, the harsh ways they got by with the actions they committed. The life of an outlaw, wild and free, making a living off of murdering and thieving, but only to those who deserved it.

But the rest of the world would never listen. It was their way or nothing, and Arthur had chosen his path.

But he understood her pain, and why she would say something like that. Whoever these men were, they had stolen away her mother, someone who she’d clearly loved very dearly.

He knew he didn’t deserve Y/N. Not after everything he’d done, not even if he became a new man. How would he ever tell her who he’d been without scaring her, without her running away in the end like all the others?

He tried to chase those thoughts away, distracting himself with the feeling of Y/N’s mouth against his.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You couldn’t believe it … he was kissing you.

Arthur was kissing you!

When you’d pulled away after kissing him on the cheek, you’d expected him to verbally lash out at you in some way, to be berated with questions on why you thought you had the right to lay your lips on him in any way. Maybe your expectation of his response was a bit of an over-exaggeration, but you couldn’t help but feel terrified from what you’d just done. Your mind was completely overwhelmed from it, racing with thoughts that had no semblance of reality to them whatsoever.

But in the end, he didn’t do any of those things you’d expected him to. No, instead he said those few words, using that endearment again, leaned forward and placed those lips of his right on your own.

They felt so rough, but also warm and soft at the same time.

You were being kissed, you realized, and the realization of that fact had your heart racing. The kiss was such a surprise that you couldn’t help a small gasp escape you at the response, and you felt his wet tongue push into your mouth, licking its way between your teeth so it could dance with yours.

You were unable to move, unsure of what to do, so you just stayed still and let him continue the kiss, eventually finding yourself getting lost in the foreign sensations of all the warmth and wetness. So this was a kiss, you thought. It felt so strange, being so close to a man like this, feeling his heat through his lips and his tongue.

You found yourself absorbing his sweet touch, leaning in closer to him, allowing yourself to be led into his intimacy.

You thought of the feelings that overcame you from the beautiful drawing he’d made of your favorite flower, something special that he’d made just for you. The fact that he realized the flower meant so much to you, and that he went out of his way to draw such a pretty depiction of it so you could have something that symbolized such strong emotion; you couldn’t help but to get lost in his embrace.

After moments passed into the kiss, you felt his hand begin stroking the back of your neck, and he began running his fingers through your hair, his grip tightening to pull you even closer to him. He began to press harder, his head tilting to get better access to your lips as his breathing intensified through his nose, deepening the kiss even further. He pushed his tongue against yours, licking and sucking at your lips and teeth. The scruff of his beard felt rough on your skin, and the heat of him increased.

All these staggering feelings running through your head and his actions suddenly became so immense that you jerked your head back, breaking the intimate contact. You hesitated as you distanced yourself from his face, bringing your eyes up to see the confused look he was giving you for pulling away. Those sapphire-emerald eyes of his were holding so much emotion in them that you couldn’t possibly begin to read whatever he was feeling. You looked away to avoid his gaze.

His deep drawl made you shiver, “Are you alright, Y/N?” He released his grip from your neck, lowering his hand down to his side.

You nodded, unable to form any words. The space between both of you suddenly becoming very static and uncomfortable. Though you couldn’t deny the feelings that went through your body for this man, you couldn’t let yourself get carried away. Not now and not like this.

There was no doubt in your mind that his body and mind were still weak in certain areas, his mental state still recovering from all his treatments. There was a possibility he wasn’t actually thinking straight, and he didn’t deserve to get taken advantage of like this.

“It’s nothing, Arthur,” you said under your breath, shaking your head in an effort to try and bring your mind away from the heat you’d felt and bring it back to reality. “Please don’t think anything of it, I’m just … You’re still sick. I can’t let you … I’m not going to —” How could you possibly let him know what you were thinking without revealing the kinds of feelings you had for him? If anything, doing so would no doubt scare him away when he was thinking straight, and that was the last thing you both needed since he was still recovering.

You could still feel his stare, and you looked back up to see his face. His expression was somber. His lips, that beautiful mouth that was just on your own, now pressed into a thin line of disappointment. His blue eyes that had been sparkling before were now flat, his dark brows furrowed down as if he were lost in thought.

Finally, he lifted the corners of his lips to give you a small smile. “It’s alright, Y/N,” he said, his voice sounding low and hoarse as he gave a single nod, looking toward the stream. “I understand.”

Did he though, you thought as you took in his features. Arthur’s face looked pained, as if he were remembering something. Possibly from his past?

Suddenly, he braced his hands on his knees and stood up from the fallen log. Without a word and without looking at you he bent over and grabbed the fishing rod from your side, walking back over to the edge of the wide stream. What was going through his mind, you thought as he cast the lure back out to the water in silence. Then another thought occurred to you, and it made you worry. Was he hating himself for what he’d done?

“Arthur?” You called out.

He looked over his shoulder at you, offering a small smile, though you knew it wasn’t genuine. “Yeah?” He asked.

You stared down at your feet, pushing a few rocks with the tip of your toe, not sure of what to say. Finally, you lifted your head back up to look at him, “I think you’re a good man,” you said. It was all you could say, you couldn’t think of anything else. But you wanted to let him know that he had nothing to worry about, that nothing had changed because of the kiss.

He’d proven to you over the last few weeks that he was an honorable person, someone to be trusted and who deserved respect. So what you said was the truth, even it it was out of the blue.

His lips suddenly tightened in response, as if he felt uncomfortable with your words, but why would he be? But then he just nodded, and turned his head back toward the stream.

You hadn’t meant to make him feel rejected, you thought sadly, lowering your head back down to push a few more rocks with your feet. The intimate connection you’d both just shared had been such a strange sensation, such a foreign feeling to you, that when he’d suddenly started to push further it had made you pull away. There was no doubt in your mind that he must’ve thought of that action as you turning him down, but truly you knew you were just concerned for his health.

But he was clearly hurting, and you wondered what must’ve been going through his head at that moment. He seemed to accept the thought of the rejection rather strangely, as if it had happened to him before. You lifted your gaze back up to look at him.

Had he loved someone in his past? Someone he’d loved who’d left him, or hadn’t loved him in return?

You narrowed your eyes, studying his broad form, his beautiful dark-chestnut-brown hair, the strong way he held himself. What woman in their right mind would turn this man away? You couldn’t help but stare at him as his back was to you, unable to stop yourself from noticing the power his body held, the way he gave off a kind of intimidation that was indescribable. He was like a large beast that couldn’t help but display his menacing characteristics just by his appearance alone.

You wondered what he would be like once he was fully recovered and truly back on his feet.

Who had he been, you pondered then, what sort of things had happened to him to shape him into the man he appeared to be now? What kind of life had he led up to this point, before you’d found him dying on that mountain? Why or how had he gotten sick?

What horrible things had happened to him that made him end up the way you’d found him? All these questions started running through your mind as you tried your best to piece things together, but none of it made sense. From what you had experienced of his personality, you couldn’t figure out why he’d been there, sick, beaten and bleeding. The person he was now was such a big contrast to whoever he could have possibly been to end up that way.

Then you thought of that mysterious man you’d spotted disappearing into the forest, the moonlight revealing that dirty blonde hair. It had been the only characteristic of his you’d picked up, along with his very nasty voice as he’d been cursing while running off. Had he been the one who placed Arthur in the situation you’d found him in? Was he the one who’d beaten him so badly that he’d been brought to the brink of death? A part of you desperately wanted to find out who that man was, what he was doing, where he was now. Anger nearly boiled your blood at the thought of that man hurting Arthur. From what you’d seen so far, he hadn’t deserved that horrible thing to happen to him. No one did, but especially not him. You were just so grateful you had found him in time.

You remembered him mentioning someone named Hosea. You weren’t sure if it had slipped from his lips by accident based on the expression he’d made after he’d said it, but he’d explained that the man had been a sort of father-figure to him. What had happened to his real parents, how did Hosea find him? What happened to him that made him lose his life? The questions seemed endless. The more you learned about Arthur, the more questions seemed to be raised.

The silence between the two of you stretched on for so long, and all the while you tried to think of what to say next. But what was there to say? There was no doubt in you mind that he thought you rejected him, and he was hurting because of it. He was still highly medicated, so his mind was weak, you thought, he wasn’t thinking straight. And there were some side effects that could effect one’s thoughts and actions, no doubt. You’d seen the animals you’d treated in the past behave strangely in response to similar treatments.

It was such a damn dilemma. On one hand you worried his actions were based on his possibly mixed mentality from the medications, on the other you didn’t want him hurting or thinking that you didn’t care for him. All the while at the same time you didn’t want to risk chasing him off either.

Dammit, it felt like such a paradox!

There just couldn’t be any way that he had actually meant to kiss you … right?

Thinking back to the kiss, you raised the tips of your fingers to your lips. The kiss had actually felt so genuine. Even though you worried he was just under the influence of the herbs and medication, it had still felt so real, you thought. The connection, even if it was just on your side, had definitely been there during the kiss the entire time.

You had to apologize, to let him know there was nothing for him to worry about. None of it was his fault.

“Arthur, I — ” you looked back up at him and he turned to face you once again. The words caught in your throat as he waited for you to continue, and you tried you best to push them out. His stare definitely didn’t help. How could anyone possibly hole a straight conversation with this man with how intimidating he looked? “I — ”

The lure on the fishing line jerked, and Arthur snapped his head back over to the water, his focus back on the task at hand. He immediately began to reel in the line, drawing the fish closer and closer to shore.

Finally, he pulled a large Muskie out from underneath the surface, water splashing as it landed at his feet. He crouched down, bending his knees as he reached down to pick it up. He worked out and released the hook from its mouth and placed the large fish in the bucket with the other. “That oughta do it,” he said, his accent strong. He looked over at you, “There enough here to feed us for a couple days, you think?”

You had to smile as the unease seemed to soften just a bit from his light-hearted words. The tension was clearly still there, but you saw that he was giving you a chance to move forward to another topic. You nodded in response, “Yes, I think that should set us up for awhile.” He picked up the large bucket and without thinking you rushed over and took it from him, “Now, what’d I say about you lifting heavy objects?” You said as snatched it from his grasp playfully. As the weight was exchanged, you nearly dropped the bucked. Each fish had to at least weigh over fifteen pounds. There was no way you were going to let Arthur carry this.

He gave you a grin in response as he folded up the fishing rod, amused by your struggle, “Sure you can handle that, honey?” He teased. His voice was still a bit rough, as if his mind was still racing with emotions, but you could tell that he was trying really hard to lighten the mood.

“Yes, I got it, Arthur,” You teased back with a smile.

You and Arthur carried everything back to the shed by the stables, and you set the bucket down near Austin’s butchering station while Arthur placed the fishing rod back precisely where Austin had it stored before.

Just as you straightened from placing the bucket down you heard heavy hoofbeats growing closer. You looked around to see your brother riding Lily with Butch following directly behind him. The horses were incredibly dirty, their hooves and legs muddy as if they had had quite the run through the fields on the other side of the forest.

“Welcome back, Austin!” You shouted to him. Your brother lifted his hand in a wave as he rode over to you. Once he reached you and Arthur, he swung his leg over and dismounted Lily. You reached out to Lily and stroked her muzzle softly, “Were you a good girl?” You whispered playfully to the horse. Lily whinnied and shook her head up and down, her white mane flapping. You smiled, “I hope Austin was kind to you while you were away?”

You felt Austin’s glare on you, “Hey, now, you know I ain’t a bad rider!” he said.

You shrugged, and you couldn’t help but add, “I guess not, but Lily has told me here that you’re definitely not the best.”

Austin just gaped, then he looked up at Lily, “C’mon, girl, I ain’t that bad, right?” He actually waited for a response.

Lily just looked at him then turned her head, looking away from Austin as if to say she did not approve of him.

Austin’s jaw dropped, then he closed his mouth and just rolled his eyes, looking away as he went over to Butch, who nudged his shoulder. He scratched the horse’s large neck making the war horse let out a strong snort of content. “Alright, fine then. No carrots for you tonight, Lily. They’ll all go to Butch here.”

You gasped, bringing a hand to your chest in mock surprise, “How dare you threaten my girl!” You reached out and stroked Lily’s muzzle in an effort to comfort her, “Don’t worry, Lily, you can have all the treats you want. Don’t listen to the bad man.”

Austin couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at your silly action. He came over to give you a hug, like he usually did after coming back from a trip, no matter how long or short it was. “Missed you, little lady.” He said. You smiled and hugged him back, then he leaned down to say in your ear, “Did Arthur behave while I was gone, or do I need to beat him up for ya?” He made it look like he was whispering it to you, but you were sure he intentionally said it loud enough for Arthur to hear.

You lightly pushed at your brother’s chest, making him take a step back. “How dare you, Austin,” you snapped, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks. “Of course Arthur was a perfect gentleman!” You felt Arthur’s gaze on you and you turned to see him giving you a knowing smile, as if he was trying to make you think of the moment you two had just shared. You had to look away before your blush got any bigger. “He even taught me how to fish, we caught two large Muskies,” you added.

“Really? Great to hear that you know how to fish now.” Austin chuckled at your reaction, not picking up on what Arthur’s smile to you actually stood for. “Well, I gotta get to work, I’ll take care of the horses and then start gettin’ to work on the fish.”

You looked up at your brother and reached out to place a hand on his big shoulder, “How about Arthur and I take care of the horses and you get to work on the fish now? Remember, sharing the load?” It was hard to get Austin to split the work sometimes. Even after all these years he would rather have you handle the delicate tasks while he did all the dirty work. But of course, it was the natural instinct he had as your older brother.

Austin raised up a hand to rub at the back of his neck, letting out a sigh. “Alrighty then, you know where the water barrel is, right?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him, was he ever going to trust you to remember where things actually were? Just because you didn’t work in the stables that often didn’t mean you forgot where things were placed. “Yes, Austin, I know where it is, and the brush, and the other tools.”

“Would you like some help?” Arthur asked.

You turned to look at him and smiled. “If you’re up to it, that would be great. It shouldn’t be too much work.”

“Alright, sounds like we all got our tasks set,” Austin said, clapping his hands together once, “I’ll see y’all when dinner’s ready.” Then he looked at Arthur with narrowed eyes, he lifted a hand to point directly at his chest. “I’m still keepin’ my eye on you, mister.”

Arthur didn’t dignify the statement with any kind of response, but you rolled your eyes, then you started pushing your brother away, urging him toward the butchering station. “Go, Austin, we’ll handle the horses, don’t you worry.”

Austin just gave a smile and nodded. He patted Butch on the back one more time, “See you later, boy.” Then he turned away and headed over to start working on the fish you’d caught.

“Alright, Arthur,” you said. You placed a gentle hand on Lily’s muzzle, an effort to keep her calm as you urged Arthur with a waving hand, gesturing for him to come over and stand next to you. He did as you asked, and you had him stand in front of Lily as you stepped aside. “Lily’s not so good with strangers, and I know this is your first encounter with her, so I’m going to show you how to — ” You stopped mid-sentence as you watched, shocked at what you saw happen next.

Arthur lifted his hand up, keeping his palm and fingers flat to reduce the risk of them getting bitten off, and Lily lowered her head down to sniff at it. Then, to your surprise, she let out a loud chuff of air through her nostrils and nudged his hand playfully, taking a step forward to get closer to Arthur. She pushed at his shoulder with her nose and huffed, the air of the snort blowing Arthur’s dark chestnut-brown hair back. Arthur just smiled and reached up to pet her on the check, “That’s a good girl.” He said to her softly, his voice deep and soothing.

The way he said it had you thinking about how it would feel if he talked to you like that. You shook your head suddenly, trying to erase that thought from you mind. “She seems to really like you,” you blurted, genuinely surprised at Lily’s reaction to Arthur. The first time you’d gotten her as a foal while you’d lived at the plantation, she had never warmed up to anyone but you, rearing at any strangers who dared to approach her. But she was calm with Arthur, using her nose to play with Arthur’s hair as he just smiled, allowing her to do what she wished.

“She’s never done that before,” you breathed, unable to fathom the sight before you. “How … How on Earth did you do that?”

Arthur lifted his gaze to you as Lily continued nudging at him, “I just gotta way with horses, I guess.” He said, letting out a small chuckle as Lily nearly pushed him off his feet. He lifted a hand to stroke her muzzle, and she let out a soft nicker, lowering her head as if she wanted him to pet her more. Arthur reached up higher and patted her head softly, running his fingers through her rough white mane. “She’s beautiful,” he said.

You smiled at his compliment, touched by his words and how well Lily was getting along with Arthur. “Thank you, I got her when she was a foal for my 20th birthday. She’s the sweetest horse you’ll ever meet, as long as she likes you.”

Arthur smiled in response, his deep voice amused, “Is that right? Well, I guess I’m a lucky man.”

“Do you know how to lead a horse?” You asked, nodding your head at Lily’s reins.

“Course,” Arthur replied, then took Lily’s reins in his big hand, grasping the leather strips arounds his fingers, ready to lead her.

You walked over to Butch who was grazing at some of the grass near a tree, “Hey, Butch, you ready to get cleaned up?” You asked him. He lifted his head to look at you, and you approached him slowly, reaching out a hand to let him know who you were. He seemed to recognize you and turned to walk in your direction, his heavy hooves crushing the grass beneath his massive weight. He would be an absolute threat to anyone he didn’t know. “Atta boy,” You said, leading him towards the stables.

Arthur joined you at your side with Lily as you both took the horses into the stables. You told Arthur to place Lily in her stall as you attached Butch to the wash rack. You got the water barrel and brush ready then started getting to work on cleaning his fur, “Would you mind making sure their stalls are cleaned, Arthur?” You asked over your shoulder.

“Will do,” Arthur replied. Soon you could hear shuffling noises in the stalls as he got to work on changing them out.

Once Butch’s coat was clean and you finished washing all the mud from his legs, you got to work on his feet, using the hoof-pick to clean out all the dirt from his hooves. When you were finished, you untied him from the washing rack and placed him in his stall. Arthur had finished up that one first, and now he was currently working on finishing up Lily’s stall. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he was in her space at all, which was so odd to you. Even to you she would sometimes nicker in annoyance if you stayed in her stall for too long. She was often like a child in that way, wanting her space to herself. But she didn’t seem to mind with Arthur in the least bit.

Arthur finished spreading out the clean hay and walked back over to you, giving you a small smile as he placed his hands on his belt, “Lily’s turn now?” He asked, referring to the wash rack.

“Yes, sir!” You replied, “C’mon now, girl.” You clicked your tongue a few times to get Lily’s attention, and she started walking over to you. You lead her over to the wash rack and tied her securely so she wouldn’t move around, then you got to work on wetting the brush in the water barrel and running the bristles through her fur, working out all the mud and grime. She had such a beautiful white coat when she was clean, you thought to yourself with a smile.

Arthur came over and picked up the hoof-pick you had left on the nearby table. He positioned himself by the horse’s side and lifted up one of Lily’s back hooves to get to work on cleaning them out, scraping all the chunks of dirt out before moving to the next hoof. So he knew how to groom horses as well, you thought. Had he been some kind of stable-master? Maybe a cowhand? A cowboy? You started to wonder again who he possibly could have been before you’d met him.

Several minutes passed by as both of you helped Lily get clean, until finally the chore was done, and you led her back into her stall. She turned to face you as you closed her door and leaned her head over the low gate, nuzzling your hair as if to thank you. “No problem, Lily.” You laughed and reached over to one of the sacks hanging off the wall, pulling out a carrot and offering it to her, “Here you go.”

Lily took what you offered greedily and you patted her gently on the muzzle as she munched up the carrot. You turned to see Arthur leaning against one of the walls by Lily’s stall, his brows furrowed as he looked at the horses as if he were trying to study them. Grabbing another carrot from the sack you went over and held it out to Butch, and the large horse approached you, leaning its head over the gate and taking it from your hand. When you pulled away, you looked over at Arthur, and the silence that suddenly approached felt like it stretched on forever.

You thought back to the kiss, remembering the feeling of his mouth on yours, the expression he’d made when you’d ended the kiss so abruptly. He’d looked so pained after you’d pulled away, but he seemed to have accepted your rejection with such a strange ease, as if he were used to being denied?

You opened your mouth to say something, then closed it. What could you possibly say? Was there anything that was going to change the unease and tension that had now placed itself between the two of you?

“That your brother’s horse?” Arthur’s voice suddenly pierced the silence, and the deep tone almost made you jump.

“Yes,” you replied, trying to clear your mind to answer his question, “Austin got Butch as a foal for his 20th birthday back in ’87, and this big guy has never left his side since.” You smiled at the memories, thinking back on all the playful times your brother had with Butch as he’d raised him from such a tiny thing to the big war horse he was today.

“So you got this horse for your birthday?” Arthur asked, his deep voice sounding curious as he looked over at Lily.

You nodded, “A farmer owned a Shire ranch near our plantation and a foal was just born to two of them. Her parents were both brown, but she was pure white, and my father knew how much I loved the color. So, he offered to buy it from the farmer, and she became part of the family.” You looked over at Lily as she leaned her head over the gate, nudging Arthur’s shoulder. “Hey, girl, don’t bother him,” you said teasingly, “ you already got your treat.”

Arthur let out a chuckle as Lily pushed his head with her nose. “Easy, girl.” He patted her muzzle and gently pushed her away. Lily snorted and shook her head, turning away to start munching at the hay he’d thoughtfully filled her trough with earlier.

You thought about how good he seemed to be with the horses, how he knew what to do to care for them, and the question popped up once again. Who had he been before you’d found him? What sort of life had he led? He was clearly skilled with horses and how to treat them. There was no doubt in your mind that he probably knew how to ride them, too. So who or what could he have possibly been? “Arthur?”

He broke his gaze away from the horses and looked at you, “Hm?”

How were you going to ask the question without sounding too peckish for the answers? Was it truly any of your business what his past was like, who he’d been before you found him? “Um, I noticed how well you get along with horses … did you use to work with them?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, his thick brows drawing down as he lowered his head, breaking the eye contact between both of you. It seemed as though he was getting lost in his memories once again. “I did,” he said after a few moments, his voice nearly sounding like gravel. “Used to have one of my own, but … it passed away recently.”

You felt your heart suddenly ache for him, and you stepped forward to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

He nodded, acknowledging your touch with a small smile.

You nearly wanted to kick yourself for asking yet another question that just ended up bringing more pain to Arthur. Even though you couldn’t possibly know what he’d lived through and what he’d experienced, this man had clearly had a very rough life before you’d found him, and anything you tried to find out from his past seemed to do nothing but hurt him.

Truly, his life must’ve been a harsh one. Whatever happened to make him this way, to put him through so much anguish, it was clear to you that his answers to your questions were not going to be good ones. You decided to leave it alone for now, to let him tell his story whenever he was ready.

You gave him another smile in an effort to reassure him, to wordlessly tell him that you were no longer going to pry.

Arthur’s eyes, those beautiful sapphire emeralds, practically sparkled as he looked down at you, his lips stretching into a small but beautiful smile.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Arthur couldn’t help but appreciate the comfort Y/N was trying to give him, and he gave her a small smile to reassure her that he was alright, that she had nothing to worry about for asking him these things, he couldn’t blame her for being so curious about him.

But hell, he didn’t know how he was ever going to answer the questions she would have about his past. He feared that she was eventually going to find out who he’d been, what he’d been, what he’d done. He’d never even given her his last name in fear that she would recognize it and end up piecing together the undeniable fact that he was actually a wanted outlaw, and not just the innocent, normal man she had come to know him as.

He thought back on the kiss.

If she ever found out who he’d been, would she regret having done that with him? Would she throw him out of her house right on his ass?

Dammit, why had he done it, he thought. He’d had no right. She’d even pulled away from him when he’d tried taking it further, which he knew he’d been wrong for doing.

Of course she had rejected him, what woman in their right mind wouldn’t? He knew he didn’t deserve to have anyone in his life, not after the dark path he’d chosen to follow. It was no surprise to him that she’d broken away.

Then suddenly he thought of what she’d said earlier, that she’d never kissed anyone before. … Was that it? Had he moved too fast for her? Damn him, but was he an idiot for possibly not having thought of that sooner? He wanted to find out the reason she’d pulled away, even if he didn’t deserve to know the answer.

“You said you never kissed anyone before,” he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. He cleared his throat, “Is that why you pulled away?”

Her eyes widened at his question, and he wanted to punch himself in his own stupid face as he looked down to avoid her gaze. Why the hell did he even bother —

“Arthur,” her soft voice interrupted his thoughts, and he raised his eyes back up to look at her. Her expression was soft, and he could see a hint of blush filling her cheeks. “To be honest with you, I think I pulled away because … it was a lot to take in.” She lifted a hand to run her fingers though her hair, fiddling her finger through some of the loose strands as if she was nervous. “I was just worried, because you’re still sick. I — I wasn’t’t sure if the herbs and medication were mixing up your thoughts, so … I wasn’t going to let you do something that you probably didn’t mean to do, or that you would regret later.”

Arthur felt his heart nearly lift at her words, a heavy weight that had been sitting on his chest suddenly disappearing. So she’d thought that he hadn’t been thinking straight because of his treatments, and she’d feared that she would have been taking advantage of him if she’d allowed him to get carried away.

“You ain’t gotta worry ’bout that, honey.” He told her, his voice low and deep in an effort to soothe her. She gazed up at him curiously, as if to ask what he meant by that. He looked at those lips of hers, wet and inviting.

He leaned forward slowly, making sure she was comfortable with what he was about to do. But she didn’t move, and so he took that as an invitation.

Just as their lips were about to meet, that damn brother of hers shouted out from outside, “Y/N! Dinner’s all ready!”

She suddenly jerked, and Arthur straightened back up, fire in his eyes as he glared over at the open doorway of the stables, feeling like he wanted to burn everything else but Y/N at that moment.

“I — I think we should go and eat,” she said, her voice sounding so soft, as if she were shy about what had just been about to happen. He turned his head to look at her again. That blush was back in her cheeks, making her look so fragile. She stepped back and headed for the doorway. As soon as she reached it, she looked over her shoulder to see that he was still standing in the same spot he’d been in. “C’mon, Arthur!”

Arthur lowered his dark brows in irritation, placing both hands on his belt in a tight grip to avoid possibly murdering her brother for the intrusion, even if he hadn’t meant it. There was no way Austin could see what he and Y/N had been about to do.

But dammit, still!

He followed her back to the cabin where that damn brother of hers stood on the porch, waving nonchalantly at both of them. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man, he was probably going to need to lasso Austin up at some point, just to keep him from interrupting anymore in the future.

— To Be Continued

#unshaken part 7 #unshaken #romance #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x y/n #red dead fanfic #slow burn #drama #love #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead #red dead redemption #red dead redemption imagine #rdr2 fanfic #fanfic

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fernsandsunflowers · 4 years

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Your knowledge of Harry Potter is like a rotten apple with worms in it!

Expressive! thanks for voicing your opinion.

I really hope this is in regard to the Snape post (x) I made years and years ago and has resurfaced recently and not JKR is a terf and can fuck off this planet please and thank you posts I’ve reblogged.

If it’s about Snape, I’ve seen most of the comments, I haven’t taken the time to read it all but general opinion seems to be two-sided there are those who agree whole-heartedly with my post, and those who do not. Most in the do not agree category has pointed out that heroism is not a competition. This is absolutely right, the story itself should have taught me that long ago, like when little Neville stood up to the trio in book 1. I apologize, sincerely, for comparing their acts of bravery. They both did amazing things and I hope, if it ever comes down to it, god forbid, I find in myself the same strength and bravery. The post itself was poorly worded. My goal was to ask that we show the same love and respect to Lupin as we do for Snape. That clearly didn’t come across, instead I got carried away and had written a post that ended up elevating Lupin’s acts of bravery while putting down Snape’s. Regardless of their background they both did heroic things and in the end gave their lives to save others. These acts of bravery deserve to be honoured and respected.

However, I stand by my statement that Lupin is the better man. I have seen a lot of comments that admit to Snape’s wrongs but use the excuse of unprocessed childhood trauma and mental illness. I will not accept this ‘white man’ excuse. I will admit, again, here that Sirius, James and Remus were wrong to have bullied Snape. Sirius, in fact, was still a bit of a dick after he returned from Azkaban. But why can we excuse Snape’s faults as the product of childhood and later life trauma but not Sirius’? Why do you continue to condemn Sirius for his bullying while at Hogwarts but make up excuses for Snape’s reprehensible behaviour towards his students?

Yes there were no systems in place for Snape to process his trauma (he did have one positive influence, Lily, but this was clearly not enough), that is a grievous institutional error. This exists in our world and is something that needs to be rectified immediately, in every country. There were no systems in place for Harry, Neville, Remus, Sirius and Regulus to process theirs either. In Regulus’ case he didn’t have the benefit of a positive environment too. But your argument is that everyone processes differently. My argument is that, Snape’s trauma doesn’t negate his negative actions in the same way that Voldemort’s trauma doesn’t negate his. If you are excusing Snape for being complicit in the murder of so many muggles and muggleborns because he was abused as a child and grew up in poverty, then you must also excuse Voldemort for murdering people based on his trauma from growing up in a shit-hole orphanage, in poverty and being hated and rejected by his father. I genuinely don’t know if Snape has killed anyone before Dumbledore, I vaguely remember a scene in the Prince’s Tale chapter where Dumbledore says something along the lines, you must have done it before? and Snape implying that he has not. I don’t have my book with me or I would check. It does not matter, aiding and abetting is still a crime. Why do we say ACAB? Complicit is still guilty.

I have no patience or place in my heart for anyone that chooses to join the side of racists and fascists, knowing full well what it meant. That’s what he did. You cannot deny that Snape was extremely capable of critical thought and was intelligent enough to see plainly what Voldemort rising to power meant to his supposed love. Or to thousands of innocent people. But he joined anyway, for power. Do you think I will be forgiven by my friends, or even you all, if I actively supported Trump, or ISIS, or an example from my own country (Sri Lanka), the extremist ‘Buddhist’ organisation called BBS that stands against Tamil and Muslim people (I put Buddhist in quotation marks as people who believe these ideologies are no longer Buddhist), or even my own father in his anti-muslim stance? He had Lily, who he loved, yet still joined an organisation that was murdering her people and posed a fatal threat to her as well. I do not have patience for that and I will not be shamed for it. If you’ve chosen to forgive Snape for willingly joining the wizard equivalent of Nazi’s and Neo-Nazi’s then fine, that’s your prerogative. I have chosen to forgive James, Sirius and Remus for bullying Snape when they were kids. That’s my prerogative. If you’ve chosen to forgive Snape for bullying children under his care to the point of terror and psychological trauma, because he himself had experienced trauma, I guess that’s your right as well (though I admit it infuriates me).

Also because I’m on a roll now, I will not stand to be asked to care about and include Peter Pettigrew in anything related to the Marauders. I understand that he was a part of the Marauders and I understand he was afraid for his life. Amongst the countless things I don’t have patience for, is disloyalty. The fidelius charm cannot be forced out of you, or bewitched, or tortured out. It must be shared willingly. Peter was already working for Voldemort since before he was made secret keeper. The Order knew there was a spy in their midst. Systematic racism within the wizarding world led them to believe that Remus was the Spy. Sirius was probably the first to believe it. Peter obviously felt some regret over it, but eventually divulged the information to Voldemort the first chance he got. I cannot and will not forgive that. If Peter was really a good person and was afraid for his life or for the life of his parents, or whatever, he would not have run back and actively looked for and revived Voldemort after he was ousted. He could have just left the country and hidden somewhere else where he would probably not have been recognised. He had an ounce of regret over James’ death that led to his own death, but in the theme of this post, it doesn’t negate his crimes.

To better help you understand why I am against Snape but support several others who have done wrong in their lives here’s an example. Someone who joined the Death Eaters willingly that I do forgive is Regulus Black. I believe he didn’t know any better, he grew up in a household where the only voices and opinions he heard was that of his racist af parents who applauded Voldemort. The impact of this influence is reflected in the way that Kreacher responds to muggleborns and their allies. This is an intelligent species to whom blood status of wizards should not matter. In the same way that countries colonized by Europeans that should not have anything against black communities are racist towards them. Because all they’ve heard about Black People comes from our colonizers - also, the power of representation comes up here, after gaining independence, the racist concepts that European colonization left against ourselves, other poc’s and black people were reaffirmed by the negative stereotypes presented in white media, which unfortunately is broadcast worldwide. But that’s a whole other can of worms. Kreacher is later taught, and experiences differently. He begins to show respect to Hermione and fights against Voldemort - the man his masters supported so thoroughly. I forgive Kreacher too for the part he played in Sirius’ death, here is someone who’s trauma and upbringing really does excuse their actions. He comes to understand that he made a mistake, learns and changes. Regulus wanted to make his parents proud, they supported Voldemort. Sirius, I don’t believe, helped Regulus understand any differently and rebuffed and berated him for parroting their parents views (this is never the right thing to do), thereby pushing him away.

We of course also know that Regulus had a kind and understanding nature, this shows in the way he treated Kreacher. He joined the Death Eaters when he left Hogwarts thinking he was doing the right thing. And immediately realised his parents had been wrong to support Voldemort, he tried to leave and couldn’t. In the end he actively tried to bring down Voldemort and his movement. As soon as he gained some substantial information on Voldemort he acted, giving his life to do so. Snape remained with the Death Eaters even as they killed countless muggles and muggleborns. He reported to Voldemort the prophecy he heard - if Regulus had been in Snape’s place here what do you think he would have done? reported to Voldemort? No, he would have kept it to himself, or taken the opportunity even to tell Dumbledore he would like to join their side. Snape, on the other hand, would have seen to it that Voldemort succeeded in ending this threat if it weren’t for one thing: Lily. This is NOT a redeeming quality.

Do you understand what it is I’m trying to explain? I’m not as eloquent as most of you here, so I’m sorry if I’m botching this up. Snape’s childhood should not have stopped him from seeing what Voldemort was doing. It should have been enough that he had Lily, a ‘mudblood’, to show him that Voldemort targeting muggleborn’s and muggles was wrong. Regulus had no one he loved who was a muggleborn. Neither did Kreacher. Sirius didn’t either but learned before he met Lily or any muggleborns that Voldemort’s and his parents views were wrong. So did so many others. Shit, even a lot of you must have been taught racism and unlearned it later when you were exposed to the truth. I know I had to as a child. Harry Potter played a key role in my own unlearning. Snape, knowing all this, joined Voldemort. That is why I do not support or forgive him. He continued to stay in Voldemort’s employ, rising in rank to the point of being accepted into Voldemort’s inner circle and being granted the Dark Mark. May be he was uncomfortable, but this did not stop him from following orders and committing crimes against humanity. He only stopped when the one muggleborn he thought was actually OK was being hunted by Voldemort.

Some of you have said in the comments that Snape was working against Voldemort since before the prophecy and threat on Lily. Where do you get this idea? Please tell me I genuinely want to know how you know this. Because in the Half Blood Prince, Trelawney’s drunken rant let’s Harry know that it was Snape who had heard the prophecy and told Voldemort about it. When confronted, Dumbledore tells Harry,

‘Professor Snape made a terrible mistake, he was still in Lord Voldemort’s employ on the night he heard the first half of Professor Trelawney’s prophecy, naturally, he hastened to tell his master what he had heard for it concerned his master most deeply. But he did not know, he had no possibly way of knowing which boy Voldemort would hunt from then onward or that the parents he would destroy in his murderous quest were people that Professor Snape knew. That they were your mother and father.’

- HBP, Chapter 25: the Seer Overheard.

Harry goes on to laugh at this statement referring to Snape’s hate of his father. Dumbledore responds to this with,

‘you have no idea of the remorse Professor Snape felt when he realised how Lord Voldemort had interpreted the prophecy, Harry.

It’s pretty easy to read between the lines here. Snape only turned from Voldemort’s side when he realised that Voldemort had interpreted the prophecy to mean Lily and James’ son, meaning Voldemort now posed an undeniably direct threat to Lily herself. If I can go a little further here, I believe Dumbledore’s empathy towards Snape stems from the part he himself played in helping Grindelwald’s plans for world domination and his own attempts to reconcile with his guilt over the matter. For me, this choosing to turn only when Lily was threatened does not redeem him because he either did not understand or care for the damage he was inflicting to others. If he had not been in love with Lily, he would have just let it happen and continued supporting Voldemort, how is that right? ‘It is the thought that counts’, this thought doesn’t sit right with me.

He never tried to redeem himself for joining Voldemort, only the part he played in Lily’s death. In my eyes he acted out of guilt, he was sorry for Lily’s death but not for joining a side that murdered thousands of innocent lives. He later chastised anyone who used the word Mudblood in his (private) presence but I interpret this as a reaction to the word reminding him of his and Lily’s fallout. I don’t believe it had anything to do with him actually understanding the damage behind its use. In death, he may have felt he redeemed himself, and Harry apparently felt the same. Washing his hands of Lily’s blood may have been enough for him, Dumbledore, Harry and you but it is not for me. His actions in later life did not, in my opinion, redeem him from willingly joining Voldemort and bullying children.

I apologize for comparing Lupin’s and Snape’s acts of bravery that was unreasonable. Snape’s actions certainly led to the downfall of Voldemort he acted heroically, but for me, he did not redeem himself entirely. It’s as simple as that. I respect that some of you believe he did. That’s fine. But please don’t gloss over the fact that he did work for Voldemort of his own free will, any negative influence he had that led him to believe that muggles and muggleborns deserved to be killed, dominated and enslaved (which is what Voldemort stood for) should have been countered by knowing Lily.

I love the complex character that he is, but I do not agree with his actions in early life, or the motivation behind his actions in later life. And that’s allowed so please stop breathing down my neck.

If this was about JKR being a terf, then maybe this will help: https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/trevor-support-center/a-guide-to-being-an-ally-to-transgender-and-nonbinary-youth/

Sorry this was meant to be short but I am physically incapable of keeping things short. This is also the last post I will ever make with regard to my feelings on Snape because well, I’ve been doing it for years and I don’t really care anymore. You do you.

#harry potter #hp #severus snape #anti snape #marauders #jily #anti snily #my post

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joysbell · 4 years

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A Mountain of Fire and Blood: Chapter 7

Thank you for all the reblogs, comments, likes, and follows. I appreciate every one. I have a list of things I need to happen between Cassian and Nesta in my head, and that’s why I’m writing this <3 I have no idea what present Cassian was trying to give Nesta that he threw into the Sidra, but I have an idea of another present he’s going to give her ^__^ ...and then some.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

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The High Lord of the Night Court rubbed his face as he leaned against the mantle in his study. His face wrought with frustration. Cassian hadn’t known what kind of breakfast meeting this would be, but now it was clear. Not a morning of fun, or jokes. Something was worrying Rhys. The General simply sat down and waited.

Mor, who had been lecturing Cassian only moments ago, had vanished. Feyre, Amren, and Azriel were also absent.

“There’s dissent brewing in the mountains,” Rhys said, coming to sit down across from him. He did not wear his usual attire; instead, he seemed rather disheveled in a simple dark shirt and plain pants.

“We already know that-—we’re working on it. What’s new?” Cassian leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch, his wings tucked behind him. The Illyrian clans were always fighting amongst themselves; and yes, things were getting worse, but his circle was aware of the situation.

The winged clans had many unhappy individuals who were not pleased with the progressive changes Rhysand continued to make. Men who wanted females to stay in their homes. Men who wanted clipped wings... The women who now trained to fight, to fly, were in a very dangerous situation, but a necessary one for the future.

However, dissenters were causing an uproar. And Illyrians loved a good frenzy.

“I just got word of a clipping ceremony that took place. Twelve girls,” Rhys said, leaning forward. It obviously hurt him to say.

“Twelve,” Cassian repeated, shocked, “I will-—”

“Whoever did this will be punished,” Rhys responded quicker than Cassian could. “By me, personally. I don’t want you to be involved right now with this. You need to remain on their good side.”

“They’re my men,” Cassian practically spat. “What kind of leader am I if I do nothing?”

“You’ll be the general we need to keep the peace,” Rhys said. “I will be the one they hate.”

“The rebels hate me too, and Az. There’s no peace to be made with them,” Cassian said.

“It’s not about the rebels, it’s about the people. They need you. They look to you. More so than they ever have to me.”

“Yeah, they look to the Bastard,” he laughed, dryly. But they did respect him. They did follow him. He’d earned that, even from those who looked down on his blood.

Silently, Cassian thought of the women who now tried to break free of their ancestral traditions. He thought of the women he cared for deeply… Mor, Feyre, Nesta… If they had been born Illyrian, what would their fate be? The thought stirred a feeling within him that made Cassian incredibly uncomfortable, and he could no longer sit still.

“Fine,” said Cassian, “I won’t say anything.” He would follow his High Lord’s orders, even if he disagreed with them. It was ultimately Rhy’s decision to make.

“In response, we’re going to recruit more women,” Rhys said.

Cassian smirked. “Good idea.”

/ / /

After his unfortunate meeting with Rhys, Cassian returned to the mountains. The air was crisp, cold, and he found himself breathing deeper than usual. His lungs hurt because of it, and he wondered if he was purposely causing the pain. He thought of girls whose wings had been mutilated; wondered how old they were, and who had done it. Their fathers, brothers? It made him want to hurl his guts into the sky.

When he managed to calm down, somewhat, Cassian tried to think instead of Nesta. There was some irritation, of course, that came to the surface initially. As he thought about how to solve her problem with fire. Even if he helped her, she’d probably tell him to go away. Last night was...odd.

She had sat with him on the couch, shared a meal, and talked...a little. She had not ripped his head, or his dick off. Her steel gray eyes had not cut into him like usual.

Today, he planned to give her another present. And Cassian swore he would go insane if she refused it.

He could not lose his temper, no matter how much she berated him. Nesta needed help. She was hollow inside; she didn’t feel anything right now. The cauldron had taken something from her, the war had taken more…

His first step was going to be the fire. Cassian would give her a tool to conquer it. If she’d let him.

And that was why he landed in front of a familiar shop, where he’d often purchased necessities for families who couldn’t afford what they needed to weather out life in the unforgiving mountains.

Emerie was behind the desk of the store when he walked in. It was empty like it usually was when he stopped by. She leaned against the counter, reading something she closed before he approached.

She smiled a wide grin. “Clothing the poor and destitute?”

“Not today,” Cassian said. “I need some earmuffs. The best ones you’ve got. For a woman,” he added, almost forgetting a male size would be too big.

“For a woman?” Smiling rather wickedly, Emerie asked, “Will these be for the woman you’re keeping in that cabin outside town?”

“Keeping?” Cassian chuckled. “I’m not holding her hostage, she refuses to come out.” Word got around fast. He hadn’t technically mentioned Nesta to anyone yet; here, even someone like Emerie, who was considered an outsider, already knew. Which meant everybody knew.

Emerie walked around him to a small display, grabbing what looked like earmuffs made from a pelt. They were small and delicate but looked like they would keep someone’s pointy ears warm. Although that was not why he wanted them.

“So this woman,” Emerie asked before she began to wrap his purchase. “Is she your lover?” No wicked grin now, just an honest question. Her hands waited as she finished—she would not demand payment from the General.

How blunt, he mused. “Why, do you want a date? Are you lonely, Emerie?” Even if Cassian felt the need to release his pent up passion, he could never do so with Nesta so close. He really couldn’t do that to her at all. Not to say Emerie wasn’t good-looking—

“I don’t prefer the company of men,” Emerie did not blush, to her credit. She looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m just curious. People are talking, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed. Cassian grabbed his coin purse and paid her more than what the earmuffs were worth, pushing the money across the counter. “I would hope you wouldn’t be among them.”

“I just listen,” she replied, and her pixie expression returned. “And I also notice...when people do not answer questions.”

“How very perceptive of you,” he winked, before turning to leave. He yelled thank you as he strode through the door with a wave back.

* * *

Tags: @ourbooksuniverse @fourshizzle149 @shimmerglimmerandsparkle @witchy6fangirl @prab1213 @nuclearplanets @messyhairday-me @jqkienwksne @candid-confetti @mis-lil-red

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Summary: When the morning comes, so does regret. Both you and Michael must deal with the choices that were made last night, choices that could either make or break Satan’s “plan” for his son and his son’s bride.

Word Count: 3062

A/N: Y’all this is so late and I’m so sorry. Nevertheless, I managed to get it up! Feedback is always appreciated, and if you liked this chapter, reblogs and comments would be wonderful to receive!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE

For a brief moment when you first wake up, it doesn’t feel like you’re hungover. Although you’re tired, you’re not bolting out of bed to throw up. That blissful feeling lasts for a total of ten seconds, the hangover waiting until the sunlight hits your eyes to fully hit you. And boy, does it hit you.

“Oh, God no.” You groan, covering your face with your pillow in an attempt to alleviate some of the throbbing in your head.

You’re not too terribly nauseous, but you’re still not going to be eating a three-course meal right away. Every time you try to take the pillow off of your face, your head spins. You haven’t been this hungover in a long time, and it can only be one thing causing your pain.

“The fucking vodka.” You realize, sighing and rolling onto your stomach so you don’t have to put in the effort to hold the pillow up.

Although you’ve had vodka before, it was only a shot or two at a time, never as much as you had during your pong victory last night. It should have been enough of a warning when it smelled like gasoline, but drunk (Y/N) likes to disregard clear signs of danger. When you finally feel able to lift your head from the pillow, you thank your lucky stars that a bottle of water and some ibuprofen sits on your bedside table. Remembering how you ended up back at your apartment, you wrinkle your nose in a mixture of disdain and embarrassment.

You take the medicine quickly, too hungover to be able to think clearly about the consequences of last night’s actions. Maybe you were better off with the pain of a headache, considering that each drunk memory is even worse than the one before it.

“Did I seriously pet his hair?” You mumble, sitting up against the headboard and burying your face in your hands. Speak of the devil (or the devil’s son), your phone starts ringing the oh-so familiar ringtone. You don’t even have to look at the caller ID to know that it’s Michael; no one else that you know would call you, especially on a Friday morning. “Hi, Michael.”

“(Y/N), good morning.” He greets, sounding mildly shocked that you’re awake and functioning. You’re a little shocked too, honestly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck, but the truck was only going like five miles an hour.” Michael chuckles at your colorful description of how you feel. “Thanks for coming to pick me up last night, by the way. I don’t even know why I called you.”

“You called me to berate me on my behavior. You also lamented the fact that you’re married to, and I quote, ‘the fucking Anti-crust.’” You grimace, shaking your head.

“Oh no, I am so sorry.”

“No, I deserved it. Plus, you made some good points, and I’m glad you called me instead of deciding to drive yourself home.” A smile tugs onto your face at the concern Michael has for you, quickly being wiped off when the reminder of his actions yesterday sends a bolt of pain through your lip.

“We wouldn’t have driven anyways, we took a Lyft there.” You explain, pulling at a loose string on your blanket while you wait for Michael to speak.

“(Y/N),” he says after a silence long enough to make you start to wonder if he had hung up, “can I ask you a question?”

“I know what you’re getting after, and I’m sorry for referring to you as my husband when I was in front of my friends last night. In my defense, we were all really drunk and they all thought I was just being a smartass. If you’re going to punish anyone, punish me and not them.” You interject, fully taking responsibility for your slip of the tongue that gave both of you mini heart attacks.

“Huh? No, don’t worry about that. Trust me, I know that it was just a joke to them.”

“Really? Okay then, ask me your question.” Another long silence follows, one that has you huffing in annoyance. You could easily be sleeping off your headache right now, if it weren’t for Michael being dramatic on the other end of the call.

“Would you...if you would allow me to, would you like to go on a date today? With me?” It’s your turn to initiate a long silence.

The all-powerful Antichrist, who you’ve seen command congregations of ravenous followers with a mere glance and force you to give yourself to him, who holds the most frightening amount of power you’re sure anyone on Earth has ever possessed, is nervous about asking you out on a date? You’re startled out of your inner monologue by Michael calling your name through the phone.

“What?”

“Well, I asked you if you-”

“I know. I guess I was just caught off-guard. I mean, aren’t you supposed to ask me on a date before you marry me?” You ask, smiling wryly.

“I think you and I can both agree that our union is nothing if not unconventional.”

“Hmm. Say I did agree to go on a date with you. What would we do?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve never been on a date before and this was a very spur-of-the-moment decision.” Michael admits.

“Awww, how cute!” You tease, giggling when you hear him scoff.

“I’m the Antichrist (Y/N), and though I’ve been described as many things, ‘cute’ is not one of them.” He notes. It’s quiet for a moment while you consider your options, eventually deciding ‘what the hell?’

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Michael, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“We-I-uh-great.” He stutters out. “Tonight, then? I’m sure you have classes and such today, and I’d hate to force you to do something when you’re already forced to spend the weekend with me.”

You stretch the arm that’s not holding your phone above your head, glancing over at the clock to see the time.

“I actually don’t have class today. Wanna meet me at my place at eleven?” You can tell he’s shocked at your response, and you’re a little shocked too. You’re not sure if you want to confront him while sober about how he smacked you, or if his whole ‘poor, socially-stunted Antichrist’ act actually was an act.

“That would work for me.”

“Cool! I’m driving though, so you’re gonna have to do your teleporting thing.”

“Why do you get to drive?”

“Because you’re the most boring driver ever. Seriously, you don’t even listen to music?”

“It’s distracting! I like the quiet, it allows me to think.” Michael argues.

“Car rides are for bumping your favorite music, not sitting in silence, but I digress. Does eleven work for you or not, golden boy?” The ‘golden boy’ nickname is one you’re quite proud of, seeing as it’s one of the only productive things you thought of while giggling to yourself in Michael’s car last night.

“Yes, eleven works. I’ll see you then.”

“See you in a bit!” You chirp, hanging up your phone and sitting up. Suddenly, you’re aware of your devastating mistake: you have to actually get your hungover ass out of bed and dressed within an hour.

It’s definitely not your finest date outfit, but considering the man has seen you bloody and scared out of your mind, you’re not too worried about impressing him. Besides, the point of a date is to get to know a person and make them want to see you again. You’re already stuck with Michael for life, so one half of your ‘mission’ is basically completed. You rush to the door when you hear him knock, peeking through the peephole before you unlock it fully. It’s a little infuriating just how perfect Michael always looks; he seriously could have walked right off of a runway during Fashion Week. His regular attire could put some movie stars to shame, so needless to say he makes you feel extremely underdressed. Nevertheless, he still smiles the moment he sees you.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He greets, stepping into your apartment. “I, uh, got you some flowers. I know that’s what you’re supposed to give a girl before a date.” He produces a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back, making your face red.

“Did you read my mind to find out my favorite flowers?” You tease, taking the bouquet from him and turning to find something to put them in.

“No, actually. You had told my Ms. Mead that these were your favorites once.” Now that you think about it, you had told Ms. Mead that; they had been on sale at the market you both frequented, and you had made a note that you had to buy them when she noticed them in your basket. “Are you feeling any better?”

“My head still hurts, but other than that I’m fine. I usually only throw up after I drink hard liquor.” There’s no vases in your kitchen, so you just grab an old water bottle and fill it up to place the flowers in.

“If you’d like, I can take your pain away?”

“You already left the painkillers out on my nightstand, pretty sure if I take anymore that’s considered drug abuse.”

“Not like that. I can...use my powers, and take your pain away. Only if you consent, of course. I told you after the wedding that I wouldn’t use magic on you without your permission, and I intend to keep that promise.” This side of Michael, the one who actually cares and shows human emotions, is easily your favorite.

“You can do that?” He nods.

“I could heal your lip, too.” Before either of you can really process it, his hand gently cups your chin, thumb lightly running across the scabbed-over cut.

“We’re going to have to talk about this, you know.” You mutter, Michael’s thumb moving away so that he doesn’t accidentally slip it into your mouth.

“Let me heal you, and then we can?” He proposes.

“Yeah, okay.” You lead him over to the couch, sitting and facing him. “So how does this work? Do you have to perform some sort of spell?”

Michael chuckles, shaking his head. It startles you to realize you’ve picked up on some of his idiosyncrasies, knowing that playing with the large rings decorating his fingers means that he’s nervous.

“No, you just need to trust me.” You hesitate for a moment before nodding your head slightly.

Michael places both of his large hands on either side of your face, your breathing hitching at the close contact. You watch as his eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he move, but you can feel the exact moment that his magic hits you. The pain in your head disappears slowly, but when it’s gone, it’s completely gone. You lip pulses in pain as the skin starts to rapidly stitch itself back together, speeding up the healing process by weeks. After Michael lets go of your face, you snatch your phone up and glance at the black screen. You’re completely healed, without even a scar to show for last night’s events.

“Who would have thought the Antichrist could use his powers to fix things instead of break them?” Michael rolls his eyes, studying your face to make sure your split lip is healed to his liking.

“(Y/N), I do want to apologize to you now that you’re sober. I wasn’t lying when I said I had never hit anyone before. I’ve done many, many terrible things in my life, but my terror of a grandmother taught me one useful thing, and it’s that you never lay your hands on a woman.”

“So why me, then? What changed last night to make you want to smack me?”

“I...I wish I had an answer that would satisfy you, but the truth is that I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You scoff, crossing your arms across your chest and laughing. “What a cop out. ‘I don’t know,’” you mock, “is one of the most blatant lies in the world. You do know, you either don’t want to admit it or you haven’t thought hard enough about it.”

Michael huffs loudly, running a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before. All my life, people have either been terrified of me or they’ve worshipped me. You’re neither of those types. You challenge me, and constantly let me know that I’m not as special as my followers have led me to believe. You’re my equal, which is exactly what my father created you to be. I obviously have not handled this realization well, and I lashed out when you snapped at me.”

“Michael, you need to promise me that you’ll never touch me like that again. I don’t care what we are, or what your father wants us to be; you smack me again and I promise you that I’ll ruin your life.” You’re not quite sure how you’d ruin his life, but you both know that this is a threat you’ll follow through on.

“I promise you, (Y/N). I’m not someone who regrets his actions very often, but I regretted hurting you the second my hand left my side.”

“I believe you.” You say timidly, placing a lot of trust in his word. Although you’re not sure if this is the right decision, it’s one that you’ll have to make if this ‘marriage’ is going to work.

“Thank you.” Michael smiles. “Shall we go, then?”

“Where are we going?” You ask, taking his extended hand and letting him help you up.

“Well, I did tell you that I’ve never exactly been on a date before.” Michael says sheepishly. “What do you normally do on a date?”

“There’s a few different things that we could do.” You say, thinking for a moment. “Michael, do you like ice cream?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re walking through a small park across the street from your favorite ice cream shop with Michael, your hands subtly brushing against each other. As it turns out, he does like ice cream, and was more than pleased when you had suggested it. What he wasn’t pleased with was your taste in music on the drive over, begging you to unlock your phone so he could pick a new song. You had tortured him a little bit before obliging, only to learn that Michael actually likes some good music. His ice cream choice isn’t too bad, either: mint chocolate chip in a dish. It’s not something you’d have normally thought of getting, but it’s a flavor that seems to match Michael perfectly.

He watches while you talk about just how much precision and planning went into taking the first picture of the black hole, stopping every so often to have some of your own ice cream (chocolate chip cookie dough on a cone). You had assumed that he would be bored by your newest fascination, but instead he listens intently, smiling at how much you care about this subject.

“I never would have thought you’d be interested in space.” Michael notes.

“I’ve always loved space; when I was younger I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Why?”

“There’s so much out there that we haven’t explored. It’s entirely likely that there is life on other planets. While we know that black holes swallow matter, we don’t know what happens to it or where it goes. There’s a law that matter can neither be created nor destroyed, so either black holes bend the laws of science or that matter goes somewhere else. It’s extremely plausible that there could be other dimensions. Plus, I really like the night sky.”

“Oh?”

“It’s...calming, in a way. It makes me feel so small, looking up at all of the different stars, yet I also feel connected to so much. Everybody sees the same sky at the same time, and it’s interesting to know that we’re seeing the light of stars that have died thousands of years ago. I could look at the constellations for hours.”

You turn around when Michael stops, facing him in confusion. You almost think he’s tripped, since he keeps looking down at his shoe, but there’s nothing there to have made it the focus of his attention. When he looks up at you, there’s a strange look in his eye. It’s not scary or anything, it’s just one that you haven’t seen Michael wear before. It’s a mixture of pain and confusion, as if he’s deciding to do something that could easily have dire consequences.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, smiling at him reassuringly. You’re actually rather enjoying this date, and his company.

“I-uh--” Michael stutters before suddenly leaning forward and kissing you.

Your eyes widen in shock, arms at your sides as you’re momentarily stunned at this turn of events. Quickly, you decide that you actually like what’s occurring right now, closing your eyes and wrapping your arm that’s not holding anything around him. For someone who’s never been on a date before, Michael’s a pretty good kisser. His full lips work easily against yours, and you can still taste the mint on his lips. He’s a little too hesitant with his kissing, but that’s something that can be easily rectified.

It doesn’t last very long at all, Michael pulling away before you can ‘show him’ how to make out. The kiss is short and sweet, two things that you would not normally associate with Michael Langdon. His face is flushed and he’s breathing heavily, looking at you to make sure he didn’t screw everything up.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” You ask, smirking as he touches his lips.

“A week or so.” He answers.

You smile at his expression, one that’s eager to kiss you again while still being hesitant towards what you’re presuming is how you’ll react. You press your lips to his again, making Michael smile widely after you’ve finished.

“You know what you’re doing, I’ll give you that.” Since today is, apparently, about being bold, you take his hand in yours when you start walking again. With hands clasped tightly and ice cream all but forgotten about, your conversations and chaste kisses continue long into your walk.

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floatingpetals · 5 years

Text

What Have I Done? || Ch. 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, all the angst, harsh words, the ex is a bitch, maybe some minor trigger warnings(verbal abuse)

Word Count: 2200+

Summary: A bad break up between Bucky and his ex leads to a new friendship with the quiet tech he never had the chance to get to know. Relationships grow, feelings are caught, and boundaries are explored. Bucky thought he found his happy ending, but old memories haunt his future. He knows what he’s doing wrong, dangerous eve, but he can’t help it. Can he fix the wrongs he’s done? -a requested story for @iheartsebastianstan

A/N: Reposting because the new guildlines are SHIT. Please, Reblog too, I’m sad I lost all the notes and comments from you awesome people.

**This is an 18+ story, so please no minors! If I find out you’re underage and reading this I will have to block you.

Gif is not mine, credit to the creator.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Series Masterlist

“I’ve had enough! We’re done!”

Y/N flinched, burring her face further into her book. She tried not to show she heard the exchange between the two and attempted to shrink herself far enough down on the couch where she was curled up on in the living room. It must have worked, she heard the heavy rapid footsteps of Vivian and the lighter but just as fast steps of Bucky come down the hall to the elevator on the other side of the living room.

“Wait, Viv-.” Bucky pleaded. Y/N’s heart broke at how utterly destroyed he sounded, but she stayed put as she unintentionally eavesdropped.

“Don’t call me that!” Vivian hissed with disgust. “I hate it whenever you call me that.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

“You didn’t mean, you didn’t mean!” Vivian mocked in high pitched voice. Y/N heard Bucky taking in a shuddering breath, a sob slipping past his lips. “Ugh, I’m so sick and tired of hearing you cry! Do you have any idea how grating that sound is? Especially when you hear it every fucking night!”

Y/N’s blood ran cold, stunned. Who the fuck did this woman think she was? How dare she talk to Bucky that way! He wasn’t her verbal punching bag, she had no right to treat him like this! Y/N had to Smother the need to pop up out of her hiding spot and rip into the woman, instead, she waited and listened in horror.

“All I do is listen to you scream at night, whining about the pain. I can’t stand another evening where I can’t get any sleep! Not to mention how fucking clingy you are! You smother me in my sleep and I can’t take any more of it!” Vivian’s voice was raised in an ear-piercing volume, harsh and bitter. All the while, Bucky said nothing while the woman he thought loved him ripped into him. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you. You’re such a waste of my time.”

Now Y/N always thought she was a calm person, who never got into fights. She wasn’t that kind of person. Yes, she worked with the Avengers, but solely as their behavioral analyst. She’s never been a field agent, had no need to. Blood made her squeamish and just the thought of hurt someone made her stomach turn, except right now she was ready to leap across the back of the couch and see the red pour like a river from Vivian’s nose after connecting her fist to the woman’s face. Y/N didn’t give two damns the woman could probably kill her with her pinky finger, she had no right to talk to Bucky like that. Nevertheless, Y/N once again froze.

“No wait, please Viv- I mean Vivian.” Bucky pleaded, hastily correcting himself. Vivian made a noise of disgust over him speaking. “I’m sorry, I can be better. I swear. Just don’t- don’t leave me please.”

Vivian didn’t respond, and Y/N could only hear the occasional sob from Bucky. Finally, the woman scoffed, breaking the silence.

“You’re pathetic, and not worth anyone’s time.”

Y/N felt her heart shatter along with Bucky’s, his strangled gasp pulled tears to her eyes. She heard the elevator door open and shut, most likely with Vivian inside leaving Bucky behind. Once the doors slid shut, it was like the dam broke inside Bucky.

His heartbreaking sobs bounced off the walls of the living room, a sound she never imagined she’d ever heard coming from him. As much as she wanted to reach out, to hold him tight and tell him everything alright, but she wussed out like always. She couldn’t make her body listen instead was forced to listen to him break down in the middle of the hall before he managed to stumble his way to his room. She didn’t hear the door shut, but when his sobs were finally silenced, and she assumed he had gently closed it behind her.

She let out a breath of air, every muscle in her body still tensed and jittery. That was harrowing having to sit through. Y/N not once thought she’d be privy with that look in Bucky’s life on a Sunday evening and she knew she just witnessed something incredibly private. Y/N felt dirty and wrong, more importantly, she felt actual pain for Bucky, someone she hardly said two works to in the two years he’d been a part of the team.

When she joined the Avengers five years ago, Bucky still hadn’t made it in the picture. When he finally did, it was a turbulent change in the group. He kept to himself, preferring to watch from the back corner of the room. He jumped at every noise, froze when someone other than Steve or Sam talked directly to him, and hated eye contact. It scared the hell out of him. The group was always on edge around him, worried he’d snap at any given moment. It didn’t help him feel comfortable, which in turn made it harder for the team.

Y/N herself was the definition of a shy introvert, which is a reason she never really talked to him. She liked staying at home on the weekend reading books, she hated going to parties for many reasons including that she’d have mini panic attacks when someone new walked up to her, and quite frankly, Bucky intimidated the hell out of her. That being said, she did always think he was cute and sometimes she’d find herself lost in his blue eyes when he wasn’t paying attention. Natasha noticed, but Y/N vehemently denied that there was anything more to it. She hardly knew the man.

Over time, Bucky grew more confident, gained a sense of independence and managed to not bolt every time someone talked to him. Then he met Vivian. At the time, she was still a fresh agent, never having been in the field. She was starry-eyed, happy, and at the time, she seemed like the person Bucky needed. Y/N never would admit it aloud, but something about Vivian set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t quite put her finger on whatever it was, but over time Y/N saw what Vivian was hiding.

Bucky needed someone who was there to call him out retreating in his mind, someone that pulled him to the present. In the beginning, Vivian did just that. She managed to help him find his footing and it was like the man from the 40s came back. However, Y/N saw but mostly heard the words that came from Vivian’s mouth.

It began as reminders not to sink back in the darkness, then it turned into telling him he’s worthless. He was an affectionate person, having been starved of a loving touch for so long. At first, Vivian didn’t mind. It morphed into her snapping at him when he’d be what she deemed ‘too clingy’ and shove him away. Hurt would flash on his face, but it would melt away. Bucky adored Vivian. Vivian tolerated Bucky. Until now it seemed. Y/N had wondered how long it would take for them to split. For a year, Y/N listened to Vivian berate and belittle Bucky. But he took it, like the love-sick puppy he was. Maybe he thought he’d never find anyone else? It was uncertain, but Y/N didn’t expect the break up to be like this.

It didn’t take Y/N long to come to a decision, she knew what was needed to be done. Closing her book, she walked to the elevator and took it to the kitchen. There she grabbed a few water bottles, her stash of chocolates and a bag of potato chips. Going back to the elevator she went back to her and Bucky’s shared floor to stop in her room to grab a box of tissues before she stepped up to Bucky’s.

She could hear his sobs now, even through the thick door. When she knocked, the sound cut short. Y/N heard his rapid heavy footsteps before the door swung open to reveal Bucky’s hopeful face. Tears stained his cheeks, his eyes bright red and blotchy. Y/N wanted to throw everything to the ground a give him a bone-crushing hug. When Bucky saw Y/N standing there instead of the women he was hoping was for, his face fell a touch before shifting into confusing. Y/N had barely spoken with him, and while he thought she seemed nice enough, he wasn’t sure why she was there at his door. He looked at the items in her arms and was even more confused.

“Oh, uh…” He sniffed, whipping his nose with the back of his hands. “Y/N?”

“Hey.” Y/N smiled softly, taking in his appearance. He looked exhausted and absolutely heartbroken. “Can I come in?”

“Um.” Bucky began, stopping to swallow down more tears. “Tonight’s not really the best night.”

Y/N frowned slightly but didn’t let this faze her. Sucking in a deep breath while shoving down the voice telling her to tuck her tail and run, she shook her head and smile softly.

“I know.” She spoke sadly. “I um… I was on the couch.”

Realization dawned on him, and he shrank back embarrassed. “Oh.”

“And I figured you needed someone there for you.” Y/N rushed to say before he shut her out. “I know we don’t talk ever, but I know what it’s like when you get your heart stomped on. You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to, I can be here for moral support. I just thought we could sit and eat chocolate and fatty chips, maybe watch some Netflix until you feel a little better.”

Bucky was quiet, looking Y/N over as she shifted from foot to foot. He could tell she wasn’t entirely comfortable, yet she was still standing here offering her support. He sensed no malice and even didn’t seem like she was pitying him. She looked genuinely concerned and was ready to just be there as a comforting shoulder to lean on. A shoulder he desperately needed.

Y/N wasn’t expecting him to reply, so when he nodded and stepped aside she was surprised. He motioned for her to enter his room and she shook off her shock to step into his room. She didn’t wait for him to follow and b-lined to his messy, unmade bed. She set the stuff aside on the floor and quickly made the bed, fluffing the pillows perfectly and grabbing the blankets at the end. She plopped down on the right side, draped one of the blankets over her legs and patted the empty spot beside her.

Bucky didn’t know what he felt inside him when he saw her welcoming face in his dark room. He gave her a watery smile and flopped on to his stomach beside her. She didn’t say anything, letting him clutch his pillow to his chest and covered him with the second blanket while taking the time to tuck it to his sides. It was a knee-jerk reaction, Y/N didn’t think much of it. However, for Bucky, that was enough for him get comfortable with her. Once he was he began to cry softly once more, his tears morphing into chest heaving sobs. Y/N didn’t say a word, knowing he needed to let it all out, even if it meant he cried himself to sleep. She bent over to pick up the tissue box beside the bed and passed it over. Bucky gave her another watery grateful smile and took a handful.

That evening Y/N sat beside Bucky as he let out all the pain he bottled up, offering only soft words of reassurance when he needed it, to remind him he was worth the time. He wasn’t pathetic. She gave him support in the time he needed despite hardly knowing him. For Bucky, it was something he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t used to this sort of support. His heart ached when it was slowly dawning on him that maybe he thought more of their relationship than she did.

It wasn’t until several hours later, with an empty bag of chips and chocolate wrappers strewn across the bed that Bucky was able to fall asleep, Y/N passed out beside him. Right before he fell asleep, he looked over to her slumbering face and wondered for the hundredth time that night why she was here. As Vivian said, he wasn’t worth anyone’s time. While his eyelids slowly slid shut from exhaustion, Vivian’s harsh words kept echoing in his mind.

He wasn’t worth it.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier #reader insert #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #what have i done chapter 1

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asoftervirge · 5 years

Text

A Royal Family

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: R. Sanders/V. Sanders (main); L. Sanders/P. Sanders (mentioned)

FIC WARNINGS/KINKS: metions of Deceit, previous abuse, nursing a child, very mild smut at the end FIC SUMMARY: It amazed him how just one year can bring about so many changes…and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

TAGLIST: @hellomusicalnerdhere, @bunny222, @hexdream18243, @ss-mafia-au, @calvindientesblancos, @backatthebein, @saphael-malec102, @thefallendog, @entpscarleharrrr, @asleepybisexual, @the-fandoms-are-takin-over, @pansexual-cat, @derpiest-unicorn, @zaidiashipper, @ierindoodles, @i-really-dig-the-purple, @im-so-infinitesimal (hello everyone, it’s great to see you all again!)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And here it is. My little piece that I did for A Royal Bond’s one year anniversary. I want to thank every single person who commented, liked, reblogged and everything else you’ve done to support this fic. It has meant the absolute world to me and I wouldn’t have been able to finish it without all of you. And so, without further ado, let’s revisit this wonderful family one last time. x Virge

READ ON AO3 INSTEAD

Roman gently held the ends of the veil between his fingers before lifting it over the figures’ head. When he saw the face underneath, his breath was caught in his throat.

Virgil looked completely different from how Patton and Logan found him in the streets. His messy hair was washed and straightened. Instead of it being a dirty, brownish color, it now glowed a dark purple hue.

His eye makeup was stunning, dark purple with a black outline. It made his silvery-purple eyes pop. A light blush was on his cheeks, a subtle touch to contrast all the dark coloring.

Roman thought this was the most beautiful creature he ever laid his eyes on.

At first, Virgil didn’t recognize who he was standing in front of until he noticed the insignia on Roman’s uniform. His eye grew wide and his face grew red as he immediately knelt down in respect.

Patton giggled, while Thomas and Logan smiled. Roman chuckled. That seemed to be a typical reaction when strangers meet a member of royalty. He gently guided Virgil back to his feet. “Please don’t kneel.” he tells him kindly. “I do not wish for formalities right now.”

When Virgil went to speak, he found that he had no voice. He placed his hands on his throat and shook his head fearfully.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked worriedly. “Can’t you speak?”

“I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” Logan explains, addressing Thomas more than Roman. “That when he gets into states of high anxiety or any other emotion state, they reduce him to becoming mute. In that case, he relies on communication via sign and body language along with facial expressions.”

Roman nodded in understanding. “What is your name, beautiful one? Can you try and sign it to me?”

Virgil went wide-eyed and blushed more at the pet name and quickly, albeit shakily, signed his name. My name is Virgil.

“Fortunately, he has told Patton and I that his name is Virgil, which is what he signed to you.” Logan translates. Roman adored it. “Unfortunately, however, he is a Feral Omega who was living on the streets after the abolishment of slave ownership.”

Thomas looked at Virgil sadly. “A feral Omega...Is that so?”

Virgil looked down at the pristine floor in embarrassment. He felt two finger hook under his chin and forces him to stare at Roman, who was still looking concerned.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” he tells the omega gently. “We are all friendly here. My Father was the one who abolished Omega slavery, as you probably know, and we would never hurt you.” He can see the stress leave Virgil as he begins to look more relaxed.

It took him a few tries, but Virgil utters out, “T-Thank you.”

His voice was scratchy and a little deep, but Roman loved the sound of it. Everything about the omega were things the prince secretly dreamed of.

“I-It’s no trouble, really.” he coughed, blushing a shade of red as deep as his sash. He looked at the junction between Virgil’s neck and shoulder, then met his eyes again. “May I?” Virgil didn’t necessarily know what he was asking for, but he shyly nodded.

Roman stepped forward, careful as to not make the omega anymore nervous than he was, and pressed his nose to his scent glands. His scent. It was something he never smelt before.

Despite him being a former slave, he doesn’t have a bond mark or anything to represent another alpha’s scent. Virgil was covered in his own that marked him as his and his alone.

Virgil seemed shocked by the gesture, but one whiff of the prince’s scent made him quickly submit. It was a strong, earthy scent and it provided him comfort. Feeling his anxiety leave him, Virgil wrapped his arms around Roman tightly and pressed his nose to the alpha’s scent glands.

Thomas simply stared, Patton blushed deeply, and Logan looked indignant.

Scenting on the neck was always considered a private matter. Members of royalty would only scent their consorts on their wrists. The only public exception was during weddings. Roman seemed to be disregarding that rule entirely, and he didn’t seem to care.

The two remained that way for a long time, nuzzling each other and soaking in each others’ scents. It was only when Logan loudly coughed that Virgil recoiled back. Even though he looked embarrassed, he didn’t feel that way.

Thomas stepped forward. “Roman?” His son turned to him, reddish-brown eyes shining with glee. When he nodded enthusiastically, the King smiled and turned his head towards the herald. “I believe you have an official announcement to make?”

“Might as well.” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “They’ve already completed the first step of the mating process.”

Roman flushed, but he looked back at Virgil who gave him a small smile. The prince responded with a larger one of his own, tangling Virgil’s thin, pale fingers in his own.

-,-,-,-,-

Virgil was walking back inside the palace when the memory flashed before his eyes. Seeing Roman walking across the Royal Halls made him stop and reflect.

Roman was always a handsome alpha in Virgil’s eyes, but today he seemed to be extra handsome in his mind. His hair looked a little curlier than it normally was (though not as curly as Patton’s is, mind you), the golden medals that decorated his black jacket shined in the lighting, he could even see some of his muscles being a little pronounced through his sleeves.

Everything about his husband was handsome. Roman was a very handsome alpha.

It wasn’t before long when the alpha finally took notice of his wife.

“Oh! Hello, my darling.” he smiles, turning to him. Virgil could see his reddish-brown eyes sparkling in the distance and his reading glasses were on his face. In was in that moment the Omega took note of the important documents that were in his husband’s hands. “Was there anything you needed?” he asked.

He shook his head, a soft and gentle smile appearing on his face.

It was in that moment when Roman thought Virgil was the most beautiful being in all of Alexandros.

His wife, standing there looking regal like the Queen that he was. His violet hair glowed in the sun’s lighting, the purple dress hugged his body perfectly, his jewelry also had a darkened shine to it, and his makeup looked as deadly as it did vexing.

Virgil was enchanting and all around gorgeous, so much so that it made Roman’s heart sing.

Then he sees Virgil holding his arms out to him, motioning for Roman to come closer. Roman beamed. This was Virgil’s signal that he wanted Roman to hold him, and Roman was going to be a good alpha husband and do just that.

Dropping all of the documents, sheets of white scattering about the floor of the palace, Roman quickly ran over to his wife. He wrapped his arms tightly around Virgil’s waist before picking him up and spinning his around in the air.

Virgil giggled as he snaked his arms around his husband’s neck as he was spun. Even after Roman was done, he still kept his husband in his arms. “If you didn’t need anything, was there something on your mind? You seemed to be lost in thought when I took notice of you standing here.”

At that, the Omega nodded. “I was just thinking about us, that’s all.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, his smile still on his face. “Oh? And what about us, my sweet omega?” He began to press kisses along his wife’s face, all the way down to the expose skin of his chest.

“Roman!!” Virgil squealed in laughter. He was worried about Logan coming and berating them for their ‘indecent public displays of affection,’ but everyone in the palace is used to this by now, so it shouldn’t cause them too much trouble. “It wasn’t anything bad!! I promise!!” He began kicking his legs in the air. “I was just thinking about when we first met!!”

When he heard that, Roman immediately stopped kissing Virgil and looked at him, love and happiness shining in his eyes. “You mean the day when I fell in love at first sight?”

The omega nodded, his own eyes shining. “Yeah…I remember how nervous I was when Patton and Logan presented me to you…I was so afraid that you wouldn’t like me.” (He also remembered how he practically embarrassed himself by kneeling in front of his future husband like an idiot.)

“But I didn’t,” Roman smiled warmly. “I loved you, and I still do to this very day.” He gently pecked Virgil on the lips. “You’re my everything, Virgil, and I’m so glad that they found you that day, otherwise I don’t think either one of us would be here right now.”

“I agree.” Even if he didn’t like thinking about it, Virgil had to wonder where he would be if Patton and Logan hadn’t found him on the streets that day. If he had to guess, he might still be on the streets, struggling everyday to survive in a world that was post-Omega slavery.

Who knows?…Maybe he would’ve been back in the arms of Dorian and his other two Omegas. he would be isolated, neglected, and abused once more.

But he wasn’t. He’s here; in Alexandros, with Roman and his family, with people who loved and cared for him more than those three have in Virgil’s entirety of being a slave.

“Aww, my love…why do you cry?” Virgil didn’t even realize he was until his husband brought it up. He quickly wiped his tears away, being careful not to smudge his makeup in the process.

“I’m just…really happy that I met you that day, Roman.”

Roman’s warm smile remained as he set his wife down to the floor, helping him wipe tears away from his silvery-purple eyes. “And I’m glad too.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Virgil’s bond mark before nuzzling it with his nose, inhaling his smoky scent.

Virgil bit his lip and let out a quiet whimper as he pulled Roman even closer to him, fingers knotting at his hair. The omega even remembered his husband scenting him in front of the former king and his advisers, which is something that they probably shouldn’t have done since they had just met and weren’t even married yet.

Suddenly, a voice surprised them, causing them to quickly separate.

“While I understand you love each other dearly, can you not display your indecent affections publicly like that?” Sure enough, like Virgil predicted, it was Logan.

The Royal Couple chuckled sheepishly before Roman (with assistance from Logan) collected all the important documents that he dropped. He gave the logical beta an appreciative smile.

“Now, if you two are done, you have a meeting you need to attend.”

Roman groaned inwardly, but he felt better when Virgil grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently before following Logan to council room.

-,-,-,-,-

“I, Roman, take thee, Virgil, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death us do part.”

Virgil did his breathing technique before he too repeated the words of the officiant. He stuttered through it, but not once did Roman, the officiant, or anyone in the church mock or tease him.

“I, Virgil…t-take thee, Roman, to be my husband…to h-have and to hold…f-from this day forward, for better for worse…f-for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health…to love and to cherish t-till death us do part.”

Roman smiled at him when he finished, silently telling him that he did good. After the vows, it was time for them to exchange rings. Both Patton and Logan stepped up and gave the couple their respective rings, then they repeated the officiant again.

“Virgil, I give you this ring, as a sign of our marriage, with my body I honor you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you.” He slid his ring onto Virgil’s finger, lifting his hand up and kissing it.

“Roman, I give you this ring, as a sign of our marriage…w-with my body I honor you…a-all that I am I give to you, a-and all that I have…I share with you.” Now he took his ring onto Roman’s finger.

Now comes a tradition that is only done with Alpha/Omega marriages: scenting. While Roman and Virgil have officially yet to mate, a scenting bond was another way of claiming someone.

Logan stepped forward and undid the clasp on Virgil’s collar as it was blocking his scent glands. He gave Roman a smirk, “Now is the appropriate time to do this.” he whispered before returning to his position beside Patton.

Roman rolled his eyes in response, but he still smirked at the logical adviser. He gently tilted Virgil’s head upward as he pressed his nose in the omega’s neck. He had to refrain himself from growling in a church. Virgil’s scent was how he remembered it from when the rendezvoused in the Royal Gardens.

Like Roman, Virgil had to stop himself from whimpering in submission. Roman still had that strong earthiness to him as he did when they first met.

Thomas, Patton, and Logan bit back smirks. They all know that these two scented much earlier than they should have. While it was optional for Roman to bite him, thus making an official mark, they knew the alpha was waiting for that.

Once the officiant was able to smell their combined scents, he finished the ceremony. “By the power vested in me, as an ordained minister of His Majesty’s court, I pronounce you Roman and Virgil, Prince and Princess of Alexandros.”

-,-,-,-,-

“Roman?”

“Yes, my beloved?”

“Do you— Do you remember our wedding day?”

A chuckle. “Now what kind of a question is that, Virgil?”

Virgil felt a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I-I know it’s dumb…I was just curious, that’s all…”

“You’ve been mighty curious about things lately.” Roman chuckled again, wrapping his arms around Virgil, pulling his back to his chest. “Not that that’s a bad thing, I just find it adorable.”

“J-Just answer the question, Roman!” He could feel Roman laugh against his neck, causing him to shiver a little.

“Of course I remember our wedding, darling.” The alpha said in a fond and loving tone. “How could I forget the day when I married the love of my life?”

The omega blushed more as he stared down at their reflections in the water. He and Roman decided to take a stroll in the Royal Gardens when they stopped on the bridge; the very bridge where Roman had proposed to Virgil shortly before their wedding. Which, again, they technically weren’t supposed to in case Roman, an Alpha mind you, was going to jump Virgil, an Omega, before their official bonding.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), that didn’t happen and they were able to enjoy their temporary rendezvous.

Roman hooked his chin on his wife’s shoulder, also looking at their reflections. Virgil could see the warmth displayed on his face as he felt him squeezing him gently. “You looked so beautiful, my love.” he whispered, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you…I felt so lucky to have you as my bride, and I can still call you my wife.”

Virgil smiled softly, gazing down at the golden wedding rings that shined due to the sun hitting them. He nodded and whispered back, “Yeah…and you looked very handsome in your uniform…I was so nervous that I couldn’t take my eyes off you…”

“You didn’t seem nervous to me,” Roman reassured. “You were so composed and elegant that no one could tell that you were anxious.”

“That’s good…” Virgil sighed in relief. He reclined his head back, allowing him to immerse himself in his husband’s strong and protective arms. The sound of the fountain along with the chirping of the various birds relaxed him even more.

“…Roman?”

“Hmm?”

He lazily moved his head and smiled, silvery-purple eyes showing tenderness. “I’m glad I get to call you my husband too.” The alpha smiled and kissed him, to which Virgil kissed him back. It was a few minutes of nuzzles and kissing before the omega asked another question, “Do you also remember how you proposed to me?”

“As if you had to ask.”

“Can you…Can you sign it for me?”

Virgil sees Roman smile and nod before looking down, feeling the alpha signing on his own hands. “I can say that I have never loved anyone as much as you.” Like when he proposed, his movements were slow and deliberate so he didn’t miss anything; despite the fact that Virgil hasn’t signed in almost a year. “You’re the most perfect and most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you…And I know you thought I meant that to claim my birthright as King, but I didn’t…I really wanted you to have my wife. And so, Queen Virgil of Alexandros…I was very honored to have you marry me.”

When he finished, Virgil turned around and planted a deep kiss to Roman’s lips, the happiest of smiles on his face.

He truly was lucky that he could call Roman his husband, and he, Roman’s wife.

-,-,-,-,-

Roman was waiting in their room for Virgil to come back from his appointment with Emile. When he heard the door open, he smiled at the sight of his wife, but that smile turned to a frown when he saw the omega's emotional state.

"Virgil? Oh, Virgil, my darling, it's alright." he gently coaxed his wife to sit on the stool by the vanity. "What's wrong, my love? You know you can talk to me." He then started to panic, "Did Emile say something bad? Oh Gods, you're not dying are you?! Please tell me you're not—"

The omega barked out a laugh that was mixed with a sob. He shook his head rapidly as he continued to cry. "N-No...n-not dying…"

While that made Roman feel better, it didn’t ease his nerves. “Then what is it?” He whispered, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s knuckles. “Please tell me.”

Virgil laughed again, this time it sounded happy, bright. He wiped the tears away from his eyes and looked up at his husband, silver eyes glistening. “I’m with child, Roman.”

Time froze around them as Roman stared at Virgil in shock and awe. He felt tears shining in his own eyes. He gently placed a hand on his wife’s stomach, the tears now falling down as he gave Virgil a watery smile. “Are you really?”

Again, the omega laughed and nodded excitedly, tears now falling freely.

He squeaked when he felt himself being lifted into Roman’s arms, wrapping his legs around his husband’s waist. He started giggling when he heard the alpha laughing joyously as he throws him down on the bed.

Roman wasted no time pressing happy yet gentle kisses to Virgil’s stomach, nuzzling occasionally.

Virgil’s giggles turned to purrs as he felt his husband sending love to their baby.

Their scents lingered in the air, pure happiness and joy radiated through their beings.

Roman stopped kissing Virgil’s stomach so he could place a passionate kiss to his lips. He kept a hand on Virgil’s stomach. “How far along are you?”

More giggles bubbled through the omega as he placed his hand atop Roman’s. “Not that far…” he tells him. “E-Emile said it’s too early to tell the gender…”

“That doesn’t matter to me.” Roman assured. “So long as our Prince or Princess is healthy, we will love them regardless if they are male, female, Alpha, Beta, or Omega.”

Virgil nodded and smiled. Roman and Thomas really changed the game when it comes to the traditions of the Royal Family and Alexandros. More tears came to Virgil’s eyes, Roman cooed.

“Oh, my love.” he wiped his tears away. “Please don’t cry.”

The omega shook his head, smiling much softer. “Just so happy…” he whispered. He wraps his arms around his husband’s neck. “C-Can’t describe how happy I am…”

Roman also wraps his arms around Virgil, squeezing him tightly and burying his face in his shoulder. “My beautiful Virgil…mi amor, mi reina, mi corazon…I couldn’t be happier than I am in this moment.”

“I’m pregnant Roman,” Virgil cries against Roman’s neck. “I’m pregnant.”

The alpha can feel his shoulder dampen but he doesn’t really care. “We’re having a baby.”

Neither one of them knew how long they stayed like that, holding onto each other, crying in sweet bliss. They were going to have to tell Thomas, Logan, and Patton eventually, but they wanted to have this moment between the two of them.

-,-,-,-,-

Another memory came to Virgil one night when Alejandra was being fussy.

Virgil’s ears perked up to the familiar sounds of whining coming from the crib in the far side of the bedroom. He groaned quietly, looking at the clock that was in another corner of the room. “Remind me why you’re the Alpha again, Roman?” he complained with a bit of snark.

Roman only let out a sleepy noise and buried himself further into the blankets. The omega didn’t mean to take his emotions out on his husband, but even after a year, he still feels like Alejandra is a little too old to be nursing from him.

Quietly, as to not disturb the alpha anymore, Virgil shuffled over to the crib to comfort his daughter a little before she would be fed.

The alpha woke up properly after a while, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on the bed. Once his eyes were filled with less sleep, he smiled at the sight of his wife and daughter. Virgil cradled their princess in his arms, whispering gentle words to her as she nursed from his chest.

“Mmm…mmm…” Virgil murmured as the sound and feelings of Alejandra nursing from him started to lull him into tired contentment. Roman could see the omega closing his eyes, trying to retreat into his more maternal instincts. “Good girl…such a pretty girl…”

“I think Mama’s pretty too.” Roman says quietly and with a smile as he shuffled next to his wife. He leaned in to plant kisses to the back of his daughter’s head, watching his family tiredly but happily.

Both of them could’ve slept standing up like that, but Virgil was brought back to attention by Alejandra detaching herself from his chest. When she refused to nurse anymore, the omega draped a cloth over his shoulder as he patted her back, eventually get a small burp and a couple hiccups out of her. Then looked at his husband. “Honey? Want to help me change her?” he asked.

Roman nodded and they placed Alejandra on the bed. As they did, the alpha couldn’t help but plant a quick kiss to his lips before they continued to change their daughter. Virgil giggled and cooed comforting words to Alejandra as Roman put a new cloth diaper on her.

Take it from them, it wasn’t easy caring for an Alpha toddler at times.

Once they were done and the young princess was sleeping again, they moved back onto the bed, Alejandra nestled between them. Roman pressed a kiss to her soft hair before kissing Virgil’s forehead. “I love you, mi reina.”

“And I love you, mi rey.” Virgil whispered and gazed down at their sleeping daughter. He was silent for a moment before asking, “Do you remember when I told you I was pregnant with her?”

“How could I forget?” Roman said with a nostalgic smile. “I kissed and rubbed your belly for what seemed like hours.”

“It was hours, Ro.” the omega smirked a little. He cuddled Alejandra closer to his chest, his nose in her downy hair so he could sniff at her scent which was a proud mix of theirs. “I was so happy when Emile told me, it felt like everything was alright in the world. All my fears about being an awful Queen disappeared when she was born. She’s the most precious thing to come to our lives.”

“Yes, she is.” Roman responded. “That day will forever be one of the happiest days of my life.”

“Mine too.” The omega gave his husband a quick peck on the lips. “I love you, Roman.”

“And I you, Virgil.”

The tender moment was fueled even more when Alejandra let out a noise that was akin to a purr. Virgil felt tears stinging his eyes as he pets her chest, receiving more purrs. “And we love you, our sweet princess…even if you do exhaust us sometimes.” he chuckled wetly.

Roman chuckled as well, pressing one more kiss to them both. “Let’s go back to sleep, my dear.” He carefully pulled the cover back over their bodies when Virgil nodded. “Goodnight, Virgil.”

“Goodnight, honey.”

-,-,-,-,-

Roman was still pacing his office when Logan came in. The alpha noticed he had a little blood on his hands and he hoped that it was the baby’s and not Virgil’s.

When the logical beta smiled at him, he knew what he was about to say.

“My sincerest congratulations, Roman.” he tells him. “The delivery went smoothly and the baby is perfectly healthy. Has a scream as loud as you do.” He lets out a chuckle. “Now I would advise you to try and contain yourself when you—”

Roman pushed past him and immediately ran to the medical wing. When he walks in, he freezes on the spot, staring at his wife in complete awe. Virgil still looked exhausted but whole, with a very small bundle in his arms.

His was pressing gentle kisses to the baby’s downy hair. He only stopped when he smelt the familiar scent of his husband. He looked over at him with tired but happy eyes. “Come meet our princess, honey.”

The omega pulls back the blankets covering her head a little more, and Roman feels the breath knocked out of him at the sight of his daughter.

She looked sweet and perfect and small.

He shuffles over to the bed and carefully sits beside Virgil. He takes a finger and traced her hair and finds his throat stuck. “She’s so perfect,” He says, wrapping an arm around the omega. He pressed a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “You’re so incredible. I’m fiercely proud of you, Virgil.”

“Thanks for the compliments, dear.” Virgil teases, then he shudders. Roman pulls the blankets up around his shoulders some more. “You want to hold her? I think she should see her Papa.”

Gently, the omega transferred the baby to his husband. Roman felt like his heart was about to burst out of chest from looking at her. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her button nose. “Hello, sweetling. Hello, my darling love. Mi princesa bebé. Welcome to the world.”

“She’ll be the future ruler of our land.” Virgil says, resting his weary head on his husband’s shoulders. He was silent for a few moments for he finally blurted, “She’s an Alpha.”

Roman looked down at his wife. “How do you know?”

“It’s her scent.” Virgil tells him. “It smells just like yours with a touch of floral notes like mine does.” He looked at Roman nervously, small hints of fear coming from his scent. “Is…is that alright?”

The alpha smiled and gently kissed Virgil. “As I told you before she was born, we would love her regardless of what her genders were.” He then turned to look at the baby, a gentleness in his eyes. “She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more.”

“Aww, Ro. Don’t cry.” Virgil lifts a hand to wipe the tears from Roman’s eyes.

“I’m just so happy, Virgil. So incredibly happy.” The baby stirs in his arms and he holds her closer to himself. “Shh…we’ve waited so long to meet you, princess. So long. Soy tu Papa y el es tu Mama.” he smiles, nodding his head towards his wife. “We love you very much.”

Virgil chuckles. “She’s gonna be so spoiled.”

“A princess like her deserves it.” Roman grins, making Virgil laugh. “What shall we name her?” The omega looked at the baby and said, “Spanish. I want her name to be Spanish.”

Roman looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

Virgil nodded. “I thought about it and,” he turned his head to look his husband in the eyes, “She looks just like you, so she should have the honor of having a name in your language.”

More tears came to Roman’s eyes at Virgil’s statement as he kissed his wife passionately. “Thank you, my love.” He whispered and rested his forehead against the omega’s. “And…I actually have a name picked out.”

Noticing the nervous look in the alpha’s eyes, Virgil gently nudged him in an encouraging manner. “You can tell me.”

After looking at the little baby in his arms, Roman tearfully told him who he wanted their daughter to be named after. “Alejandra…in honor of my Papa.”

Virgil smiled as the name rolled off Roman’s tongue. He placed a gentle kiss to Roman’s jaw before placing one on Alejandra’s forehead. “Princess Alejandra.”

“Princess Alejandra Valentina.”

“Valentina?”

Roman nods. “After my Mama Valerie.” he clarifies. “Well, it’s a variation of Mama’s name. If we’re naming her after Papa, we might as well continue with the trend. Plus, Valentine, Valentina? Something that could also be attributed to our love.”

“Princess Alejandra Valentina.” he smiled before snuggling closer to his new family. “It’s perfect, Roman.” He looked up and his smile grew softer when he heard Roman sniffle. “Why all the tears, honey?”

“I never thought…I never ever thought I’d be holding my very own baby girl in my arms. I just didn’t think it would ever happen to me.” He cuddles even closer to Virgil, sniffing at his scent. “I’m going to give you both the world, you know that right?” He presses a kiss against Alejandra’s forehead, then on Virgil’s temple. “Mi dulce Alejandra y mi hermoso Virgil. I love you both so much.”

The smile never leaves the omega’s face. “We love you too, Roman.”

-,-,-,-,-

Watching Alejandra playing with Oliver, them being watched by Patton and Logan, in the grass below made Virgil reflect on everything one last time.

He must’ve been a little too lost in thought because he didn’t hear Roman walk towards him; he also looks down at his princess playing with her new friend. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

Virgil nodded, not exactly paying attention to his husband’s words.

Roman turned to him, now seeing the unreadable expression in the omega’s eyes. “Virgil? Now what’s occupying your thoughts, my love?”

It was a long period of silence before Virgil spoke. “Do you…Remember when…” He didn’t exactly know how to start this without having some form of repetition. “…you told me, when Alejandra was born, that you never thought you’d hold your baby daughter in your arms? That you didn’t think it would ever happen to you?”

The alpha looked at his wife, albeit in a slightly confused way. “Pray forgive me, my dear. But I don’t exactly understand where you’re coming from with this.”

Again, Virgil was silent for a long time. “I knew how you felt about our love, and I understand…but, did you ever think about it from my perspective?”

Despite his confusion, Roman couldn’t help but have a cold feeling in his chest. “Virgil…?”

Virgil sees the underlying nervousness in the alpha’s eyes, and even in his scent, before quickly reassuring him. “Oh. N-No, no! I-I’m not thinking that Roman, honestly!” Now he felt guilty for making Roman feel like he wasn’t happy after one year; it was the opposite actually.

When he felt himself being pulled in his husband’s arms, inhaling his calm scent as opposed to his anxious one, he began to calm down.

“It’s just…I didn’t think it would ever happen to me too.” he admits openly, and honestly. “I never thought I would never escape Dorian and the Others, never thought I would find someone who loves me and people who accept me, never thought I would have my own child. I never…I never…” Virgil felt tears building in his eyes. “I never thought I would find true happiness.”

“Aww, mi hermoso Virgil,” Roman cooed, wrapping his arms around the omega, comforting and safe. “Please don’t cry. While you may remember those words, I remember something else I said: I said that I would give you and Alejandra the world. I would make sure that I never saw a frown on your faces, or tears running down your eyes because of me.” He wipes Virgil’s tears away. “And I meant every single word of it. I want you to be happy, Virgil. I want you to finally have what you’ve always longed for, and not just as an Omega, but as a human being.”

Even Roman wiped his tears away, Virgil could feel more running down his face. “I know,” he whispers, not really trusting his voice (which was slowly becoming emotional). “And you have, Roman. You’ve given me everything I’ve ever desired; you gave me the freedom and love I deserved.”

“And you’ve done the same for me.” The alpha said, smiling happily. “You given me the things I never dreamed of having: a gorgeous wife, a beautiful daughter, a prospering kingdom. All of it came true for me because of you, and I couldn’t be more grateful, Virgil. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Roman.”

They stayed together like that, kissing and holding each other tightly until they heard joyful and excited shrieks down below. They casted their gazes down and saw Patton playing a little game with the children; Alejandra was the one squealing, while Oliver let out gurgled laughters. Logan would look up occasionally from the book he was reading, a small smile creeping on his face.

Had they been a part of the conversation, no doubt they would express the same thoughts and feelings.

Curiosity began to peak in Roman’s mind as he stealthily began to slip Virgil’s jewelry off his body. “Have you ever thought about us having another child? I know you took birth control the last time you were on your heat, but I was just wondering.”

“We talked about it before my heat came, and we weren’t necessarily ready for it just yet.” Virgil recalls. He didn’t even feel Roman expertly undone the strings of his dress before finally feeling a hand slowly trail up his leg, hiking his dress up in the process. “Roman.” he warns.

Roman blinked at him innocently. “What?” he smiles. “Look at how adorable Ale looks with Oliver. She’d be a wonderful big sister. Besides, if I recall, Emile said your heat was coming soon.”

“That doesn’t mean we can start it early!”

“Are you sure about that, lovely?” The alpha smirked. “You seem to be having the same thoughts I am.” He began to press kisses along Virgil’s jawline, down to his neck.

Virgil let out choked whimpers. “Roman…”

“Yes, mi reina?” His smirk remains as he lead his wife to their bed.

“I-I…” he gulped as he was gently placed onto the soft bedding. “I guess we can get an early start…”

“That’s it, mi querido.” Roman praised gently, loving how Virgil whimpered more at that, seeing him start to grip the sheets in his fingers. “Now you relax, my sweet wife. Let your Alpha take care of you early.”

As Virgil felt his husband slip his dress off, he truly felt as though he were lucky.

He didn’t imagine this being his life almost two years ago. If anything, had you told Virgil what would become of his life, he wouldn’t have believed you.

But here he was; having a strong support system that cared for his wellbeing, a community that didn’t disrespect him because of his secondary gender or his former years in slavery, and a loving husband who was taking care of him like the queen he was.

Threading his fingers in Roman’s locks, Virgil couldn’t help but pull him in for a kiss, whining at how fiery and passionate it was slowly becoming. The alpha then broke it so he could press hot kisses down Virgil’s body, their scents mingling together as a faint smile came to his lips.

It amazed him how just one year can bring about so many changes…and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides AU #A Royal Bond AU #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Prinxiety #mpreg tw

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

Text

Friends in Dark Places [ch 8]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: worry, anxiety, mentions of panic attacks, food mentions, eating, rants about nutrition, boredom, logan being a mother hen, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

Virgil

Sent at 11:30 am

um, hey pat. where do you guys sit for lunch?

Virgil stood awkwardly at the side of the cafeteria trying to scan the crowd for familiar flashes of blue, but didn’t see anyone who even slightly resembled Patton. He’d barely made it through advisement and second block in one piece; his teachers berated him with questions on where he’d been and, consequently, how he’d gotten into the hospital. He was anxious to see his friend.

“Hey, Virgil!” a voice cheerily said behind him. Virgil whipped around and found Roman and Logan standing with expectant faces. It was only now that he saw how vastly different their heights were.

“Oh my god, you guys scared the shit out of me! A little warning would be appreciated next time.” Virgil used his lunch tray to angrily gesture at the pair of friends.

Logan pursed his lips. “We apologize, Virgil. Patton told us to look for you once we’d gotten to the cafeteria so that you wouldn’t get lost, but you were obviously faster than us. We’ll show you to the table.” Logan led him to a lunch table in the far corner, away from all of the commotion.

“Virge! Are you feeling better?” Pat greeted as they walked up. He cleared a space beside himself for Virgil, while Logan and Roman sat across from them.

“Um, I guess.” Virgil slid his tray onto the table and awkwardly maneuvered himself so he was sitting on the bench.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?” Logan questioned, concern flashing on his face. Virgil opened his mouth to reply, but Patton spoke up instead.

“He’s had a kinda bad day since he missed so much school last week, Lo. Virge’s totally okay health-wise, so don’t worry,” Patton assured, patting Virgil on the head. The receiver of the pat groaned softly, but he still gave a small smile to his friend. Patton just had this aura that made Virgil feel calm.

“Well, I hope your day gets better, Halloween Town,” Roman commented as he took a bite of his sandwich, careful not smudge any of his lipstick.

“Additional affirmation.”

Virgil just nodded at their sentiments and stirred the cream and tan gloop on his tray. It was actually his favorite school lunch: mashed potatoes with turkey and gravy. However, just because it was his favorite, that didn’t mean it didn’t look (nor smell, sometimes) like hot vomit. He stabbed the soupy meal and took a bite. When Virgil looked up from his food, he found the other three staring at him.

“Um… What’s up, guys?” He asked, suddenly self conscious. A beat passed before Roman spoke.

“You… electively eat that stuff?” The dramatic teen pointed at the wilted lettuce and mashed potatoes with disgust.

Virgil nodded slowly. “Yeah? I mean, I don’t usually have the stuff to make my own lunch, and I’ve been eating school lunches for the past eleven-ish years, so I’m mostly desensitized to it. It’s fucking gross, but it’s food at least.” He punctuated his point by taking another bite of the glop. Logan paled.

“That cannot have any nutritional value. It’s all starches and fake meat; there’s barely any protein in the meat substitute they use because it’s ‘much cheaper’ that way! I mean, it’s practically criminal to be feeding that to children, especially since they need all of the nutrition they can get to grow.” Logan ran his hands through his hair in distress and dug around in his paper lunch bag. “Here! Please just eat some soup with real meat.”

Virgil hesitantly took the blue and black thermos and unscrewed the lid. Inside there was a pretty decent amount of what looked like chicken noodle soup. “Uh, thanks, Logan. But I don’t have-”

Lo held out a plastic spoon. Ah. Virgil took that as well and began to eat. It was way better than the lunch he’d bought. He idly listened to the others as they talked about their classes and what they planned on doing after school. He heard something about maybe going to a park, but Virgil wasn’t really sure if they meant a playground or one where you could bike around and go swimming.

“So what do you think, Virge?” Patton asked, making him jump.

“What do I think about what?” He, admittedly, had stopped listening a while ago and had ended up just drinking from his water bottle and staring at his lunch tray.

“Would you like to go to a party at the Westview park tonight? A few of our friends thought of a rather fantastic idea where they transform the picnic area into a mystical wonderland, and we all can have dinner together,” Roman explained, using vivid hand gestures as he spoke. At one point, he almost flung his hand straight into Logan’s face.

Virgil scrunched up his nose, weighing the pros and cons. “I dunno, guys. I don’t know any of your friends. Wouldn’t I just be intruding on your fun?”

“Of course you wouldn’t, kiddo! I’m sure Valerie and Jo and everyone else would love to meet you! Especially Talyn. They have a very similar style to you.” Patton’s voice was encouraging, but Virgil still wasn’t sure.

“Let me think about it for a bit. I’ll let you know tonight.” He got up to dump his tray, arriving back to the table just as the lunch bell rang. The four friends said their goodbyes and went to class.

—

The rest of the day passed pretty painlessly. Virgil finished all of his homework in class with tons extra time to spare. He texted Patton to stop his boredom.

Virgil

Read at 1:10 pm

pat I finished all of my homework what should i do?

Patton

Delivered at 1:11 pm

You could do some doodling! That’s always a fun pastime for me when I’m bored in class.

Virgil looked down at his papers, which were filled with designs for letterheads for Pat, Logan, and Roman.

Virgil

Read at 1:13 pm

uhhhh yeah i kinda already filled up three pages with doodles

Patton

Delivered at 1:13 pm

Okay, well, are you listening to music?

Virgil

Read at 1:14 pm

yeah i’m listening to my playlist. any other ideas

Patton

Delivered at 1:16 pm

…doodle some more?

Virgil

Read at 1:17 pm

yeah okay i’ll try that again, pat :)

—

Later that evening, after Logan had dropped them off at Patton’s house, Virgil and Pat were lounging on the black comforter in the former’s bedroom, listening to music and helping each other with various things for school. Patton was still extremely confused about physics.

“Alright. You got these force and acceleration questions perfectly fine, but I don’t think these friction questions are quite right,” Virgil pointed out the minor flaws in the calculations with a pencil before walking his friend through the problem step by step.

“Ohhhhhhh. That makes a lot more sense.” Pat looked over the paper and flipped his notebook shut, clearly done with homework for the day. “So, have you thought about the party at all?”

Virgil sighed. He’d hoped Patton would’ve forgotten that they’d invited him to come along so he wouldn’t have to disappoint him. “Uh, yeah, about that…”

Patton’s face fell ever so slightly, though he still had a smile on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. We just thought you might enjoy it. Logan’s going to be picking me up soon, so I should probably start getting ready.” He stood up and began to head for the bedroom door.

“Actually, I would like to go,” Virgil rushed before he could even think about what he was saying. He really needed better self control.

“Really? That’s awesome! You don’t have to dress up, but we’re having a bit of a fantasy theme, so you can do whatever you’d like with that. I’m just going to put some glitter in my hair.” Virgil perked up at the idea of dressing up.

“Um, Pat, if you want me to do some makeup on you, I can. I’m not that great, but I can put some glittery eyeshadow and stuff on your face,” he offered, already planning what he’d do for himself.

“That’d be great, kiddo! I’ll be right back; I want to grab a different sweater.” When Patton returned, he was wearing a black jumper with little shimmery strands of thread woven into it. He truly looked magical.

Virgil rounded up the few pieces of makeup that’d been taken from his house and sat Pat at the end of his bed, swinging his desk chair around and sitting in front of his friend. He first applied eye primer and then began to pat on different glittery shades of purple and blue and smoking them out with a little bit of black. Then he applied the same shadows under Patton’s eyes and gave him just a bit of mascara (Patton wouldn’t sit still for that part, and Virgil just gave up on trying). He dusted a bunch of white shimmery eyeshadow to the highlight points and swiped deep blue lipstick onto his lips.

Virgil leaned back to admire his work. “Pat, you look absolutely glittery.” A smile spread across his friend’s face as he began to bounce lightly on the bed

“LetmeseeletmeseeVirgilletmesee!” Patton squealed. Virgil obliged, handing him a little compact mirror and as Pat looked in awe at himself.

“Are you going to do yourself next? Oooo, can I watch?” Patton inquired, looking more excited than ever. Virgil nodded and began to apply makeup to himself. He chose a darker look, applying deep purple and black to his eyes and expertly drawing a sharp wing with eyeliner. His lips were colored with a matching purple and he swiped some glittery lavender highlighter on his cheekbones. Raising his eyebrows, Virgil looked at Pat for his opinion.

“Virgilohmygoodnessyoulookabsolutelyfantastic!” Patton held his hands over his face in a childish but sweet gesture.

“Aww, thanks, Pat.” Virgil smiled brightly and stood up, padding his way to where he’d thrown all of his shoes, and chose a pair of black high tops that had secret heels in them. It was just the little touch of femininity that his outfit needed to tie everything together. He slipped on a black beanie that he’d also thrown into the shoe pile and sat back down beside the still-gawking Patton.

“You good, dude? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Virgil commented with a tiny smirk. Patton aggressively threw his arms around Virgil, tackling him onto the bed.

“I’M JUST SO PROUD OF YOU! YOU LOOK SO CONFIDENT, AND I’M PROUD OF THAT!” Virgil laughed and awkwardly tried to return the hug-tackle.

“Okay, Patton. I get it. Now can you please stop half-laying on top of me?” Patton just hugged him harder.

#sanders sides fic #logince #moxiety #m writes things #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders

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