#so infuriated I had to throw the book across the room

[rjalker]

Far too many people were (and are, for the fuckers still crying about how perfect and wholesome these books are) okay with JK Rowling casually having students trying to roofie eachother and this never actually having any negative consequences for the would-be rapists because they were girls attempting to rape a boy.

Not to mention that whole fucking thing where Voldemort's parents was a woman who kidnapped a man, and then kept him drugged for years with love potions, and then we're supposed to hate the guy for fleeing for his life when he finally had a chance to escape or whatever the fuck happened.

#JK Rowling #rape #ask to tag #Harry Potter #was always shit. and you'd know this if you gave a shit about morals #how the fuck are you people out here older than me claiming you've read these books a million times AS AN ADULT #I tried to reread the first one years ago and didn't even get three chapters in before I was #so infuriated I had to throw the book across the room #from just the fucking fatmisia and child abuse -- OF HAGRID ATTACKING DUDLEY that was portrayed as a good thing.

[minaturefics]

Once More (With Feeling)

Prompt: Faramir invites an old friend back to Minas Tirith

A/N: It's a little different, just slightly, to how I usually write. It's a rollercoaster, and it's long, so get yourself a hot beverage and prepare yourself for 6k words worth of brainrot.

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

6.2k words

---

You paced the lavish sitting room, throwing irritated looks at all the doors. Faramir was a busy man, you knew, but he had always been punctual. With a groan you sank into the cushioned bench and stared out of the tall, pointed windows.

Minas Tirith had changed since you were last in the city as a girl. Gone was the heavy atmosphere, the distant encroaching darkness on the horizon, The Dead Tree, its gnarled branches cold and bare, the darkened halls, haunted by Denethor’s bitterness.

The city had thrived under the new king’s rule and the new steward’s management. The white stone glowed in the sunlight, vines grew across walls and flowers blossomed in window boxes, there was chatter in the streets and laughter in the halls.

It was no mystery then, why Faramir wrote to invite you back into the city, now renewed and reborn. No, the mystery was why he wrote to you at all. 

You had only known him for a year, more than ten years ago. Just two young teenagers, bickering with each other over readings while the tutor tried to calm the both of you. He had been a scrawny thing then, growing taller, but not broader. Not quite a man, like his brother was growing into, not quite a boy, like the other children in the Citadel. His hair too, had been at an awkward length, shaggy around his ears, falling about his forehead and into his grey eyes.

But while Boromir might have been the bolder of the two back then, when it came to academics, Faramir was just as eager. He had been relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, hounding the tutors and dogging the librarians, and, more than once, your spirited debates with him had drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers in the Citadel. There was even a time where you had to race him to the library to get your hands on some coveted book before he did.

But perhaps, the most infuriating thing about him was his kindness. 

How he would smile softly after an intellectual argument, as though consoling you, if you had lost, or congratulating you, if you had won. How he would share his notes with you if you had missed lessons, or gift you with chocolate in return for a peek at your own writings. How he would walk you back to your rooms after classes, showing you shortcuts and asking about your day. 

How he had offered you his handkerchief and wiped your tears away the night before you left the city with your uncle. 

Your heart clenched and you blinked yourself back into the sitting room. 

There were voices in the corridor now, and hurried footsteps. You stood and straightened yourself, smoothing the creases in your dress and schooling your features into something neutral. 

The door swung open and a man walked in.

He was tall and broad with the build of an archer, with steady legs and strong arms. His light brown hair fell in gentle waves to his shoulder, and his beard was short and well-trimmed. You took in his sharp jaw, his pink lips, his face, handsome, noble, familiar somehow.

His grey eyes sparkled in the late afternoon light and a jolt shot through you. 

Faramir. 

You stared at him and his barely-there smile grew.

“You’re late,” you blurted. 

His eyes widened in shock before he shook his head and chuckled. “And I was told you arrived early.” His voice was low and rich, inviting and warm.

Faramir. This man was Faramir. Solid, handsome, real. 

“You have my apologies,” he continued. “There was a meeting that ran over. I did not intend for you to wait so long for me.”

“It’s no matter, I was just admiring the city. A lot has changed.” You turned away from him, scolding your racing heart and chastising your rapidly flushing cheeks. You sucked in a breath and straightened your spine. It was just Faramir. 

He came to join you by the window and you kept your eyes fixed on the plains beyond the buildings. “Your letter surprised me,” you said. “I hardly thought I ever crossed your mind.”

A laugh escaped from him, short and sharp. “You’re still the same.”

Your head snapped towards him and you narrowed your eyes. His easy, unfazed demeanour rankled something in you. “It is quite a slight, being told one hasn’t changed in so many years.”

Did he still see you as that awkward, graceless girl? Someone who had not filled out her dresses yet, who made ill-timed comments in conversations, who battled with her skin, her hair, her sharpening mind and her rapidly fading childhood.

He blinked at you, jaw agape. “I did not mean… I simply meant…” He laughed again and gave you a rueful smile. “Forgive me. What I should have said, I suppose, is that I am glad to see you again.”

That strange, foolish feeling was rising in you, like you were fourteen again and you had said the wrong thing at the dinner table. You fought the urge to cross your arms and you nodded slowly. “I am glad to… to be back. Thank you for your generous invitation.”

The words felt strange in your mouth. So formal and distant. Polite. You gestured woodenly at the view. “My uncle would have been pleased at how well the country is doing.”

“I am sorry to hear about your uncle.”

“It has been a few years now.” You hazarded a look at him. His eyes had melted into something soft. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I am sorry about your father and,” your breath hitched, “and Boromir.”

“Yes,” he said, voice low. “It has been quiet in the Steward’s House of late.”

Your chest constricted and you wanted to reach out, to lay a hand on his arm, to say, I too have been left alone by all who loved me.

He cleared his throat and nodded at the door. “Has anyone shown you to your rooms yet? I thought that the one on the second floor, that faces east, would be best. But if you’d prefer your old room, I’m certain we can —”

“No.” You swallowed and flashed him a smile, burying the discomfiting feeling. “I mean… No, thank you. I’m sure what you have prepared will be suitable.”

A bell tower somewhere chimed the hour and he grimaced. “I’m sorry but I have another meeting, the last of the day, in a few minutes. Would you be happy to join me for dinner? It would not be anything formal. We could even dine outside, if the fine weather holds. There is so much I wish to discuss with you.”

It was jarring to hear those words coming from Faramir’s lips. Invitations to dinner were something said between two adults, not adolescents.

But you were no longer fourteen, and Faramir was a man now. A friend.

A stranger. 

“Yes, dinner outside would be lovely,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

He broke out into a wide smile. “I shall send someone to show you to your rooms, and please, if there is anything you should require, just ask.”

“Of course, thank you.”

He reached out and took your hand, large fingers enveloping your own, and gave it a light squeeze. “I shall see you in a few hours.”

He withdrew with a smile and closed the door behind him. 

You stared at your hand for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks, before scowling and scrubbing it against your dress. 

-

The evening breeze swept through the open doors and the candles on the table flickered. The temperature had dropped with the sunset, and in the end Faramir had settled for dining in one of the rooms that opened up to a courtyard. Trees rustled and crickets chirped and music from another part of the Citadel drifted over the walls. The warmth from the lit fire licked at his back and he belatedly wondered if he should have offered you the warmer seat instead. 

Faramir caught his eyes wandering from some vague spot behind you to your face again. You were focused on the last bit of roasted meat on your plate, cutting it into dainty pieces before lifting it to your lips. He let his eyes trail over your hair, braided and pinned, to the softness of your cheek, the angle of your jaw. 

When he had seen you that afternoon he could scarcely believe his eyes. He did not expect you to stay the same, of course, and yet… the sight of you, grown, beautiful and striking, made his pulse jump. 

Where was the girl he had known? Who had picked up her skirts and clambered up walls with him, whose quick wit had both frustrated and delighted him? Was she gone, suppressed by etiquette lessons and laced up gowns, washed away by time and tempered by misfortune?

But then you had opened your mouth and bluntly stated his tardiness and he couldn’t help but laugh. No, your spirit was still unchanged, your fire still undimmed.

You looked up and his eyes skittered away. His palms grew clammy and he exhaled. Valar, he was acting like a silly boy, sneaking looks at you across the table, filling his mouth with food instead of conversation. 

“What is the matter, Faramir?” 

“Nothing.” He smiled. 

You had an inquisitive look on your face, half-curious, half-challenging. The same sort of expression you used to wear before launching into an argument. “You were looking at me.”

Heat started to creep up his neck and he dropped his eyes back to his nearly empty plate. “I was just thinking.”

He heard your intake of breath and he prepared himself for an onslaught of words, ready for the cajoling comments and prodding persuasions that you always used to coax him to speak.

Instead, he heard the clatter of cutlery and he looked up to find you arranging your fork and knife at the side of your plate. You glanced towards the open door and, something in that small action, so intensely familiar, made the words tumble from his lips. 

“Would you like to go on a walk?”

“I…” Your astonished look morphed into one of suspicion. “How did you know?”

“You used to walk after meals, if I remember correctly.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. Boromir had once pulled him aside, warning him that if he did not get his looks and glances under control, their father might start getting ideas for future marriage matches. He had wondered if your uncle had realised this and that was why he had whisked you off to the family estate back in North Lebennin when autumn arrived once more.

In truth, Faramir never found out the reason; he was never told, and he never asked. 

He grinned and stood. A walk would be good. Dinner had been pleasant, with the usual, banal questions asked and answered. Proper and polite. A far cry from shared smirks and ceaseless chatter you once shared with him. Perhaps some movement would ease the atmosphere. “Shall we walk? Is there any place you would like to see first?”

You paused for a moment, biting your lower lip, before a sly smile crept onto your face. “The old lookout tower. The one that overlooked the Houses of Healing.”

“I do hope you won’t chase me up it. I do not think the excitement would agree with the food we just ate.”

“I won’t.” You looked out at the courtyard then back at him, eyes now dancing with mirth. “Are you becoming old and decrepit?”

“More like sensible and wise.” He walked over to the hooks by the door and reached for the two cloaks that hung there. “Here, you are welcome to borrow one of mine. It is cold out.”

He offered you the thicker one and watched as you ran your fingers over the soft wool before throwing it around your shoulders. It fell past your feet, pooling on the floor, and the sight of you swathed in his cloak stirred something in him. 

He led you out into the courtyard and then onto the open ramparts. Hundreds of little lights flickered in the city below. It was quiet, save for the distant bustle of the kitchens and the rustle of the guards shifting on their feet. The wind carried your perfume to him and he inhaled the sweet scent of lilies.

“I have always wondered,” he said, “why you left Minas Tirith.”

“My uncle was worried about me growing up in court. I think he wanted to avoid any pressure that might have befallen me. Marriage offers and gossip and the kind.” You looked away, towards the plains. “I was sorry to leave, but I am glad that I had gone.”

His heart dropped. Had he been selfish? Writing to you and asking you to visit the city when you were clearly happy out in the country? Had you not thought of him once in all the years? He swallowed. “Does it bring you pain to be here?”

“No, not at all.” You shook your head and laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “I simply meant that I think he made the right decision. It might have been a little boring, but I grew up unrestrained.”

“I do hope you will enjoy the excitement of the city.”

“The change of scenery is refreshing. And I will confess that a break from my responsibilities back home is welcome.” 

He noticed then, the shadows under your eyes, the weary tinge in your smiles. 

Yes, the both of you were no longer children.

The old, crumbling tower neared and your steps quickened. You paused at the base of the steps, throwing a mischievous look over your shoulder, before vanishing up the stairs. He chuckled and hurried after you, taking the steps two at a time. “You said you would not race me!”

“I said I would not chase you up it!”

He caught sight of the edge of his cloak and the flash of deep purple silk underneath it as he rounded the corner. “So you’ll have me chase you instead?”

Your laugh echoed in the narrow stairwell. “I have no doubt that you’ll catch up. You were always the faster one.” 

“And you always the cheater.”

“It is called levelling the playing field.”

The gap between you and him rapidly narrowed, and as the both of you emerged at the top, his hand closed around your shoulder before he could stop himself. You turned, flushed and giggling, eyes alight. Laughter rose in his chest and he chuckled, breathless and buoyant. “You’ll get me into trouble. Like before.”

“Faramir, you are the steward. There is no one to get in trouble with.” You grinned at him before striding towards the merlons. “In any case, I have no plans to lob mushy apples from here so you need not worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens.”

“I always have to worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens. It is no easy feat, running a city like Minas Tirith.”

“I can imagine.” Your voice was soft, sympathetic.

He strolled towards you, and you glanced behind at him, shadows from the flickering torches dancing across your face. Your eyes were intense, searching. Valar, he could never stand to hold your gaze when it was like this. It was as though you saw through him. 

“Faramir, why did you ask me here?” 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling boyish and clumsy. “I was… clearing some of the rooms in the Steward’s House when I chanced upon our old classroom. I found one of your old essays.”

“A beastly thing, I’m sure.”

He slowed to a stop beside you, close enough that your cloak fluttered against his legs when the wind blew. “It was rather good, actually. I’m certain you would have made a valuable advisor if you had stayed in court.” 

“Well,” you scoffed. “I do not think the court missed us much when my uncle and I left.”

“Boromir and I did.”

 “You did not write.”

“I was not certain I was allowed to. Father refused to  tell me anything, and then there were other matters. Training, classes, scouting missions.”

He felt a pang in his chest. In truth, he had thought of you over the years, but there were always things to attend to. His father’s growing resentment, his strange prophetic dreams, city matters and trade routes. 

The War. 

It had been a sleepless night when he had wandered the empty halls, opening old doors and peering into neglected rooms, when he stumbled upon the old classroom. It was still and dusty, books stacked by the window and sheets of paper on one of the tables, abandoned as though someone intended to come back, but never did.

He had been hit with an intense loneliness, a hollowness, an aching. 

When he had seen your familiar scrawl on the sheets of paper, along with an unflattering sketch of the tutor, the memory of your playful smile flashed into his mind. And then there was a comforting warmth in his chest, and then for the first time in weeks, he had laughed. 

“Faramir,” you said, and he shook himself out of his thoughts. “I am sorry I did not write either.”

“It is no matter.” A smile tugged at his lips. “We are here now.”

-

“Faramir, if you wobble the ladder I will drop these books on your head.” You gripped the polished wood with one hand and clutched a stack of books to your chest with the other.

“If memory serves, you were the one who had a habit of rattling stools and ladders.”

You glared down at him, scoffing at the grin on his face. He was leaning against the shelf with his arms across his chest, relaxed and languid. That night on the tower had shattered the stiffness between the both of you, and the last week and a half had been filled with nostalgic adventures. 

Between his duties, Faramir had shown you the changes in the Citadel, walked with you to the markets and shops, even challenged you to a slingshot contest which he won. There had been dinners on balconies, and picnic lunches in gardens, and midnight snacks in derelict towers.

He had told you about his experience in the war. His heartbreak at finding Boromir’s cloven horn, the near-fatal Osgiliath charge, recovering in the Houses of Healing. And you told him how you had to manage the family estate, the scramble to build temporary houses for the refugees, how many of them chose to settle and work the land instead of returning to the ruins of their villages.

He had smiled at you in that soft way you knew, had given you the unbroken strip of apple skin he peeled, had discussed new theories and topics with you by the light of the fire.

“Are you coming down?” Faramir smirked at you. “Or are you going to add to that dangerously heavy pile in your hands?”

You shook your head and started down the ladder, feeling the rungs with your feet. 

The library was empty, the librarian having gone home for the day. Light rain pattered on the windows and a fire crackled somewhere in the room. The library, of all places, had remained the most unchanged. There was something comforting in that, in the musky smells of books and paper, of the plush chairs and rickety stools. 

As you neared the bottom, your foot slipped, misjudging the distance to the floor, and you stumbled. Instead of hard stone, you were met with a firm chest at your back and a hand on your waist.

Had Faramir always been this warm and big?

“Are you alright?”

You felt the rumble of his chest, his breath by your ear. 

His hand, large, heavy, burned through the thin silk of your dress.

“Yes, thank you.” You stepped out of his touch and fumbled with the books in your arms, rearranging them into a neat stack. Valar, what has gotten into you? It was just Faramir. You shoved the books into his arms and turned away. “Next time you can go up on the ladder.”

“I think I would flatten you if I fell.”

“I’ll be sure to step out of the way.” You forced a laugh and wandered down the aisle. You heard him follow after you, his steps slow and steady. 

How could such a simple thing affect you so? It was not as though you were so wholly inexperienced; there had been one or two sweethearts in the past, though most of them were short lived.

 Had there been anyone for Faramir? Some pretty thing with a perfect education who could recite poetry and embroider and dance?

Your stomach churned and the twisting feeling in your heart squeezed the traitorous words up your throat. “You know, I am surprised you have not found a partner yet. I would think that the offers must be pouring in.”

“Why would you think such a thing?” He was closer now, just behind you, and you could hear the dismay in his voice. 

“The maids, they love to gossip.” You laughed, but it sounded hollow to your ears. “I spoke to a couple of them when I went down to the kitchens two nights ago.”

He fell in step with you and you glanced at him. There was a small smile on his lips but his eyes looked clouded. “There have been offers, yes, but I have declined them all.”

“Unable to find a suitable one?” You arched an eyebrow at him.

“It is not a question of suitability. There is no need for me to choose a partner for their station or standing. Such things never mattered to me, even more so since my family’s passing. I would much rather have someone’s genuine love and affection.”

Of course he would say something of that sort. You smiled to yourself, heart warming at his words. They would be lucky, whoever he loved. 

The rain fell harder against the glass and thunder rumbled. You glanced at the window, a memory coalescing in your mind. “Is the little alcove still here? The one behind the curtain?

Faramir grinned and inclined his head towards the back of the library. “I believe so, though it has been some years since I have sat in it.”

He led you to the back of the library where a narrow velvet curtain hung in the corner. He drew the fabric back to reveal a cosy space with a wooden bench built into the wall by the window. The lantern that hung from the low ceiling was dusty and unlit.

You padded over to the bench, bending and inspecting the corners. “It is still here,” you breathed, tracing the two sets of initials carved into the wood. “I cannot believe it.”

He leaned over you, so close that you could inhale his scent. Sandalwood and something, paper perhaps, or mild soap. “So it is.”

You looked up and Faramir’s face was mere centimetres away. Were there always so many yellow flecks in his grey eyes? And his lips… did they always look so soft and inviting? 

All you would have to do would be tilt your head, and your lips would connect…

You stepped back and waved stiffly at the lantern. “Shall we light this? We could read here. If you’d like.”

He glanced at the narrow bench. There would be no doubt that the both of you would have to be pressed up in some way to fit. 

“If you would like. I think there are might be some oil on the librarian’s desk, and a lit candle, I could —”

“I’ll go.” 

You turned around and marched away, pressing your hands to your hot cheeks when you were safely hidden by the shelves. You took a breath. It was just Faramir. You would find the oil and the candles and sit and read with him, and think nothing of lips or kissing or how solid he had felt behind you.

-

Faramir was in a hell of his own making. Truly, it had been all his fault. For the first time, he cursed his gentle nature. If he had chosen not to speak and steered you away from the instrument shop…

How could he have forgotten that he was not the only friend you had made in your youth?

Elphir, the boy, no, the man who made lutes and drums had been one of them as well. And how could Faramir have denied you when you had lit up at the sight of the old shop and nearly tripped over your feet rushing to the door? And when you had asked if Elphir could come to the Citadel in the evenings to teach you how to play, he could not find it in himself to refuse you, even as discomfort settled deep in his stomach.

In some fantastical lapse of judgement, or perhaps in some foolish notion to watch over you, he had offered the sheltered courtyard below his sitting room to you and Elphir, and now music drifted into the room. Teasing, taunting, tormenting in the way it would mingle with your laughs. 

He strode over to the window and slammed it shut.

For five evenings now, you had rushed off after dinner to Elphir, returning to your rooms after your lesson without seeing him. The pot of tea you usually shared with him in the evenings sat unfinished and cold on the table each night. Faramir sagged against the stone pillar and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. If Boromir was alive, he would call Faramir a fool and insist that he go over and chase the man away. But what right did he have? 

He was not your lover or your partner, and even if he was, it would be unreasonable to get upset over you spending time with another, especially for something as innocent as music lessons. Faramir was your friend and… 

He was your friend. 

His breath hitched as the thought rippled through his body. Somewhere in the past three weeks he had forgotten that. 

When he had written to you, inviting you to the city, he had only planned to reconnect with an old friend. Someone who got along with him, who understood what his family had been like, who was not a soldier or a subordinate. 

He did not intend to be run away with his feelings.

He had grown used to you in the Steward’s House. Your shawl was draped over a chair, the table was always laid for two, you wished him goodnight in the evening before you retired. He had even considered clearing the set of rooms next to his own for you so that you did not have to walk through two corridors just to visit him.

But alas, you were not his.

“Faramir!” You burst into the room with a wide smile on your face and he startled. You slowed your steps, tilting your head and lowered the arm that held your lute aloft. “Is something the matter?”

He shook his head and tried to smile. “I was just deep in thought. How was your lesson?”

“There is something I want to show you.” You wandered over to the cushioned seats by the fire. “Will you sit?”

He nodded and sat in the lone arm chair instead of sharing the bench with you. Your brows creased for a moment before you shook your head and positioned your hands on the lute. 

A haunting melody began to fill the room. It was simple, no more than five or six notes that changed subtly every few bars. It tugged at something in his mind, a dream perhaps, or a memory. 

A woman humming, a gentle hand on his cheek, the comforting scent of beeswax.

“My mother,” he whispered, frozen where he sat. “She used to sing this to Boromir and me. To get us to sleep.”

Your playing petered out and you looked up at him. “You used to hum it when we were younger, when you thought no one could hear.” You laid your lute to the side. “Elphir taught me the basics of playing. I taught myself the song. In the night, after my classes.”

He felt the corners of his eyes start to burn and he glanced away. How could he not love you now? 

“I am sorry, if I shouldn’t have —”

“Please do not apologise. I…” He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes. “ She would be happy to hear these rooms filled with her music once more.”

You came over to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, your thumb soothing the tension in his muscles with its idle strokes. His eyes focused and unfocused on the decorative ribbons on the bodice of your dress. The crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of breathing filled the space between your bodies. He felt your hand drift towards the side of his neck, your thumb just grazing the edge of his jaw, and he slowly, slowly looked up at you.

Your eyes were soft and half-lidded, your lips slightly parted.

He did not dare move, did not dare breathe.

“Faramir.” He shivered at the sigh in your voice. “I—”

A knock sounded on the door and you jerked away from him. Cold air replaced where your heated hand had been. 

A muffled voice came through the door. “I have your tea, sir.”

“The tea,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Would you like to…”

“It has been a long day,” you said, snatching up your lute and striding to the door. “I… Goodnight.”

You flung the door open and he heard the startled squeak of the maid followed by the rapid patter of your footsteps. 

-

You slammed your room door shut behind you and leaned against it. Your breaths came short and quick, chest heaving and skin searing. 

 What had you almost done? What words were going to spill from your traitorous lips? 

It was just Faramir. 

Just… a friend.

You shook your head and slumped to the floor. There was nothing decidedly friendly about what had just passed between the both of you. And… and what? What could possibly happen between you and him? You had an estate waiting for you in Lebennin, there were people who needed your instruction and leadership. And Faramir was the Steward of Gondor; the people needed him as well.

Your trip to Minas Tirith was supposed to be nothing more than a visit to an old friend. You had forgotten yourself. For so many years you had run the estate on your own, had resigned yourself to quiet meals in the day and lonely nights in the study. There was no time, no place, to entertain such ridiculous notions like love.

And yet…

You stared at your hands, hands that had held him for just a moment, had felt the coarseness of his beard and the beat of his heart. 

Want burned in you. 

Want for his lips, his hands. For his gentle smile, for his joyous laughter. For a permanent seat at the table, for space on his shelves for your books.

-

Faramir stared at the tea tray on the table. Two cups, two saucers. A full pot of tea. 

He stroked the side of his jaw, his own fingers feeling indelicate compared to your touch. There was no mistaking the look in your eyes, desire mixed with tenderness. Perhaps it was not so ridiculous to think that you might return at least a fraction of what he felt for you. 

His stomach swooped and a strangled laugh burst from him. 

But was it just a flash of fancy, borne from the moment? A reckless action in the dim of the night?

Were you going to slip from him, retreat back into your shell of polite distance? He would not be able to bear it, to hear your stilted words, to have you shrink away from his casual touches. To have you vanish again, taking your laughter and your light away with you.

Should he go to you? Would that be impertinent? But he had lost you once before with his inaction, and only a fool would not learn from their mistakes.

-

You tugged the borrowed cloak on your shoulders closer around you. It smelled like Faramir, like sandalwood and that evasive something, ink perhaps. Mist had descended on the Citadel and drifted across the parapets like sheer curtains. Your steps were soft on the stone and you wandered from torch to torch, veering closer for warmth, roaming further for the cover of shadow. The guards paid you little attention, and the stars overhead twinkled unbothered. 

Twice you had tried to walk to Faramir’s room, twice you had turned on your heel and fled back to your rooms. In the end, your room had become stifling and you rushed out into the open air. 

Your blood had cooled and, now in the starkness of the open night, you felt foolish. 

You paused by the old watchtower, leaning on the cold stone and staring down at the Houses of Healing. You would apologise when you saw him next, and then perhaps it was time to return to the family estate…

Muffled footsteps approached and you turned. 

Faramir emerged from the mist, still in his day clothes, his hair mussed and his eyes tired. 

“Faramir,” you whispered, arms falling to your sides. You opened your mouth to speak, but your rehearsed speech refused to leave your lips.

He came to a stop in front of you, a disarming smile on his face. “Somehow, I am not surprised to find you here.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He nodded, and amusement coloured his smile. “I suppose, in a way, I have always been looking for you.”

“Is there something you wanted from me?”

His twinkling eyes grew serious. “I wished to speak to you.”

You turned away, suddenly unsure, but his hand reached for yours. His thumb caressed your knuckles and you lifted your eyes to him. “What about?”

“I think you already know.”

You swallowed and tried to speak, but the words stayed lodged in your throat, and your eyes fell to your joined hands. 

“I have never been good at disguising my feelings,” he said, voice soft and low. “I am sure you must be aware…”

Aware? Aware of what? His feelings? That he only viewed you as a friend, and that perhaps you had taken advantage of his kindness, mistaken it for affection and…

His fingers skimmed your chin, gently urging it up. His grey eyes were alight, burning almost, with an open passion so rarely seen in him. You scarcely dared to look away. Your heart pounded in your ears. 

“Perhaps I have always loved you, even before I realised what that word meant. I was too young, too naive.” He cupped your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “But we are older now. And I can say for certain that I… I —”

You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. They were pillowy and soft and carried a trace of bitterness from the tea. He deepened the kiss, pulling you flush against him. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers splaying across his heart. He sighed into your lips, his exhale hot on your skin. You felt him grin and you nudged his nose with yours. 

“I think,” you muttered, “I have wanted to do that for a long time now.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are welcome to do it any time you wish.”

“Faramir, why me? And after so many years since we last saw each other.”

“Can such a thing truly be explained?” He hummed to himself. “I suppose the simplest answer I can give is that you bring me joy. And perhaps also, I think we make good partners. We have always made good partners.”

You sobered at his words. “Faramir, we are not children anymore. My estate… I cannot leave it unmanaged. And I have neglected my duties already these past weeks.”

“We will find a way,” he assured. “It is only a full day’s ride from Minas Tirith, is it not?”

“Less, if one has a good horse.”

“Less, I think, if you had the reins.” He chuckled. “We are not children anymore, yes, but that only means that we can truly do as we wish. As we choose.” 

You mulled over his words. “And you would choose to have a busy bride, to have to make trips out to the country with her?”

“I choose to have you.” He stroked your cheek. “And you, my love? What would you choose?”

“I choose, I think,” you said with a smile, “to remain where I have always belonged.”

“In Minas Tirith?”

“With you.”

He grinned and wrapped his arms around you. He laughed into your hair and you tucked your nose into his neck. You inhaled his scent, thinking of the unknown, familiar note in it that always eluded you. Thinking of how it smelled like rain and books, of apple peels and bitter tea.

Thinking of how, perhaps, it smelled like home. 

---

If you made it this far, holy shit thank you for reading.

I characterised Faramir a little bit differently here. I think I have a tendency to conflate kindness with passivity when it comes to him, but I think he can be pretty intense if he wanted to be.

And also, I feel like this entire piece is tinged with the bittersweetness of growing up, but I hope that it veered more sweet than bitter. To you young'uns out there, truly, I promise you, it is not terrible to grow up ❤️

Taglist: @sotwk

#faramir x reader #faramir x you #faramir x y/n #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #faramir

[gojo-enthusiast]

Master Zenin - Toji Fushiguro Series — Reblog & Like🫶🏻 Read Other Chapters Above 👆🏻 🖤

Chapter Three

“TTTOOOOOJJJIIIII!!—“ you’re laughing, and squealing throwing your head back. The big man who you were sitting on his lap, trying to help him trim his eyebrows, because the last time he went and gotten them done– the woman at the salon made them to thin. So he vowed to never let another person touch them again, until one day, you said you would do it.

Seventeen year old you, sitting in 28 year old Toji, the tweezers in hand, plucking out the stray hairs. “You damn woman, that hurts!” He groans, flinching his eye. “You better not poke my eye.” He howls. “Oh hush, I know what I’m doing.” You giggle. These were rare moments where it was just you and just Toji. He had picked you up from your college classes, you had already graduated high school, and gotten started with finding your career, taking your basics. “Thanks for picking me up by the way, mom’s book club ran late, plus I wasn’t ready to go home.” You sigh, “this is nicer anyway than being there.” You add on, causing a frown to appear on his face. “Why do ya say that doll?” He asks, “I don’t know, sometimes I just feel like my parents expect so much of me, but give so little to me. They don’t pay much attention, yet they want me to do and be so much. My dad is really pushing me to go into law, or become a doctor.” You sigh again. “What do you want?” He says, turning his head slightly, investing himself in every word you say.

“I wanna be a —“ the sentence is faint, as you feel your eyes flutter open, you had been dreaming. A old memory that you shared with Toji, a memory you had forgotten about. The tears in the corner of your eyes, peaking out. Heavy and cold, they sunk down into your skin, staining it.

“I see sleeping beauty has decided to join the world of the living.” You hear, a voice that is all to familiar. You lean up quickly from the mattress, your head feeling dizzy. Your eyes focus onto the chair that sits across the room, in front of the bed. There he was, the man you had been dreaming of, the man you shared these intimate memories with. Your first love, the man that you swore to never love again. Toji Zenin.

“T-Toji.” You whisper, “Hey pretty girl.” He smirks— “Been searching for ya for ‘while.” He huffs, running his fingers through his jet black raven colored hair.

“Fuck you.” You muster out, tears peaking out of the corner of your eye. You’re so infuriated with the sight of him, but you can’t help but deep down, want to be cradled into his huge chest, because that’s how safe he made you feel even in this situation. “Hey doll, let’s tone down the language. I’m in no mood to be fightin’, I mean didn’t you just get here? Already causing trouble I see.” He says, throwing his hands up, in this “defeated” look on his face.

“Who do you think you are? Picking me up! Taking me to this place, getting me all pampered to be what? Your plaything? Fuck you Toji!” You scream, you’re beyond mad. You just see your father’s face in your mind, the disappointment in his eyes he had when he came home after the fight he had with Toji occurred. “Don’t look at me like that, don’t pretend like I hurt you. I just saved your ass.” He scoffed, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, opening the window to the room you were in, lighting it up. “Saved me? Are you fucking serious right now? How is this saving?” You shout, no response. He was lighting up his cigarette, taking a drag. “ANSWER ME!” You scream, “hey! Lower your voice, aight?” He says in a stern tone. “Oh and what are you going to do? Whoop me? Beat my ass? Punish me? Is that what you leaders do, after taking us innocent civilians, who just want to live a peaceful life?” You say, at this point you’re standing up, and you had finally pushed him to his limit. He flicks the cigarette out the window, turning around. Grabbing you by your wrist and slamming you back down on the bed. He had each knee on either side of you, while his left hand held both your wrist above your head.

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters, “fuck you!” You say, spitting on his face. You almost freaked out yourself, you couldn’t believe you had just done that. He stands up, putting his hand to his face where the spit was at, wiping it with his fingers, then inserting it into his own mouth. “I always wanted to know what your mouth tasted like.” He smirks.

“YOUR FUCKING DISGUSTING!” You scream, throwing the pillow at him, jumping up running to the door. He lifts you by your waist into the air, pushing you back onto the bed. “How about you behave aight? ‘M sleepy.” He groans, lying down on the bed, letting you free after putting in the bed next to him. “What the fuck?” You’re eyeing, sitting up. Rushing to the door of the bedroom. “I am leaving! You’re not going to stop me.” You say, going up to the door, while he hums a “Mmhmm okay.” Getting to the door, you had realized it’s locked from the outside, and need a key to get out. “Let me out Toji.” You say calmly. “No, I’m sleeping.” He says childishly, closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around one of the pillows. “Fuck you mean you’re sleeping?” You scold, “look it’s been a long day. How about we sleep, and when it’s dinner time, we will eat, and we will talk. As of right now, I’m tired. So quiet down will ya?” He groans.

You’re on fire, all you want to do is hurt him. But you also want to curl into his arms and fall back asleep yourself. Toji felt your conflicting, bringing himself up, walking over to you, throwing you over his shoulder, then placing you on the bed next to him— now cradling you. “Well doesn’t that feel better? I miss ya’ smell.” He says, nuzzled into your neck. You feel his nose tickle your throat. “Don’t hurt me T-Toji.” You sniffle out. “Haven’t I always taken care of you? Why would that change now?” He whispers, and in a swift instance, you hear his slight snores in your ear, and in some sick way it lulls you to sleep, the man that you swore to hate, was the same man that was holding onto you, and you in a way let him hold onto you. You let his head be nuzzled into your neck, and you let his arms wrap around your waist, you blamed it on the fact that he was much bigger. But you know it was your own biased opinion that you tried to convince yourself it was him, and simply not you. You convinced yourself that you simply weren’t strong enough to push him off. That was what helped you fall back asleep.

#toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #dilf toji #toji fushiguro series #anime smut #anime fanfic

[mchlgayser]

✮ the first meet ft jobe bellingham

synopsis: Tired of video calling and online messages? Try to book a flight to London, England, and meet your boyfriend.

─── ୨୧ warning: none

─── ୨୧ notes: this is based on this, this, and this request. I try doing this request as best as I could (I swear) might not be as good as anybody out there but I try. I said this once, and I will say it twice, I'm a sucker for Jobe Samuel Patrick Bellingham so much I think I needed a therapist. Anything includes him in my writing, I'll do it twice difficult 🤞🏼

Your phone sat on the nightstand table beside your bed, your friends on the other line waiting and choosing dresses for you to wear because you simply could not decide. You throw them to pair of different crop tops, the first one is a simple puff sleeve crop top of your favorite color, it has square neck line allowing you to decorate yourself with a much more prominent accessories whilst the other one is a black floral print frill trim with sweetheart neck and bishop sleeve crop blouse.

You show them the top two of your choices and they picked the black one as they said; easy to match. You wore your high waist black jeans and your sash. You put on your top decorating your collar with eggshell white pearl necklaces, a pair of piercing, and even the matching bracelet your boyfriend got you.

'So, how do I look?' You told them as you turn around from left to the right to give them better access to your full fit 'Try and push your hair back a little..' You did as said when you heard 'Okay, stop!' Your hand froze on top of your head but slowly began to remove it 'Gorgeous! Perfect! Chef kiss!' You laugh at their exaggerated statement, picking up your phone and adjusting it to the bathroom to let them accompany you while you do touch up on your makeup.

'What time will you leave?' You glance at your wrist, 'Four I think? His practice starts at five.' You put on some more lip gloss and puck your lips out 'Good?' They all nod showing you massive thumb-ups 'I will leave now, see you later!' You throw them a flying kiss before you abruptly ended the call.

You stepped outside of the elevator straight to the lobby entrance seeing the Uber you picked had arrived and is parked just in front of the automatic sliding door. You entered the car, greeting the driver in the process before you inform them of the address to the place. It wasn't a long ride but it wasn't short either, you manage to exchange quick talks with them, they asked you what you were doing in London and how's the experience so far. You told them that it was good and that you are here to meet your six months year old boyfriend.

The car halted right at the venue's main gate allowing you to get out easily and pass through, you thank and tip the person before you stroll inside the auditorium. You make a quick call with a friend whom friend with your boyfriend and notified them that you've had arrived. It was a three minutes wait before they arrived, panting hard.

'He's in the changing room,' You both rush to the team locker room, on your way there, proceeding to greet each person you came across and stop right in front of the door.

Jobe on the other hand had just completed changing his garment to his practice attire. All the while he was changing, his other hand is practically inside his palm, easy for him to be sure you had reply to his text this morning.

Belly Ham

Mornin' 😽

Had your breakfast yet?

delivered

But to no avail, you hadn't replied to him, you might have activated the app once or twice after the texts but he never gets a reply back, like you were avoiding him. He sighs in defeat plopping the phone inside his duffel back and wearing his glove. A knock on the door infuriates him because the other person keeps knocking constantly, he was sure he didn't look at the door and sure he didn't. It was unlocked but the person on the other side just had to ruined his already wrecked mood.

'What-' His voice stuck from the back of his throat because right in front of him, no screen separating - is his girlfriend.

You watch him in amusement, his ears grew red maybe from the cold? His eyes shimmer on yours without no words spoken for the other minutes and suddenly your body collided against his into a bone-crush hug. His hands snake around your back pressing your body closer to his. Your hands at both of his sides clutching on his jersey.

'Surprise...' You said, voice croaking at the end feeling overwhelmed with emotions, he went to snoop you in his arms once more and chuckle 'I can't believe you are here! I never thought I could meet you so fast!' He beams and went to separate the hug to examine your face.

'At last.' He confessed, temple lightly brushing against yours, his eyes glimmering with stars and heart 'I will cherish this moment forever with you..' He whisper, leaving a soft kiss at the crown of your head.

'That's enough, continue your lovey-dovey section after the practice. Jobe, stop being so cringe for God's sake!' They joke earning a playful scowl from your boyfriend.

You are delighted. You know this time in London will the best memories you've ever had. All thanks to one particular person.

#i ★ writes jud3 ✸ #jobe bellingham #jobe bellingham au #jobe bellingham angst #jobe bellingham blurb #jobe bellingham drabble #jobe bellingham fanfic #jobe bellingham fluff #jobe bellingham headcanons #jobe bellingham imagine #jobe bellingham masterlist #jobe bellingham master list #jobe bellingham oc #jobe bellingham one shot #jobe bellingham x you #football masterlist #footballer imagine #football imagine #football #birmingham #england imagines #england

[carnivorousyandeere]

me, holding up my completed homework while looking erik directly in the eye and tearing it up into paper scraps: oops, guess i completely forgot to do that one, sorry prof.

Eager for Punishment

( MDNI )

CW: smut, sadism and masochism both physical and emotional, impact play, implied oral

Alright alright, I suppose this is what the people wanted. Thank you anons (and Moodie💕) 😂

Erik watches each bit of paper fall to the ground like autumn leaves, lips pursed and eyes thoughtful. The last flutters from your hand and settles next to the small pile in front of you.

You gaze at him expectantly, hoping he’ll meet your eyes with that anger you’re so desperately hoping for. But he doesn’t.

Erik just sighs, pushing themself up from their seat and leaving the room. The door shuts with a soft click.

You wait a minute, then two, then three— hoping he’ll come back and give more of a reaction. They don’t. Hope deflating, you pick up the pieces and throw them away.

Frustrated, confused, dejected, angry— what must you be feeling now? Erik ponders your actions in his office earlier. The way you’d so desperately tried to piss him off plays in his mind over and over. If you’re so desperate for a punishment, he thinks, the corners of his lips quirking up, walking out like that was probably a good start.

But Erik can’t deny their soft spot for you… if you really want a punishment, they’ve got an idea they wanted to try. His content smile only grows as they lean back against the headboard of your shared bed, losing himself in an old novel.

It doesn’t feel like very long to them— although, perhaps it was; he had been incredibly engrossed in the story he was reading— before you finally come home, standing in the doorway of his room with eyes turned down.

Erik carefully slips a bookmark between the pages of their book and sets it onto the nightstand. They look at you over the rim of their reading glasses. “Something the matter, Dear?”

You look up, eyes defiant. “Nope, not at all.”

Erik stands up, humming a bit to himself. “I see. So I assume all of that paper is still piled up in my office?”

“…No.”

“Good,” Erik smiles, walking closer to you, hands folded behind his back.

They raise an eyebrow at your expression— how is it that you have the utter, unmitigated gall to look frustrated, when you’re the one causing problems? He says as much out loud, watching that expression morph into something excited, something hungry.

Erik grits his teeth a little, temper flaring up. You’re always like this, always so infuriating. Pushing buttons and testing boundaries… over and over and over again. Getting a rise out of him for your own satisfaction.

But Erik couldn’t deny the satisfaction they got out of this as well.

Stepping back from you, he shows you what he’d had behind their back— a sleek, black riding crop. Erik slides the crop across his hand, testing it on their own palm and biting his lip at the sting, not missing the way you stiffen at the noise.

He orders you to strip. Whether or not you obey, you end up naked and facedown on the bed, hands tied behind your back.

Erik makes you count every crack of the riding crop against your increasingly sensitive skin, one for each piece of paper he counted you tearing off the assignment.

You’re left teary-eyed and weak, moaning at the soft touch of Erik’s hand on your stinging ass once the spanks are over.

Well, maybe… he gives you a few more with his bare hand for your insolence, smiling ever so slightly at the keening moans you let out in response.

And then, finally, they’re done with the punishment, but they don’t untie you— just roll you over. You shiver weakly as Erik leans in to kiss you, and kisses down your body, calloused hands holding your hips still as he nears your core.

He may have finished the punishments for the night, but he wasn’t quite done with you for the night.

#mail 📬 #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw #oc erik #mdni #nsft #yandere smut

[qtssvnwoo]

Behind Closed Doors-Chapter One

A/N: So sorry for the wait but here it is!! The first chapter of Behind Closed Doors!! I had a major writing block for a while and I just got out of it so excuse me if anything is bad. ENJOY!!! 

IMPORTANT THINGS: Your last name in this series is Barlowe (Bar-Low) because it sounds cool. As of right now, it’s the fall of the third year. 

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of fighting

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark rooms, secret looks, quiet laughs, and crossing paths. With hurried touches, and scrambling to the next class. The small smiles and shared butterbeer in reserved areas. That's what your relationship with Draco Malfoy was like. You didn’t remember life before him, but you definitely remembered the fight to get him. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was unusually quiet today. Usually, you were surrounded by the lack of genius that was your twin brothers Bennet and Calum. But today, you were freed of their idiotic mess of so-called  “company”, and finally had some alone time to sit and relax and work on your work for the other classes. Or, so you thought. It was never a dull moment with you. You always had something going on, or something happening around you that diverted your time and energy away from something that was very insignificant. 

And this time, it was the insolence of your brother and the infamous Draco Malfoy. 

You sighed as you closed your books and directed your attention to the source of the commotion. Bennet was standing there, an enraged look creeped upon his face the more he heard Draco speak. His olive eyes blaring with a fire that could not be put out. 

While Bennet constrained himself, trying not to deck Draco in the face, Calum fidgeted with his hands, his oversized glasses falling down his nose while he stared at Bennet and Draco.

Draco stood there. His shoulders high, and his smirk everlasting as he crossed his arms and stood confidently as he watched the anger seep through your brother's mouth. You were not going to get yourself involved, you had no interest in getting involved in your brother's quarrels (unless it got physical). But as you looked forward at the direction of the argument, your eyes met. You tried to look away,

But oh, la manera en la que te mira. (The way he looked at you) 

Those gray eyes stared deeply into yours and as you looked you could see his expression change. You saw his gaze drop to yours, and you saw his smirk fade and get washed over with a gaze that could only be described as wonder. 

He had truly never seen someone as soft as you before. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he continued to study your face. The way your hair fell into your face, and how your eyes were glossed with curiosity. You intrigued Draco Malfoy. Something that not all people could say they experienced.

Your brother seemed to notice the sudden shift in Dracos' normally cocky mood, when Bennet suddenly yelled something. Suddenly, Draco’s face went out of view as Bennet’s fist collided with Draco's jaw. Before you could process what was happening, Draco and Bennet were in a full-blown fist fight. Bennet was on top of Draco, his fist repeatedly hitting Draco’s face, as Draco tried to throw your brother off of him. 

You ran over, pushing through the crowd of people surrounding the fight and encouraging your brother to continue the assault of Malfoy. You looked around, searching for your other brother when he came across Harry Potter and his gang.

You weren’t necessarily friends with them, but nor were you enemies. But the way they were cheering with the rest of the crowd, encouraging your bone-headed brother to continue to beat Draco Malfoy senselessly infuriated you. 

You shoved through the last few people before, quite literally kicking your brother in the gut, causing him to whine in pain and fall off of Draco. You stepped over Draco complaining about how he would “tell his precious daddy about this” and grabbed your brother by his ear before smacking him in the head. 

People went quiet, and they whispered as they watched you drag your brother away from the fight, but not before you looked back at Draco with a sympathetic look, showing him that you apologized on your brother's behalf. And to Draco, that made his heart soar. He held his aching jaw bone and looked at your back as you walked away. 

Draco smiled to himself, a giddy smile that others could only see as a ‘lovestruck’ gaze.

Once you dragged Bennet into a less crowded hallway, and had Calum trailing behind you, you put both of them against the wall and started to interrogate them.

“What the hell were you doing, Bennet?” Bennet looked down and muttered something incoherent. “I asked you, what the HELL were you doing?”

“I said I was talking with Draco.” 

“Talking? Talking? What the hell do you mean talking? You nearly punched his face in!”

“I really should've fully punched it in. Maybe he would’ve thought twice before telling his daddy about every single thing.”

“Bennet.” You warned. He glared at you and sighed as he leaned up against the wall. 

“He was saying how bad we were at quidditch. How we shouldn’t even be on the team, and how,” Bennet paused, as if the next words were unspeakable. You studied his face, and you could see the anger in his face piling up like a stack of dominos. 

“Draco said how we act and play just like dad.” Calum spoke up.

oh.

 You immediately knew and felt the same anger as Bennet did, but unlike Bennet, you kept yourself calm and you just took a deep breath before speaking again. 

“I get that you're angry Bennet, but you know what moms gonna say.” 

“She’s just gonna tell me not to do it again, like all the other times.” 

“No Bennet, you know she’ll make you resign from the team if you get into another fight. If you keep letting yourself slip like this instead of focusing on school, she’ll pull you out. And Bennet, I can’t make excuses for you forever you know.” 

Bennet refused to make eye contact with you because he knew you were right, but he didn’t want to admit it. He knew that if he kept letting his grades drop and his anger rise then your mother would pull him out of anything to make him focus on school again. 

“Okay. I’ll be more careful.” You sighed in relief as you turned to get your stuff. But, Bennet grabbed your arm, making you stumble backwards and looking at him in confusion. 

“But listen to this. I will destroy Malfoy in every way that I can. He’s said too much about my- our family to let it slide. If he says anything more I will bash his face in.”  You rolled your eyes and gave both your brothers a condescending look. 

“That's between you and God boys.” Was all you said before you walked away. You heard Bennet scoff and Calum sigh. As the bell rang and all of you hurried off to class.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco was thinking about you the whole class. It was infuriating. He couldn’t get the image of you in the field out of his brain and people were noticing the sudden shift in Dracos mood throughout the day that even Harry Potter was a tad bit concerned. 

As for you, you tried your best to distance yourself away from him. You two never really talked, but you were paired up as lab partners a couple times. And those couple times meant something to you, as you had steadily developed something for the boy. And you hated yourself for it. 

How could you even like someone like him? Someone so insolent, rude, mean and….handsome. The thought of Draco staring at you in the field was on your mind the rest of the day, the image wouldn’t leave you alone, and the more you thought about it the more butterflies appeared and flew around in your stomach. You knew if your brothers ever found out about your feelings for Draco they would go crazy. And you didn’t wanna hurt or cause your brothers to look at you differently just because of a stupid crush.

You were on your way to class, thinking about a plethora of things that caused your mind to be clouded and confused. That’s when you bumped into Draco Malfoy, quite literally. Your books fell from your hands and the pages of your notebook scattered across the floor. 

‘Great, just great. Another late to class.’ was all you thought about as you tried to scavenge the missing parts of your notebook, and pick up your books. You were just about done when you saw a hand reach out to you, holding one of the designs from your notebook. 

You muttered a quick thank you while taking the paper. But, something caught your attention. The glistening silver ring on the middle finger of the person who you had bumped into. The ring was beautiful, it had two letters carved in the side of it, and a silver snake reaching across the length of the ring. The snake's eyes glared at you, the blaring emeralds shined at you as you put two and two together and figured out who the person in front of you was. 

“Malfoy.” 

“Barlowe.” 

You two stared at each other and from your side, it was a mix of hate, fear, and being flustered. While form him, he stared at you with content and eagerness. 

“Thanks for helping me out earlier.” He laughed. You looked at his face and saw his black eye, bruised cheek and cut lip. He somehow still managed to pull at your heartstrings when he looked as beat up as he did. But, nonetheless you kept it cool.

“I didn’t help you out. I was helping my brother not get suspended from the school.” Draco looked at you with a raised eyebrow. It’s like he was taunting you, like he knew you had feelings for him and decided to make it harder for you, just because he could.

“It seemed like you were helping me.”

“Well I wasn’t.” 

“Huh, what a pity.” 

No more words were said, you two just stood in the hall and stared at each other. Draco’s eyebrow was still cocked and you were fidgeting with your papers. The look he was giving you was sending you over the edge. It made you angry how one person can look so condescending and hot at the same time. 

“Move Malfoy. I have class.” 

“Is that the best excuse you have?” 

“She said move Malfoy.” Fuck. 

Bennet stood behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to feel the anger bruning off of his skin. Calum stood next to him, not saying anything, but having an equally as formidable look on his face. 

Draco shifted uncomfortably for a second before angrily staring at your brothers. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he wanted to say at least something.

“Leave us alone Malfoy. Unless you want that bruise to get worse.” Calum threatened. It was a rare site to see Calum ever threaten anyone no matter what the cause, but you knew not to bring it up in later conversions as he always got embarrassed about such things. 

Draco looked between your brothers and you before scowling at them and muttering his infamous line “what until my father hears about this.” But before he strolled off, he looked at you, and he winked before turning himself around and disappearing into a hallway. 

“Did he just…”

“Wink at Y/n? Yes.” 

Your brothers stood there confused, while you stood there with a rush of heat racing its way up to your cheeks. You knew Draco Malfoy was flirty, you told yourself, that was nothing different. 

You and your brothers made your way to class. Your brothers rambled on and on about the upcoming game, but the actions of Draco flooded your mind, and even during the lesson you couldn't get the image of his deceitful yet enticing smirk, and the way he smiled at you or the sound of his half hearted laugh. 

You groaned as you put your head on the desk to try and hide the obvious redness on your face and ears. You knew you couldn’t be with him, and you knew that even having the slightest feelings for Draco was unspeakable between you and your brothers. So why him? Why the boy that made your brothers miserable, why did it just have to be the rival?

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #draco x reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x female reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco fluff #draco angst #Harry Potter #harry potter headcanon #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter angst #harry potter drabble #harry potter x reader angst #harry potter x reader #harry potter x yn #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader fluff #draco x reader fluff #draco x reader angst

[sighingsiren-tales]

3 is never a crowd

So, I am going through my list and revamping some stories 

3.7K

I trudge from over from my home office to the door, mumbling an “I'm coming” to whoever is on the other side. 

The knocking on my door did not subside but, in fact, continued loudly. I smoothed away the stray curls sticking to my forehead; They somehow made their way out of the confines of the tight bun long enough for me to remark that the dye was fading. I nearly trip over a stack of books and papers on my way to the front door which earns the sheets of paper a huff of irritation. I give the living room a quick scan, the disorganization and chaos of the last few months clearly evident; there was no way to hide it 

When the pounds on wood became accompanied with rings of my doorbell, I let out a low growl of frustration, much louder than the huff. The sheer lack of patience of whoever was on the other side of the door is infuriating to say the least. Opening the door with the full intent of giving whoever was on the other side the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, I was surprised to see my wingmen there, both sprouting new looks and wardrobes. The surprise easily gives way to happiness, a slow smile coming across my lips as realization dawns on me: How long has it been since I've seen these two? Five months, maybe 6? Taming my excitement best I could, I step aside to let them in. The strong and sexy scent of Mingyu breezes right past me; I have no time to sit on its complexity as Wonwoo’s scent is next to come by. The subtle and yet sensual combination paralyzes me momentarily, leaving me at the door for a bit longer than necessary. 

I close it as quickly as my senses let me. I let my mind wander over to my Armin and my Eren. I haven’t seen them in quite some time and the time passed is etched into their features.

Wonwoo ditched his chocolate brown locks for a gorgeous pitch-black mane and, looking over at Mingyu, I saw he ditched his dark tresses for a radiant golden color. Both styled in a windblown mess away from their face

“Hey guys I didn't know you we-” 

“Stop”.

I pause and raise a brow. Wonwoo and I lock eyes. 

“Why are you still in your work clothes? Don’t you get off at 4:45?” Wonwoo’s voice always came across as something directly out of a sex dream, deep and smooth without an ounce of effort. 

But his concerned and skeptical tone overshadows his involuntary sexy undertones. 

He looks down to his watch; How he tells the time amidst all the stones is beyond me. 

“It’s 8:43 angel”. 

Shit, has it been that long? I look down to myself, pausing so I can regard my appearance for a moment. Still in my white long button up, first few buttons undone, my dark green pants molding to my lower curves with my once neat bun now an unruly mess of curls barely contained with a hair tie. 

It was only then that I began to notice just how much my spacious apartment looked exactly like that of a workaholic; The coffee cups, the disheveled stacks of paper, open notepads, scattered pens with laptop and monitor on with multiple tabs open.

 I closed my eyes momentarily in an attempt to gather my bearings. Waving, a hand flippantly - a physical gesture attempting to explain myself. 

“Yeah, I uh, I had some shit to sort out at work.” I began in an even tone, picking up the discarded coffee cups and throwing them away. 

“Understatement” Mingyu spoke in an accusatory tone while he gathered a few coffee cups as well. 

I rolled my eyes pointedly, aligning the stray papers so they were in a neat stack, as well as closing the notepads. Once satisfied with the living room, I made it over to my bedroom, trying to grab my laptop. Just as I grab the MacBook, it’s snatched from reach. 

I turn quickly, ready to grab my device but my next sentence and quite possibly my heart’s life span was cut short when I realized how close Mingyu was to my face. It was much closer than he was a few moments ago; I did not even hear him follow me to my room. He was barely 2 inches from my face, he was quiet, but his face was set in obvious disapproval. With a quick survey, I realized Wonwoo was leaning casually against the doorframe while Mingyu was in my face. I turn my attention back to Mingyu who is carefully inspecting my face. I raise an eyebrow at his quiet actions.

“Can I help you?”.

He pauses a moment, as if contemplating what he is going to say. 

“When was the last time you went anywhere other than work since the breakup?” His question, blunt as ever, makes me flinch as if he had hit me. 

I see his eyes soften sadly at my reaction. I let the slight pang in my heart pass, regaining composure as quickly as I can. I make sure that my face is devoid of any detectable emotion before I speak.

“Excuse you?” My offended tone betrays my emotionless expression.

Truth is, I was horribly offended; They all knew what he meant to me, Mingyu and Wonwoo in particular. They watched me fall in love with a man that I gave my heart to, unreservedly and without judgement. Only for it to all mean nothing in the end. All that, just for my love and affection to amount to sand slipping through my fingers. 

How could-no. How dare he just walk in here and criticize my handling one of the most traumatic experiences of my life? Best friend or not, boundaries exist. And at present, the immediate interrogation conjures up untamable ghosts of the past with emotions I can barely control. It made me feel uncomfortably vulnerable though I suppose that is how Mingyu questions those he cares for. Come to think of it, Mingyu was always like that; a bit loud, a bit brash, something akin to the energy of a giant puppy who meant well but did not always know how to execute the intent. However insightful the knowledge may be, his statement still causes me to narrow my eyes and take a step back from him, crossing my arms over my chest. 

Old defensive habits die hard.

“I don't know who the hell you think you are nearly breaking down my door and then having the audacity to demand details of my personal life” I spoke slowly, irritably. 

He snorts. 

“I would hardly call that breaking down your door. Though, I do have probable cause”. 

Heat rushed from the pit of my stomach to my ears, and I chuckle out of sheer nervous, angry habit. I take a step forward.

“If you have nothing Mingyu, you have the fucking audacity” My voice is low, dangerous, perhaps, a subtle warning to it.

He throws the laptop onto the bed, now out of view. I move to see if it had bounced off the bed onto destruction, but Mingyu blocks my view. I met his eyes, incredulously. His stare held a dare that said challenge me. His eyebrow raised, daring me to defy him. 

“Move” I huff, attempting to storm off, away from him. 

He takes my wrist in his fingers, spinning me around to face him once more. 

“I am trying to help you. You’re making it hard”. 

I glare at him from my place inches below him. Mingyu was always a hot head, and a sensitive hot head at that; An insane contradiction in itself. He can be quick to anger but over sensitive issues more than anything else. My temper, in contrast, is a slow burn with a slow tongue until my ore is fired. 

“If I may” I feel hands on my shoulders. 

The movement of his fingers are subtle, but I feel my shoulders release their tension. 

I am more than thankful for the distraction he provides. 

“He thinks he's your best friend, as do I. Correct us if we're wrong” Wonwoo’s smooth, low and deep voice forces me to relax almost instantaneously, the low timbre causing pleasant vibrations against my back. 

He begins massaging with more pressure, melting away the pent-up stress and knots accumulated in my shoulders. The sigh of pleasure I let out is palpable before leaning back onto his chest completely as he worked out the knots of tension. 

“Mm, you're not wrong” I hummed, letting my eyes flutter closed as the dynamic of our friendship weaves itself.

This was always how it had been:  Mingyu and I would get a bit too intense, a bit too heated and Wonwoo, ever so calm and collected, would defuse whatever the situation was. Mingyu and I were both stubborn, hardheaded who went at it relentlessly, one of the qualities that actually made him my best friend. However, I befriended Wonwoo for the opposite reason; he was calm, levelheaded and almost always collected. Wonwoo always helped to ground us; He kept us calm and stable. Wonwoo appealed to my outer shell and Mingyu appealed to my inner passionate side. The comparison of our personalities continues as Wonwoo subtly directs me over to the edge of my bed and sits me down as he continues to massage my shoulders. 

“That feels good” I hum, tilting my head back as the message continues. 

I hear Wonwoo chuckle adorably. 

“Yeah?” He gives my shoulders a lovely squeeze. 

“Glad you like it darling” his voice was closer now, so I could marvel at the bass in it. 

I couldn't shake the thought of a double meaning behind his words; No matter how outrageous it sounded; I took his statement as vaguely sexual. 

Then again, maybe I was just stressed and the notion of dick solving my emotional turmoil rears its ugly head once more. 

This is fine, I can keep myself in check; It is just a friendly massage. 

Or at least, that’s what I thought before I felt the smooth palms of someone's hands traveling up my calf.  Almost all remaining tension leaves my body. 

“How long has it been since you've been out?” Mingyu’s smooth melodic voice came through, reiterating the former question, much softer and sweeter than before.

My face burns with embarrassment.

“A while” I mumble candidly. 

It is quiet for a moment, Wonwoo’s fingers drop down to my back. 

“Come out with us” Wonwoo rumbled in my ear just as Mingyu’s hands traveled higher, toward my knee. 

The pressure that he uses when his hands scaled down my leg was perfect. It combined the right amount of intensity and pressure without being overbearing, kind of like him. 

“Where to?” I ask in a slight daze, my eyes closed.

I wasn't fully aware of much at the moment and the lack of stimulation was damn near orgasmic.

“Some club that Hansol found. It’s not too far of a drive. Come out with us, please” Mingyu’s sweet, pleading tone combined with the two amazing masseuses that I had for best friends was almost enough to convince me. 

Almost being the operative word. It was not until Wonwoo lets out a low ‘please’ against my ear that I give them my answer: A very pleasure filled ‘yes’ is exactly what they wanted to hear. Or so, I assume. 

“I'll go run her bath” Mingyu offers, his slight grunts the only sounds as he gets up off of the floor. 

He gives my calf a sweet squeeze before my lips touch my cheek and I give a lazy smile at what I knew was Mingyu’s verbless apology. 

“It's ok Gyu, I know you just wanted to help”. 

I made sure to listen for his retreating footsteps toward my bathroom. Just as the bath water began to run, I hear Wonwoo let out a sharp exhale. 

“What do you suggest I do with you two?” he sighs good naturedly, leaning down closer to my neck as his arms wrap around my shoulders. 

“My advice? Keep doing what you're doing” I mumble happily, leaning back against the firm plane of his chest. 

“Your shoes better not be on my fucking bed. I sleep there” I huff as an afterthought.

He let out another low chuckle, this one slightly less innocent. 

“Judging by the knots in your shoulders, you should be doing something else on this bed, yeah?”. 

At that deep raspy statement my eyes snap open, my head turning to look at the smug Jeon above me. My chuckle is anxious.

“I beg your fuckin pardon?”.

Despite my tone, in the back of my mind, was a burning question I could not ignore: “Did he want to fill that role for me?”. 

“I’m sure you know how to please yourself” He spoke offhandedly, letting his hands drop from my shoulders to my arms. The excitement and slight disappointment that settled in my stomach reminded me of another sharp contradiction between the two. My big puppy Gyu loved to please those he loved; he loved to please, and my mind wandered to other ways in which that was true. My guard dog, Wonwoo, on the other hand, liked to wound someone up, My opinion? He relished in making them work for the answer but would never tell you information directly. My mind was going to unnecessary places; unnecessary, dark, sexual places. (Un)Fortunately, Wonwoo’s voice pulled me out of the dark recesses of my mind while intriguing the thoughts that haunt them all at once.

“Or”.

A pregnant pause. 

“Simply ask someone to help you”.

I turn around fully, to face him. His eyes were dark but the slight smile that played on his lips was something sinful. A breathless chuckle. 

“And how do you suggest I do that?”. 

 He shrugs before bringing a hand up to my curls. 

“It’s simple, really,” he began.

I did my best to hide the hitch in my breath when he pulled my hair from its confines. His dark eyes watch the curls fall around my shoulders, but his face gives no indication of any of his inner desires or thoughts, if any; He just scans me. 

I feel as if I am under scrutiny. His fingertips go from the ends of my curls to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing my cheek as his fingers gently tangle themselves in the hair at the nape of my neck. 

“You lean in close” He pulls me slowly, leaning in but coming to a stop a few centimeters away from my lips. 

He let his other hand skim my collarbones before two fingers barely brushed the curves of my breasts. 

I say his name; Why? I couldn’t tell you. He looks at me and an emotion I’ve never seen dances in his eyes.

“And you say” his gaze flickers to my lips.

“I would really love to have you in my bed” My gaze is only on his lips for a second before I lift it and find his eyes looking directly into mine

“And on my kitchen table” He came closer, his voice lowering a bit as his gaze flickered momentarily between my lips and chest. 

“And my counter” He undid a button on my shirt, a better peak of cleavage coming into view. 

His lips were now a hair away from mine, his breath fanning my lips as his voice lowered to a deeper octave, barely above a whisper. 

“And the walls of my shower”. 

In a suave motion, he came closer, his lips brushing mine but in a way in which we weren’t 

technically kissing yet. He did not move, nor did I, but the heat of his breath on my lips was almost too much to bear.

“Do something” I whisper.

 His eyes were still open, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my lips more rapidly now.  He let his tongue dart out, tracing a straight, slow line down my bottom lip. 

The tension as well as the heat in the room rose exponentially. On instinct, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, my tongue swiping over the part he licked. He chuckled in turn.

“How do I taste?” He teased in a low tone, his head dipping so low I could feel his breath on my chest. 

“Sweet. Intoxicating” I did not need to think of descriptors, they were right there on the tip of my tongue. I thread a hand through his soft locks slowly before letting my hand fall to his bicep. 

“Do something” I repeated, a bit more desperation in my voice than before.

When did I become an on-call slut?

The man in question raises his head, bringing his lips back to their original distance, much to my dismay.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was only demonstrating”. 

Within a few seconds, he was back to calm and collected. Perfect timing seeing as Mingyu breezes back into the room. With some difficulty, I school my face into neutrality, readying myself to take the hand he was offering out to me with a heart melting smile. 

“C’mon. You’re overdue for a bath”. 

I chuckle, taking his hand. 

“Are you saying I stink?”.

I force myself to rise from my place on my bed, walking over to Mingyu as I fought with myself not to look back at Wonwoo.

Mingyu shrugs and gives a quick tilt of his head.

“Just a little”.

I snort in response as I make it to the door. 

“Make sure you relax” Wonwoo’s voice calls out as we round the corner.

Ater what you just did?

We made our way to the bathroom in comfortable silence before Mingyu tugs on my hand, stopping me. I’m pulled into a tight hug before I can refuse; Arms wound around my shoulders so I’m resting comfortably against his chest. I wrap my arms around his midsection just as he mumbles an apology into my hair.

“I know things are hard Angel, but I haven’t seen you in weeks. I was worried, shit, both of us were”. 

It’s quiet for a moment. 

“It’s fine, I just need to go out tonight” I mutter against his shirt. 

He pulls away from the hug, tugging on a dark colored curl gently and letting it bounce. 

“You look nice with your hair down” He compliments, his voice sounding almost timid. 

I simply smile at him, hoping it would simultaneously show my thanks and hide my sexual frustration. 

“Make sure you relax. I’m serious”. 

I nod and give a mock salute to which he giggles. Upon entering the bathroom, I nearly melt at the effort Mingyu put into the preparation. I could smell the vanilla and lavender bath salts soaking in the water; The white foam of the bubbles rising from the tub. When the door closed, I realized I was alone with my thoughts as I was before they barged in. I sigh in relief, replaying the last few moments over and over again as I undress. I leave my clothes on the floor in a crumpled heap before walking over to the water and sinking into it. I let out a slight moan of pleasure at the calming heat of the water, letting my head loll back. This is peaceful, the stress of the day melts away. My eyes close.

“And the walls of my shower”. 

In a moment, all I can see is flashes of his body, bare and wet. It is the only thing keeping me pressed against the slippery dark tile of my shower. His wet hair in his eyes, muscles flexed.

My eyes open. I regard my surroundings.

My hands make their way up my sides, my arms wrapping around my body. I felt oddly aware of the fact that the arms were my own, and not another's.

My fingers resting on my arms felt nothing like his; They were too light; they did not have purpose or enough weight. 

I found my fingers trailing down the space in between my breasts, resting lightly on my stomach as I had no idea of what to do next. The desire he built in me was a slow but pointed burn that needed to be addressed, quickly. I let my fingers trail below my belly button, running them up my slit and gasping quietly at the sensation. The gasp quickly runs into a sigh of pleasure as I realize just how long it had been. 

I let myself feel. 

The sloshing of water and my own quiet moans, the only sounds in the room. My fingers did nothing like what I believe his could have; The pressure and the way they worked the tension out of my shoulders had me wondering if his fingers could make my toes curl in a different way. His tongue was already honeyed, sinful and soothing as it was. I wondered if it would be just as effective in other places. My fingers hesitate before they reach their destination; A loud gasp fills the room. I force myself to be still immediately, a bit too embarrassed of what to do next. 

Wonwoo’s words, or rather the insinuations of, guide me as I curl my finger. I let out a loud moan, I don’t recognize the sound. I still once more, pausing to see if anyone heard me. When the satisfying silence came as a response, I continued in slow languid motions that drew long moans from my throat as well as a name. 

His name was followed by two knocks at the door, causing me to still. 

“Impeccable timing, I was just about to call for you. We leave for the club in an hour, give or take”. 

“Y-yeah” My voice cracks. 

I can’t imagine feeling more embarrassed than this; Heat burns my cheeks. 

“Sounds good”. 

I hear him chuckle, mumbling a ‘good’ through the barrier of the door. I let out a sigh of relief, letting my head fall back onto the smooth curve of the porcelain tub. His voice shatters my illusion. 

“Don’t take too long. If you’re unsure of where to go, you can always ask for my help” He pauses for a moment.

“Directly, this time. Just remember what I told you.” And, with that, his footsteps retreated and faded down the hallway. 

Fuck.

#Svt #svt x reader #svt angst #wonwoo #mingyu #svtedit #kim mingyu #jeon wonwoo #fanfiction #svt fanfic #svt writing #kpop fanfic #kpop fandom #mingyu fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #svt carat #svt smut #writeblr #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop boys #poly au #svt imagines #svt scenarios

[mad-who-ra]

Brave is the heart that loves

@yehsahihai here is your promised fluff. Stop cursing me, now.

Ram x Reader

Word Count : 1052

...

You barged into his house only to find him writing something on his desk. He turned around startled at the sound of the door slamming behind you. His face relaxed as he saw it was just you. He dropped his pen on the desk, turning to face you. You were mad, to say the least. You did not even look at him and you muttered curses under your breath, walking around.

“Hey!” He said, twirling his chair lightly amused at your mood.

“Stupid! I told them a thousand times before, but no one listens! How dare they! They thought they could trick me into THIS?” You snapped, pacing in the room, “stupid! All of them!”

“What happened now?” He frowned.

“What happened?” You asked, stopping in your tracks to look at him. 

His frown deepened. Oh yeah, you definitely were in a mood.

“I will tell you what happened.” You said, gesturing at yourself. He looked at you from head to toe. You were wearing a gorgeous yellow saree with a green border. Gold bangles adorned your wrist and a heavy neckless rested around your neck. You would have loved it in any other situation, but today, all you wanted to do was throw it away. 

“You look beautiful!” Ram said, mesmerised.

That made you even more angry. Because how dumb can he be?

“I know! I know, I look beautiful today, Ram. And stop twirling that chair, I am going to throw a book at your head if you keep doing that.” You glared at him. He gave you a confused look and did not stop.

“You know why I am wearing all this? Because my family is having guests over for chai. You know why?” You asked, crossing your hands across your chest, “because they are fixing my marriage to some random man.” 

You had not told your family about Ram. You two were, well close. And you loved him though none of you ever explicitly said it. You both knew and you knew he was the one you were going to marry if you were ever going to marry anyone at all. You have been avoiding the topic of marriage altogether since Ram was busy with his work and you knew he would want to wait for a while. You thought they had given up, but no. You woke up that day with your sister ushering you to get ready. It wasn’t until you were all dolled up, she told you about the actual thing. You stormed out of your house and showed up at his place, not really sure what you wanted from him, but it sure as hell was not this. He looked so nonchalant about the whole thing and that infuriated you.

“Oh.” He said.

“Yes, Ram, oh.”

You waited for his reaction. He stopped twirling his chair as he stared at you. You waited for him to say something. To stand up and do something! But he stayed there. A moment later, he started twirling his chair again irritating you more.

“Han toh, what are you doing here?” He asked.

“What?” You asked surprised.

“Shouldn’t you be at your place when they arrive?” 

You clenched you jaw as you realised what he was talking about. 

“Right.” You deadpanned, “I should go meet the guy.”

“Yes, exactly,” Ram nodded very seriously, “maybe he is the right one for you! You never know.” 

You fisted your pallu to keep yourself from punching the man you loved the most in the world as you put on a too sweet to be true smile on your face.

“You are right.” You said, “maybe he is the right one for me.” 

Ram shrugged as if to say see!

“I should go home and greet them, serve them food and chai and get married at the earliest mahurat.” You said very cheerfully.

“Sounds like a plan.” Ram said, picking up his pen, “now that the crisis is sorted, I will get back to work.” 

You gaped at him as he turned back to his notebook as if nothing had happened at all. As if he did not care at all. You picked up the nearest paper from the floor crumbling it into a ball and threw it at him. It hit him in his head and he looked at you.

“Y/N, what are you-”

You made another paper ball, throwing it at him again.

“Fine! FINE! If you don’t care, fine!” You snapped, “I will go get married. Because why would you care. You go back to your work!” 

He ducked as you kept throwing the paper balls at him. You were this close to throwing actual books at him.

“Y/N, listen-” He said, finally getting up from his chair. 

“Oh, no. Don’t bother. I am leaving anyway. Should have gotten married long ago. But I was stupid to think that you loved me. I was stupid that I wanted to marry you! But your work is more important right? You should keep working. Who cares if I am being tied off to some gadha.” 

He walked towards you with a smile on his face. If you were mad before, you were furious now, “and you think this is funny? I came here to- You know what, it doesn’t matter. I will go home, send you an invitation. Come have dinner at my wedding.” 

You turned around to leave. You felt something tug at your pallu and you stumbled back, facing him. 

“What?” You snapped as he smiled softly. His fingers gently tucked a hair strand that had freed itself from your artistic braid, behind your ear.

“You better say something really quick, Ram or I swear-”

“I do love you.” He whispered.

In other situations your heart might have fluttered and you would have blushed. But not today. 

“Great. Now, if you don’t mind I have to go make chai for my futu-” you started, turning around again. This time he held your wrist, pulling you back towards him. Your back was pressed against his chest. You had never been this close to him before. He entwined your fingers, wrapping the arm around you. His warm breath fanned over your neck, and your heartbeat quickened.

“There is no way in hell that I will let someone else marry you.”

...

@juhiiiiii @manwalaage @maraudersbitchesassemble @gauri-vishalakshi @lil-stark @rambheem-is-real @darlingletshurttonight @seherie @how-is-it-in-london @itsfookingloosah @raisemybodybacktolife​ @irisesforyoureyes @cainiyor​ @cainiyor @zaddylokiandthorsimp​ @bromance-minus-the-b​ @kafkaesquebestie @hissterical-nyaan @ramayantika @reallythoughtfulwizard @phoenix666stuff @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @obsessedtoafault @budugu @chaanv @nerdreader @kalavathiii @yehsahihai @hxnky-pxnky @shawty-writes-a-little @azraelcruor @rambheemisgoated @aasthuu @vidhurvrika @jeonmahi1864 @jjwolfesworld @sabi5 @adikavy @eloquentree @tinysmallworlld @herefornamu @shreyalokesh @rishi-sita @filesbeorganized @sukitaee @mathy-u @snigdha-14 @floating-mushroom @nyotamalfoy Did i forget someone?

#rrr #ram x reader

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

I HEAP PRAISES ON THE WRITERS FOR MONSTER'S HIGH GEN 3 BC I'VE JUST HAD TO THROW ANOTHER HIGHLY PRAISED BOOK ACROSS THE ROOM IN BLIND FURY AT IT'S UTTER REFUSAL TO USE FORSHADOWING OR BUILD UP OR CALL BACKS AND I AM SO THANKFUL OKAY!!!! I AM SO THANKFUL!!!!!! TO HAVE SOMETHING I CAN GO WASH MY BRAINS OUT WITH AFTER THIS TEETH GRINDINGLY INFURIATING EXPERIENCE!!!!!

THANK YOU MONSTER HIGH GEN 3 I LOVE YOU I LOvE YOU

#monster high gen 3 #writting #. #... #.... #THE PAIN. #ARGH #this is the THIRD book in a ROW

[cambion-companion]

Of the Dragon and the Rose

“If I must stitch one more golden rose onto a useless lace cloth I will throw myself into the Mander!” Rosheen emphasized her sudden outburst by tossing the infuriating stitchery aside and collapsing back upon the lounge.

Maude her septa, a kind yet firm old matron, lowered her own project and fixed the young woman with a severe gaze, “You must perfect the arts of being a proper lady, no respectable lord will want your hand in marriage if you insist on behaving like a little beast.”

“I wish I were a little beast, perhaps a cat, or a beaver.  At least they get to choose what happens to them.  But alas, I was born a woman.” Rosheen ignored her septa’s disappointed glare and turned her attention to the crackling flames before her.  The room they were in was elaborate, white marble twisting in swirls and forming delicate roses around the vast fireplace.  Tapestries of ladies bestowing their favours to gallant knights at a tourney decorated the walls and sconces added their firelight to the warm glow of the room.  Shadows danced and played across the plush ornamental carpet and Rosheen pushed her slippered feet deeper into it.  She fisted the rich gold fabric of her skirts and finally looked up at the scrutiny of her Septa.  

The older woman’s eyes had softened considerably.  Rosheen took courage and opened her mouth to voice the worry she had been feeling for days, “Maude I do not wish to go to King’s Landing, lords and their business do not interest me.”  The Septa had made a move to interrupt, so Rosheen hurried on, “You know this! I want to stay in Highgarden surrounded by my books. Where I can ride horses, go hawking, and still take lessons from Master Wingrave.”

At the mention of Rosheen’s swordplay tutor the Septa abruptly stood up, her wrinkled face looking severe, “If it were my place I would have counseled your father against hiring that old fool, swordplay indeed. You are a young lady, not a boy, your hands should be busy with the harp strings not an instrument of death such as that!  I’ve heard enough, the decision has been made and we leave for King’s Landing to be there in time for the MidSummer Festival.  Now go to your chambers, the hour grows late, and this old woman has had enough of your fretting.”

Rosheen stood slowly; she was a head taller than Maude and had a strong build unusual for a high-born lady.  Growing up she often was teased by her peers for being larger than they and this insecurity followed her into womanhood. As a young girl Rosheen would stand in front of her mirror and push on her own shoulders willing them to sink a few inches.  

She made her way out of the warm room into the dark and cool corridor, her footsteps padding softly on the granite floor as Rosheen walked leisurely towards her chambers.  Her head swam with thoughts and no small amount of resentment.  “Leave me.” She didn’t wish for company as, with swirling skirts, she entered her chambers and dismissed her servants.  A tiny shrug of shame pulled at her mind due to the shortness of the command, but every Rose has her thorns.  Rosheen slumped onto a stool and pushed her palms against the cool marble of the vanity, staring critically at her glass reflection.  

She had grey eyes, the same shape and color as her mother’s had been.  Her father often described them when it was late at night and Rosheen visited him in his study.  He would read to her in front of the fire where she could smell the old words on the pages of innumerable books that surrounded them.  Rosheen loved her father, though his quick wit and good humour seemed to be diminished in recent weeks.  She hoped it wasn’t on account of her brazen refusals to meet with prospective husbands.  Her father, Lord of the Reach, had once been a handsome man, though time had taken away most of his youthful vigour.  She had inherited his deep auburn hair and long angular face as well as his infamous god complex and the stubbornness of an Ox.  

Rosheen chuckled to herself, lost in contemplation, as she absentmindedly brushed through the tangles in her long hair she so fondly wore loose.  She knew the Septa and her father were worried and had only her best interests at heart, the Rose of Highgarden was getting old.  Alarmingly old for an unmarried lady of noble birth.  This year Rosheen was looking forward to her twentieth name day, most of the girls she was familiar with had been long since married with several children already bouncing around.  Unbidden, a grimace twisted her face at the thought.  She didn’t want to marry, nor did she desire children.  So many women perished upon giving birth despite having the best Maesters attending them.  Rosheen’s own mother had perished giving birth to her, as much as she had fought to stay in the world for her new daughter.  

Rosheen’s elder brother was of course able to do what he wished on account of him being a man. He had married a respectable lady, sired a son, and more than fulfilled his duty in their father’s eyes.  Rosheen was not close with Alister, he was over a decade her senior, and though they were blood related that is where the familiarity halted with cold indifference.  She resented her brother for being a man with all the free will she so desperately desired, and he blamed her for the death of their mother…

Rosheen slammed the brush down a little too hard and the glass of its handle cracked.

“Seven hells.”  She muttered, staring at the damage.  This was another problem: she was considered by many to be brutish, despite her fair face and no sane man would desire her.  Despite being told time and again how lovely she was there was no evidence of it in the way of suitors.  Perhaps it was because any man who looked at her too long was graced with a death glare to send the Warrior running. Maybe it was due to her strength of body, her tall frame and intimidating posture. Or perhaps it was because Rosheen spent all her spare time sparring with her swordplay tutor and holed up in the library with her nose deep in a book.  This was all voiced by her father of course, when they would debate the subject in private both with barely contained frustration with the other.  That is how their last conversation had ended, “You will go to King’s Landing and find a husband.  I have been far too lenient with you and your wishes, now it is your turn to fulfill duty.”

“Fuck duty.”  Rosheen ground her teeth at her reflection before standing up to change into her nightgown.  She loved Highgarden and was loathe to leave it, the fresh warm breeze wafting from the Mander river into her rooms.  The ridiculous yet endearing roses growing everywhere one looked, carved into every stone and decorating each tapestry.  It was even said abroad amongst the peasantry when a Tyrell farts it smells of roses.  With that silly thought a laugh bubbled forth from Rosheen’s chest and she sunk into her sweet-smelling blankets, pulling the fabric up to her chin.  At least at King’s Landing there were dragons, she hoped fervently to see one.  Perhaps not too close but she had read about them with ardor, devouring the pages with wide eyes.  As she drifted into sleep, she felt the familiar zephyr floating through the window to caress across her face and ruffle her hair.  In her dreams dragons flew around the moon and many silver-haired people rose up from the sea.

….

Several chaotic days filled with packing and suppressed nerves passed in a flurry of fabric and clenched fists.  All too soon Rosheen found herself packed into a cramped carriage and on her first trip to King’s Landing.  Septa Maude was accompanying her much to the younger woman’s chagrin, by the Mother’s grace the ride had been quiet for the first few hours.  Rosheen had not been able to say farewell to her father that morning as he was neck deep in business of the Reach.  She had found him the night before and kissed both his cheeks while tears fell down her own.

“Don’t make me go father.”  She had tried one last time to plead her way out of a duty she did not want.

Her father placed his hands on her upper arms as though she were still a skinny girl with cut knees, “Ros, you know I love you and want the best for you.  We are the lords of the Reach, the masters of Highgarden.  You are House Tyrell’s future, go to King’s Landing and perform your duty as my daughter and Rose of the Reach.”

Unbidden tears pricked at the corners of Rosheen’s eyes, and she quickly raised a gloved hand to dash them away.  Maude, though ever watchful, wisely made no comment.  Rosheen had never been far from home before, and she admitted silently to herself that she was frightened.  She had never looked so the part of a trueborn lady before today, her thick hair tied in a mixture of ropes and ringlets per the latest fashion of the Capital.  The gown she wore was much too cumbersome for her taste, the colors of her house on full display in garish green and gold.  Little to the Septa’s knowledge, Rosheen had hidden her small sword in and amongst the piles of gowns and fabrics packed for her journey.  Her father had gifted it to her on Rosheen’s seventeenth name day and she had promptly named it Thorn.  He had laughed at that, “An adequate name for the Rose of Highgarden!”

Rosheen knew it would be taken from her the moment Maude found out and she surreptitiously nudged the bag further under the bench she was seated on.  The journey was already proving arduous, and Rosheen found little comfort in the rickety coach.  King’s Landing was quite a journey, but she smelled it before she saw it.  “What in the Father’s name is that smell?”  Rosheen raised one gloved hand to cover her nose while the other opened the carriage window.  

Maude sniffed, seemingly unaffected, “Millions of people living on top of one another one would imagine.”

“Pestilence and dragon shit added to the mix!”  Rosheen laughed into her hand, her face screwed up against the offensive odor.

She ignored the protestations of “ladies do not speak in such a way” from her crotchety companion and continued craning to see out the small window.

Either Rosheen’s senses were getting used to the odor of King’s Landing or the air was freshening as the coach climbed higher towards the Red Keep.  Naturally the squalor would be reserved for those not of noble birth.  

Maude must have spied the bemused downturn of Rosheen’s mouth because she tapped the girl’s knee impatiently, “Turn that expression on your face into something more pleasant, we’re arriving.”

Rosheen’s frown deepened and her eyes betrayed her worry.  The carriage halted and the door opened, a bright rectangular portal to a strange new world.  Rosheen exited in front of the Septa, taking the hand of their driver for assistance.  It was a courtyard like any other Rosheen had seen, her feet sunk into soft, muddy earth and a scent of mildew met her nostrils making her nose wrinkle.  There was no welcome party, not that she had expected one, the double doors ahead of her opened and an elderly man stepped through his eyes appraising the new arrivals.  

“Welcome Lady Rosheen of House Tyrell, we have been expecting you!” He gestured for her to come forward and she moved to greet the man in the expected formal fashion, Septa Maude close on her heels.

“It is a pleasure to have the daughter of Lord Mandos grace the halls of the Red Keep.  We haven’t hosted your great house in many years! I am Maester Ucell, please follow me to your designated quarters.”  

Rosheen’s breath escaped in a soft gasp as she entered the grand hall.  She had heard tales and, of course read, all about the grandeur of the Red Keep.  However, none of that did the structure justice.  They walked under reaching stone archways and pillars of red stone, even the stones on the floor were decorated with intricate patterns while symbolic designs adorned the walls.  All the while Maester Ucell prattled on about the history of the place, though Rosheen paid little attention in her awestruck state.

“Many lords and ladies arrived before you so you shall not want for company, the MidSummer festival this year is predicted to be the greatest in recorded history!”  Maester Ucell beamed across at Rosheen as he opened a heavy oak door and gestured inside, “This is where you will be staying my lady.  Your Septa is right across the hall, two doors down.”

The man bowed and departed down the torch-lit hallway they had come from, Rosheen watched him go a moment before turning to Maude, “I’ll freshen up, perhaps explore the castle and…socialize.”  The last word caught on her teeth on the way out.

Maude’s mouth twitched, her eyes brightening a moment, “As you wish my lady, you know where to find me.  Just please do not wander as you so like to do!”  

Rosheen had already closed the door to her room and turned to press her back against the solid wood.  Closing her eyes briefly she smiled tightly to herself and moved to unpack the bags that had been brought ahead of them.

“I am going to lose my mind if I spend one more minute in this oppressive dress!”  Rosheen exclaimed and all but tore the heavy garment off her body, leaving it crumpled on the floor.

She searched through the largest bag and pulled out a preferred gown, much lighter and easier to move in.  Her hand dove into the bag once more and hit upon the hilt of her sword, Thorn, which she removed from its hiding-place with affectionate care.  Her hair was still a mess from the journey and strands of dark red hair kept falling before her eyes, but all the pent-up energy she felt needed release.  Hiding the small sword in the folds of her dress and undergown, Rosheen slipped silently out of her room and moved down the halls in search of a quiet place to practice.

Whenever she heard the sound of voices Rosheen veered in the opposite direction, and to her frustration there were a lot of voices to be heard.  Most talking and laughing loudly with youthful vigour.  It reminded her of the days she spent at Highgarden trying to find a man to marry, the memory of those harrowing parties made her arms tingle and her chest tighten.

Long legs make short work of long corridors and very quickly Rosheen found they had carried her out into a courtyard of sorts.  A raised hallway encompassed the square sparring ground, training dummies fixed at each corner and a weapon rack sitting at the far end. Rosheen scanned the area for signs of life, satisfied there was no one else there she descended the steps and entered the courtyard.

Supressed emotion welled up behind her eyes as she rolled her shoulders and swung her arms, warming up her muscles.  Septa Maude had not allowed Rosheen to bring the tunic and leggings she wore to spar with Master Wingrave.  The dress would be a burden but not inhibit her ability to give that training dummy a piece of her mind.  She resisted the urge to scream, or yell, or vent any of the frustration at being in this pit of a city.  This stone prison, the cage of duty to her family.  The privilege of being a woman doomed to tie herself to an uncaring man she did not love and bear his children.  

Rosheen had approached the straw mannequin now, Thorn in hand, and she gave a graceless swing.  The blade struck hard, cutting deep into the burlap fabric of the dummy. Grunting, Rosheen hit first the left side then the right, over and over each time imagining she were beating down the injustices in her life.  Venting her frustration on the poor straw figure until, with a weary groan, it toppled sideways onto the gravel with a thud of finality.  Rosheen panted, her right arm had no feeling, and she swiped the beading sweat from her forehead.  

“That was rather graceless…but effective against a stagnant opponent I suppose.”

The voice was quiet, but it caused Rosheen’s heart to nearly jump out of her chest nonetheless.  She uttered a soft yelp and spun around to face the intruder.  Her eyes didn’t know what to take in first: long silver hair, the black eyepatch, the one violet eye, or the smirk on his uncomfortably handsome face.  

When she did not volunteer an answer the boy, for he could not be older than she, swung his own sword up to rest on his shoulder and continued to appraise her with that unnerving eye, “I must admit I haven’t seen a woman train with a sword before, if that’s what you call whatever you were doing.”

Anger flared up in Rosheen’s chest at the jab and she stepped a few paces nearer though common sense warned her this was most likely a member of the royal family, “I know how to fight, my father hired the best swordsman from Dorne to teach me.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, though not a benevolent one, “The best swordsman in Dorne you say.  Well, let us determine how well he taught you shall we?”

A flourish of his wrist was Rosheen’s only warning to put her guard up before the metal of his sword arced towards her head.  She raised her arms just in time and Thorn’s steel rang loudly around the courtyard.

His face was very close to hers now, their heights were almost the same however his eye looked down at her face still with that calculating gleam, “Quick reflexes, however you’ll find me a tougher opponent than the vanquished fencing dummy.”

Rosheen’s eyes flickered to the collapsed strawman, too late she realized her mistake.  First rule of combat; never take your eyes off the opponent.  He moved quicker than a striking snake, Rosheen was able to parry the blow to her left arm but the flat of his blade struck her right hip with enough force to make her wince.  

She growled in frustration and whirled around to face him again. They had put some distance between each other now, and Rosheen circled the young man with silver hair warily her cheeks red from embarrassment.  All hints of amusement were gone from his face as they continued to move around each other, though Rosheen could not read the expression he wore.  She was on the defensive and he very much on the offensive, lunging at her several more times though she blocked each attack now with precision.  

The next time he moved to strike her legs she anticipated him and moved in towards him, positioning herself where she could take advantage of where he had left his left side wide open.  Though he wore a green sparring tunic they fought with sharp weapons and Roshleen did not wish to see her opponent hurt, more for her sake than his.  She spun into him as he went wide with his sword arm and smacked the flat of her blade against his side with a satisfying thwack. 

A huff of air escaped his mouth at the impact, and they moved to face each other once more.  The gleam of amusement was back in his violet eye and Roshleen herself couldn’t help but return the smirk.

“Good, it seems the men of Dorne aren’t quite as useless as I previously deemed.” His voice was nice, Roshleen mused to herself, soft but with a predatory undertone that hinted at danger.

The two opponents were getting ready to continue their sword dance, however Roshleen’s lunge was interrupted by a cacophony of voices as the doors nearest the courtyard swung wide and a group of people flooded out into the hallway above.

“Shit!” Roshleen swore, not caring about propriety in that moment as she quickly hid Thorn in her skirts.  

If she had been paying attention, she would’ve seen the genuine laugh that exclamation evoked from her sparring companion, but she had turned from him and quickly moved to the training dummy to set it back upright.  

“Prince Aemond there you are!  We have been looking everywhere for you, your brother insists you show us the dragon pit and your Vhagar, mightiest of dragons!”

They were tipsy, all of them, and this rather drunken request issued forth from a young man with golden hair and green eyes.  Rosheen had gone unnoticed for the present, and with tense shoulders she skirted around the edge of the courtyard to the base of the stairs.  Several giggling girls were gathered there, they paid no heed to Rosheen and seemed engaged with trying to catch Prince Aemond’s eye.

Prince Aemond, because of course he was a prince, Rosheen could’ve smacked herself, waved off the request, “Aegon is drunk.  As are you Martyn Lannister, though neither comes as a great surprise.”

His head turned and his eye found the gaze of Rosheen again.  The girls next to her, seeming to think he looked at them, giggled harder.  Rosheen gave them a look of mild disgust before turning to hurry up the stairs, past Martyn Lannister who was still trying to get the Prince’s attention, and down the hallway. She could feel his eye burning a hole into her back the whole way.  Only when Rosleen was sure she was out of sight did she break out into a run.

__________________

And that’s chapter one, this took me ages. I wrote it in one 3 hr sitting hahaha I am not manic! Hope you enjoyed!  Please give it some grace, it’s the first fanfic I’ve ever written!

#aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house tyrell oc #because I love Margaery and Olenna

[peyton-warren]

Blinded by the Fog Part 6

Characters: Reader, Jolene, Aubrey Clay(OC), Madre Alverez (OC) and Syverson Pairings: Jake Jensen x Reader Word count: 2210

Type: angst and fluff

Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. guilt, self-depreciation, self-doubt, loss of spouse and found family, swearing. Therapy/ emotional baggage type language.

Summary: Reader thinks about the new man in her life and the one she recently lost.

Author's Note: I admit this is partly self-indulgent as I fight with my own demons of self-doubt and self-worth. Its been a hard couple of years months lately. Thank you to @adulting-sucks for her continued support, pushing me to not give up even though Reader has been a bit difficult lately.

Ask Box: Open

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Part 5

You somehow managed to evade Sy and everyone else for the better part of a week.  Well,  "managed" is a strong word for how your week went after acting like a complete fool in front of Sy Saturday morning.  

Ever the infuriating gentleman, Sy gave you the rest of Saturday to yourself only after he texted to make sure you got home ok.  And try as you might to avoid him, Jiminy Cricket on your shoulder insisted you needed to reply; if you didn’t, you knew Sy would be standing on your porch quicker than you could blink.  So you allowed yourself one thumbs up emoji, and immediately silenced your phone, sending it to parts unknown across the living room.  

Pulling your clothes from your body, you tossed them at the hamper in the corner of your bedroom on your way to the bathroom. Still refusing to look at yourself in the mirror on your way through, you headed for an excessively long shower that would hopefully clear your head.  You felt like such an idiot for reacting the way you did, an overdramatic fool who needed to get her shit together.  Jolene was counting on you......

 -and you silenced your fucking phone, god you were STILL a melodramatic moron.  

Dripping from the shower, conditioner still in your hair, you nakedly stomped your way through the house and searched for your phone for a good 5 minutes before your shivering fingers found it wedged behind an old text book from college. Wiping your cold wet hand on a nearby throw blanket, you unlocked your phone to find Jolene still hadn’t contacted you. Choosing to unsilence your phone, you sent her a quick check-in message before only silencing Sy's number .  You ignored the disappointment in the hole where your heart was supposed to be when you realized that he hadn't sent you any more messages after your thumbs up.  

With a huff of indignation, you took the phone with you to the bathroom. Sy was an infuriating individual, you reasoned with yourself as you stepped back into the spray of now warm water.  He had the audacity to just come into your life, be the exact person you needed right now, and then unknowingly distract you from mourning your husband by being... his fucking self.  

And then there was your husband.  And the loss of him.  And the rest of your favorite A-team.  

Shaking your head at yourself, you forced yourself to not look past the loss of your husband to stare at the loss of all 5 men on that copter, all of whom you knew you would mourn for the rest of your days.   You needed to focus on the loss of Jake, deal with the ends he left loose, the promises never to be fulfilled, the adventures never to be had together, the years you still had in front of you without him.  You two weren't babies, but you were far from an ancient woman.  You had made so many plans together, places to see, things to taste, sounds to hear, things to feel.  Together.  And now...now if you still wanted all those things, you had to do them without the one person on the planet that you adored with every fiber of your being.  

A horrible sounding sob rang through the bathroom as you allowed yourself to curl into a ball on the floor of the shower.  How were you going to manage without JJ around?   How could this just be it?   How could everything you had with Jake just come to this? A paltry few years together And then nothing. He was always there from the time you were 8.  You had no idea how to function without him.  And this hard ass routine was doing nothing to help.  

Suddenly, you felt so tired, so exhausted.  You felt like you needed to sleep for a month, even though last night you had slept better than you had since Jake's death.  Rinsing yourself off, you finally let yourself admit that you were able to sleep so well because you trusted Aaran Syverson.  You were able to relax enough last night because you knew you were safe. He had done nothing to give you any reason to think his intentions were anything other than honorable.  

He helped you forget what you were going through while still supporting you when it did come to the foreground.  He rolled with you as you wrestled with your grief, and he smiled with you when you were able to put it to the side.  He had found ways to support you that didn't seem overwhelming or suffocating, allowing you to be your own person, deal or not deal with your emotions as you needed, always just an arm's reach away.  But you had to admit to yourself that the horrid voice in the back of your head wasn't completely off track.  You found Sy attractive, but fuck what person with a pulse wouldn't?  

Toweling yourself off , you finally looked at yourself in the mirror.  Meeting your eyes, you let the guilt of his comfort well in your heart.   You had loved Jake Jensen most of your life, you weren't sure what you were supposed to do with the potential feelings for someone else.  Hell you weren't even sure if Sy felt the same way.  Yes, he was a great friend which you needed so deeply right now, could there be more on his side?

You recalled the times he had called you "baby" over the past few weeks, replaying every single one that you could remember.  Friends don't really call each other that, do they?   Maybe they did in Texas?  

His initial concern stemmed from Madre's insistence he bring you food.  But things had well and progressed since that drunken night.  You had to admit to yourself that you doubted yourself around Aaran, you were afraid of what that trust and comfort would turn into.  You were a grieving widow, mourning a man you had known most of your life.   How dare you shift your focus onto a man who you'd known for just a few short months.  You needed to adjust that.  

You called out of work on Monday, continuing to hide from the world.  On Sunday, Jolene had responded to your text that she was fine and that Madre wanted to have you both and Aubrey over on Friday for dinner, and she wasn't taking no for an answer.  It had been over a month since the four of you had gotten together, and you couldn't ever say no to her.  Ever.  

Come Tuesday morning, while waiting in line at your favorite coffee shop, you hazarded a glance at your silenced messages to find that Sy had sent you two.  One was on Monday morning asking how you were, if you were alright and if the two of you  could talk.  The second one had a time stamp of later that day saying he was being sent out the following morning for an unknown amount of time by the Army and if he didn’t have a message from you when he returned, he promised to leave well enough alone.  

You couldn’t stop your heart from sinking to your toes at the thought of another super secret mission, another chance for someone else you cared about getting hurt, or even worse. Glancing at your watch even without knowing what time his debrief was this morning, you were certain his phone was off and tucked away somewhere by now, not to be touched until his return.  Not that you had any idea what to say to him.  Your mind just whirled with all the things you wished you had said to Jake before he left, and none of those seemed appropriate with Sy.  And did you even want him to contact you when he returned?  He was giving you an out, a free and clear out to not deal with whatever the fuck had been building between you.  Should you take it?   

What you did decide to take was another day off from work, claiming another mental health day, which your boss was understanding about, especially after all the ones you didn’t take after the accident.  

The rest of the week you pondered what to send to Sy’s phone, if anything.  You had wanted a break from him so you could clear your mind and focus on the loss of Jake, and what your life now was going to look like.  And instead you spent the week dwelling on what you felt about another man.  World’s best widow right here folks, right here.  

By the time you were on your way to Madre’s Friday night, you were no closer to figuring out what to say to Sy than you were to figuring out what you were going to do now that Jake was gone.   You tried to push all of it aside as the front door opened to reveal the youngest member of your found family, her bright eyes shining the same way Clay’s did when he saw you.  You tried to hold back the tears as Aubrey hugged you close.  Her school schedule made it hard for her to get together with any of you lately and you were so glad she had come tonight.  “Good to see you, munchkin,” you mumbled into her shoulder, as she stood a good head taller than you.  You had known the young woman more than half her life by now, having watched her grow from a gangly preteen into the goddess before you.  

“Good to see you too, Auntie.” Your hug tightened on both sides, both of you acutely aware of your loss, both of you too stubborn to ask for help in your own grief, clinging to each other for a moment of solace and comfort.  

After a few silent moments, you stepped back to place a kiss on the redhead’s cheek.  “How’s school?” you asked, squeezing her hand before stepping further into the house.  “You doing ok with everything?”

Aubrey shrugged as she half led the way through the small house, her heels clicking against the hardwood. “Profs have been pretty understanding with it all.  Forcing myself to focus on school work has helped keep me from losing my mind, ya know?”

You half laughed at her statement. “Oh I do know, munchkin.  I do know.”   You gently squeezed her arm before you reached the threshold of the kitchen where you could hear Jolene and Madre chattering.  “We are here for you…I’m here for you,” you continued.  “You are not in this alone, you know.  I love you,” you said with a choked voice.  “They loved you.”   

Aubrey’s eyes met yours, tears filling both of your visions. “Fuck you,” she muttered lowly, no anger in her tone.  “You had to do that now didn’t you?” She wiped delicately around her eyes, clearly trying not to spoil her well done make up with her well appointed nails.  “God I hate you.” 

You smiled through your own pain. “No you don’t.  Suck it up, buttercup.”

She flipped you off as she headed toward the bathroom. Laughing softly, you entered the kitchen to find the other two women in the room, sharing a story about something.  You kissed Madre’s cheek where she stood at the stove before making your way over to hug Jolene where she sat on a chair, looking stunningly beautiful in all her momma glory.  Not even pausing to interrupt the conversation, you grabbed the stack of plates and silverware on the counter and made your way to the dining room, putting yourself to work, helping where you could. 

After settling the fifth plate down, you realized Madre must have miscounted as she pulled them out tonight.  It happened. You set it to the side as you started putting out the forks, quickly realizing there were five of them as well. Wait….

There was a knock on the front door as you literally did the math.  After the door opened, heavy booted footsteps were heard as your heart sped up.  Aubrey’s squeal echoed from the front hallway as a familiar voice rumbled off the walls. “Hello, beautiful,” Sy told her. 

“Haven’t seen you in ages,” the young girl admitted, with joy in her voice.  You heard them hug and you suddenly remembered the conversation you and Sy had at your kitchen table all those weeks ago.  A new emotion entered your stomach, swirling with all the others, one you didn’t particularly like the flavor of-  jealousy.  Had Sy and Aubrey really slept together? Was that the history he and Clay had?  

“Was very sorry to hear about your dad, kiddo,” Sy mumbled softly.  Kiddo.  That was the same nickname Clay had for you.  And there’s nothing untoward between you and the Colonel.  That surely was the same for these two, right?   Your brain and your anxiety stormed, trying to make sense of everything. 

“Thank you.  I appreciate that,” she said as the two of them entered the dining room on their way to the kitchen.  You swallowed hard as your eyes met Sy’s.  With steely eyes that gave nothing away, he gave you a solitary nod before following Aubrey into the kitchen. 

Guess you now knew who the fifth plate was for.  

Chapter 7

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M07belzen Used-to-be-bourbonwithice @hawklin

#Blinded by the fog series #jake jensen x female reader #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen angst #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fic #captain syverson x reader #henry cavill character x reader #chris evans character x reader #captain syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson #captain sy #mourning #jake jensen fanfic #the losers movie #the losers (2010) #blinded by the fog series #syverson angst #the losers fanfiction #sand castle fanfiction #Henry cavill character x reader #chris evans #Henry Cavill #captain syverson smut #captain syverson x you #captain syverson #captain syverson angst #captain syverson x f!reader #jake jensen fluff

[lyntergalactic]

lyn reads triple zero - finale

by which i mean i finished it last night and i have Thoughts

first off, it was a decently enjoyable book when i managed to turn off my brain. solid 3 stars. there's a lot of good here that i actually really liked, it's just... unfortunately balanced out by a lot of bad that made me want to throw my phone across the room.

so here we go. thoughts, in no particular order:

1.) i genuinely love the characters. even ones like kal who i hate as much as i love. i can see why people who don't do more than a surface reading like him. personally, i love how crunchy a character he is and how all his many flaws make him this unintentionally complex character. i just want to pick his brain apart.

i could ramble on about everyone but it's a lot of "these feelings i already had about these characters have been reinforced like crazy" which basically means i'm fascinated by all of them, want to get all of them therapy, and also want to write all the fic where they get to have healthier relationships lol

2.) there's a lot of yelling in tcw side of fandom about how the clones should get chances to act like the dumb college age kids they are, and they get to in this book!! i think some of my favorite moments were when the boys were egging each other on and giving each other shit. especially that fi and sev bit with the ladder, at least until sev hurts himself. like how fucking dumb is that but also how fucking typical of 20-ish year olds?

3.) fi is gay. fi is so gaaaaay. there are so many little points in his narration where it's like "ah, yes. he is absolutely attracted to [X] person" but beyond that, his whole little subplot about feeling like something in his life is missing? wanting a normal life and a girlfriend, etc? it's juxtaposed against etain and darman so much that it comes across like fi is in love with darman and just doesn't realize.

yes, i have a new ship. yes, i'm going to write horribly angsty fic for it. why do you ask?

4.) etain and darman are cute when KT isn't pushing her weird ass heteronormative agenda. though my aroace ass literally yelled at my phone "YOU'VE KNOWN HIM FOR A CUMULATIVE WEEK AND CHANGE, YOU DON'T LOVE HIM YET" when they had their first lil heart to heart and slept together that first time. but, again, they're young 20-somethings who might die at any time, i can forgive them that.

shit, i can even forgive etain's whole pregnancy thing--to a point--because she's a dumb kid who is going through a crisis of faith. (more on that specifically in a sec) but jfc kal's reaction to it all was--idefk. he's absolutely right to be furious with etain. what she did was stupid in the first place, not well thought through, and she's putting a hell of a lot at risk by going through with it.

but everything else about his reaction was just--dude. what the actual fuck. and 60% of that is his clinging to his bizarre conservative mando ideals while 40% is his utter disdain for the jedi and i just--UUUUGH.

5.) every time the jedi came up in narration. every. fucking. time. i wanted to scream. i know KT has terrible opinions on them. i've read most of the other books!! but oh my god it was especially bad.

do i think it would be interesting for etain and bardan to have crises of faith because of the war? absolutely. in fact, it even makes sense that they would!! but the way KT goes about it is just fucking baffling.

which is really highlighted by that one conversation etain has with ordo where he says "nah, you've got a worse life than i do because i was adopted but you were given away to strangers by your parents" and i'm just

THE FUCK DO YOU THINK HAPPENS TO NON-JEDI KIDS WHEN THEY GET ADOPTED, ORDO???? THEY'RE GIVEN AWAY TO STRANGERS BY THEIR PARENT(S).

there is just. so much. so much about the jedi that's so wrong and that if it was written rightly should've fucking changed entire character interactions and plot and it infuriates me.

6.) everything about the mission is just. plot holes all over. if i take it at surface value and treat it like a bad action movie that's just here for entertainment i'm fine, but the second i stop to actually think about how this whole mission is happening i'm just--that's not how this works. that's not how any of this works. how are you all not dead???

but, you know. whatever. i can deal with it. there were highly entertaining moments. i literally cackled out loud when fi told kal that he and sev planted explosives in the one dude's car and kal was like "... the car i was in?? FI." and i'm real intrigued by bardan as like... the commandos' Q figure. it's highly entertaining.

7.) i have A Lot of Opinions about the weird ass brand of masculinity KT's characters subscribe to. but one thing i appreciate is that her male characters cry and aren't thought of as less for it. it's one bastion of good in a sea of blegh.

8.) i mostly stopped capping bits as i got sucked in but i did nab this bit which made me laugh and is a good bit to end on. (i forgot what my other points were gonna be; work distracted me lkajsdf)

fi as a musical fan is my new favorite headcanon. i don't care if grease doesn't actually exist in the gffa.

also i need a crossover with mass effect where he and garrus exchange sniping playlists.

#lyn reads repcomm

[twiceasfrustrating]

OM Omegaverse - Satan (SFW)

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: GN/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Satan, Mammon

Additional Tags: omegaverse, fluff, headcanons and short fic, SFW edition

Summary: Sometimes, instincts take over.

Satan is an Omega, much to his infuriation. Lucifer is an Alpha, after all, so it’s just another discrepancy between the two that has driven him mad for years.

Satan doesn't nest, not in the traditional sense at least. He rejects a lot of the tropes of being an omega so his nest is… well, he makes one but it usually ends up getting destroyed as soon as he realizes what he’s done.

As the only brother who was born a demon, he has control over his heat which is far better than the others. He uses his control to try and overpower his instincts, as he finds being driven by them to be unpleasant.

He is almost nearly 90% functional during his heats. He can still attend class, study, and take care of his other needs but the other 10% is constantly staring at the object of his affection (MC).

He’s more snippy and quick to anger when his heat hits and it gets worse the longer his heat goes. By the end, the sound of a dripping faucet is enough to set him off on a rage-fueled rampage.

He would really like to hold hands though (with MC). 

He fluffed the final pillow, carfully placing it down with the others before curling up in the pile he had made with his book. The library was quiet and calm in a way that no other place could possibly be.

That was until Mammon decided he needed to barge into his quiet sanctuary and ruin his moment of peace. “Satan, are ya in he- What’re you doing?” He asked as he was finally close enough to see just where Satan was hiding.

“Clearly,” he said without raising his eyes from his book, “I am trying to read. What do you need?”

“Yeah… If you’re gonna nest, can ya do it in your room?���

“Pardon me?” That statement was enough to finally make him pay attention.

“Ya know, I don’t get it but shouldn’t it be private?”

“I’m not nesting,” he said as his eyebrows furled and he stared up pointedly at his brother. There was murder in his gaze.

“Uhh, sure… Whatever ya say. I was just lookin’ for ya so I could… Ehh, I’ll ask Asmo instead since you’re busy.” With that, Mammon left as just quickly as he’d arrived.

Satan waited for the hurried footsteps to fade off somewhere into the distant background before taking a close look at where exactly he was; surrounded by pillows that he has subconsciously circled around himself to mark his space versus the rest of the world.

With a sigh, he carefully set down his book and picked up one of the pillows instead before tearing it in half. The fluff inside scattered around him and he swore he saw red before moving to pick up the next one and throwing it halfway across the room.

#obey me satan #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #headcanon #obey me omegaverse #mine #fluff #obey me fluff

[thenastyotherblog]

Four, studying different types of phobias. She keeps frowning, growling, her tail increasingly thumping against the floor faster and faster until she just throws the book across the room.

"This is bullshit!"

"Language!" Tai scolds her, barely avoiding the projectile. "What's wrong pumpkin? Having trouble with your studies?" Must be, when he picks up the book he gets dizzy of how small the letters are.

Four just groans, sliding from the couch to the floor with a thud. "When I'm gonna treat a person with that kind of phobia? It's so ridiculous!" She says, voice muffled against the floor.

"You never know kiddo! Better be prepared" He meant this. His daughter's decision to be a therapist and help people with their fears was something, Tai was proud about. However, the psychotherapy field proved to be as ruthless as the hero one. It was not the first time and God know it wouldn't be the last, that he almost got hit with a book when Four gets upset about her studies. It had already happen before, Tai could vividly remember the pain. "What's the phobia? Can't be that silly"

Taishiro felt his kid's glare from the other side of the room. She had to push herself back up, sitting criss-crossed before taking a long breath.

"Luposlipaphobia"

There was a time where doctors assured Tai that even though Four's vocal cords healed, she wouldn't be able to properly talk.

And there she was, proving everyone wrong.

He stayed still in disbelief at the long ass word his daughter just threw at him.

"Pardon?" Tai faces twist as he tries to hold a chuckle.

Four's tail thumps the floor again. She knows her dad is trying not to laugh but even the name of the stupid phobia is so ridiculous how could he not? "Luposlipaphobia"

"And what's that?"

"You are gonna laugh"

"I wont"

"You are already laughing!"

"Come on pumpkin, tell your old man"

With a sigh, Four finally explains:

"is the fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor"

Tai wheezes the moment she is done explaining. What in the actual fuck?

"Dad! You said you wouldn't laugh!" Four yells, upset.

But the pro-hero erupts into laughter, trying to even imagine when that specific situation would even happen. "I mean! It-It could happen if you think about it!"

"IT WONT!" Four says, throwing herself into the couch. Tai sitting next to her, chuckling. "Chased by timber wolves?"

"Maybe they escaped from a zoo!" Tai suggests.

"Around a kitchen table??"

"They escaped and got into someone's house!"

"...wearing socks..."

"Could be winter, it's cold"

"IN A NEWLY WAXED FLOOR????"

"WOOD FLOOR!"

Four groans loudly into a pillow because, even when is so stupid, and ridiculous and improbable, her dad just pointed out that /IT CAN BE POSSIBLE/ and it infuriates her that he is right.

Taishiro chuckles again, rubbing her daughter's back. "Let's take a break, alright? I bring your favorite for dinner!"

"....ok"

"Now, want to tell me more about these?" Tai lightly hit Four's head with the ungodly big book she was studying.

"Weeeell- there is Arachibutyrophobia"

"And what's that?"

"Uuuuh, fear peanut butter sticking to your palate"

"That's scary!"

"It's not!"

"Is not? Care to tell me again why you won't eat peanut butter unless you have a glass of milk young lady?" Tai inquiries, rising an eyebrow.

Four's ears drop. "Ok, it is scary".

#4 the feral child #bnha oc #mha oc #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum #i remembered that stupid phobia and this pop out

[idreamofhamandcheese]

find the word tag!!

i love these thanks @the-stray-storyteller

my words: Crowd, Slip, Grow, Energy, Defense

I'm going to try to pull from only my most recently completed book and my current draft! Two very different stories lmao. Probably will be a lot more of last book, since new project is early days!

CROWD (from last book)

And then, like some sick divine joke, the crowds parted and there he stood. One hand in his pocket like the world wasn’t disintegrating around him, a gun dripping from his opposite fingers, glinting in the fiery glow. His sharp features were lit from beneath, casting long, monstrous shadows over his face. Reza’s eyes met mine, and even though we were half a ballroom apart, I thought I caught a glimpse of something in his expression— guilt? An apology, maybe?

But then it was gone. He was cold, cruel, the picture of Claw ice, surrounded by fire. In this light, I couldn’t be sure he was even human.

I was wounded, oozing with betrayal, reeling from the cold shock of it. But there, again, over everything, was anger. And it was scalding.

SLIP (from current project)

The page edges were uneven, rippled with heavy use. I paused, a finger slipped under the cover. Margot Aoki was a century dead. A century murdered, charred remains found lying at the bottom of the well on the edge of campus. A century unsolved, despite the private detectives, the armchair sleuths, the documentarians and the message-board aficionados. But what was so often forgotten was that, before she’d been a dead girl, she’d been a live one. One who had cared enough about her privacy to weld it to the inner machinations of a typewriter.

GROW (from current project)

Her pages were brief but detailed, reading more like witness statements than diary entries.

September 2. Train food utterly miserable-- veal and beetroot in a sauce like wallpaper paste. Cabin acquaintance is decrepit woman who has more luggage than kohl around eyes, which is some feat. Horrible. Monogrammed. Lime green. Will not cease offering of pastilles, as though am some sort of radioactive gelatin altar deity. Growing increasingly nauseous. Desperately need cigarette; cannot pry window open; just as well as am half of mind to throw self out of it.

ENERGY (from last book) {wtf i used the phrase "crackled with energy" far too much in this book}

He’d gotten good.

Why was I surprised? Reza spoke in riddles, in a way that infuriated my straightforward tendencies, but he never told an outright lie. He knew better than to insult me with that. But this, these twisting words and half spoken thoughts, things I saw him set up so carefully to ensnare me, just kicked me off further. Of course, when he’d told me in his bedroom that he’d been practicing, I’d known it a half truth. But I hadn’t guessed the whole of it.

Where I attacked the card table, he dissected it, probing with an evenness that interlocked head-on with the horns of my ferocity. Where I crackled, red-hot with the energy of the room, he languished in the kind of impenetrable surety that came from a life of security. Because where I flirted with ruin at the break of each game, each case, each smoky night in this city, he floated above it all. And as the evening crumbled into Mei’s quick hands, my fever distilled into a substance darker, purer. Resentment, cloying and scorched.

DEFENSE (from last book)

But no footsteps came rushing. Instead, with such decisiveness that I barely saw it happen, Reza clamped a hand on my wrist, knocking my pistol to the floor. Together, we watched it skid across the floorboards and disappear under his bed. The catsuit barely had breathing room for one holster, so I’d left my trusty knife behind, never having anticipated I’d be disarmed so easily. I was defenseless.

His hand was still on my wrist. I wrenched it up, catching him off-kilter and using the propulsion to switch our positions so that I was backing him against the wall. Knowing I couldn’t overpower him with sheer strength, I reached for the nearest weapon: the knife I knew he kept in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. My fingers brushed the solid mass of his torso before fumbling around the hilt of his knife. It was a heftier blade than my own stiletto, but it glittered just as prettily pressed to his throat.

TAGS:

@midnight-and-his-melodiverse @avocado-frog @ddbirb

your words: divine, century, horrible/ horror, crack, blade

#writing #writeblr

[simmysunset]

Whoever Loves Her Next - 05

wordpress version

I cry the entire way to the hotel closest to the airport. The woman at the front desk clearly notices that I’ve been crying from my red, puffy eyes, but doesn’t make a big deal out of it. I’m thankful for that.

Once I’m into my small room, I disregard my suitcase onto the floor and toss my purse onto the dresser. However, it lands just on the edge and starts to tip over. I get to it a second too late, and all of the contents spill across the floor. I want to scream in frustration.

I ignore it at first, stomping into the bathroom to relieve myself and wash my face of snot and tears. Only after this, do I head back to deal with the mess.

At first, none of the items in my purse are surprising. Wallet, gum, earbuds, phone charger. All the normal things you’d probably find in somebody’s bag. But when I go to pick up the short story I’ve been reading, I notice an envelope sticking out from underneath it. I know what it is, but somehow it still shocks me when I move the book off of it.

It’s that damn letter.

I pick it up off the ground and get to my feet, running my finger over his chicken-scratch handwriting. Despite it being messy, I had gotten used to reading his writing. And the words on the envelope, as smudged as they were, meant everything to me.

My feet carry me to the bed, and I fall onto it, my sore back sinking into the plush blankets. I hold the envelope up to the ceiling light, trying to see what’s inside. All it reveals to me is that there are a few papers with writing on them.

Harry sent it to me a mere week after I left him. We hadn’t spoken since that morning, and I was beyond shocked not only that it arrived, but that it wasn’t even addressed to me. He had put it in a cardboard envelope with about a dozen “do not bend” stickers on it. Inside, was this letter.

A letter to whoever would love me next.

It did, and still does, confuse me to no end as to why he would give this to me. Why he would even want to be known by whoever loved me next? Did he really think himself that important to my personality that the person who came after him needed to know who he was?

With a huff of frustration, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My eyes flutter over to the trashcan in the corner, and for a moment, I’m sure that I’m going to put it there by the time I’m gone tomorrow. But just before I stand up to throw it in, I decide that I want to know what he said.

So, I open the letter.

To whoever loves her next,

At this point, you probably don’t even know who I am. If I’m being totally honest, it wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t mention me anymore. I know what I did. I know how much I hurt her. And because of me, it’s going to be up to you to pick up the pieces.

I never wanted to imagine her with someone other than me. Just the idea of hands that weren’t mine on her made me sick. And despite that she hated my jealousy, I never failed to make it known. I never failed to infuriate her to the point of tears. I fucked up, and I know that I did, just as I know that it’s too late for me to fix it.

But it’s not too late for you. She may not look it, but she is so much stronger than you would ever believe. Far stronger than I, that’s for sure. So, I do believe that you’ll be able to fix what I broke, you just might need some help along the way.

That’s why I wrote this letter.

Not because I think you’re incapable. Not because I still want to say I have a claim over her. But because I want to be sure that whoever comes after me knows the steps to take so they don’t hurt her the way that I did. Because while she is strong, a person can only take so many punches before their jaw breaks.

So, here’s my guide on how to not break her jaw. Here is how you’re going to avoid the same path that I took. Because what I did? Nobody deserves that. Especially not the most important person I’ve ever known.

You can throw this letter away if you want. You can burn it for all I care. You might not even read this damn thing. But I want to be perfectly clear and visible when I say this.

Do not take her for granted, or you will lose the best thing that has ever happened to you.

And attached to the letter, are at least three pages of a list that looks about a mile long. Every single one of the bullet points contains something that pertains to me. Whether it be about the ins and outs of my family members, or the way I tend to open up more when I’m eating rice krispy treats. There’s even a note when he mentions the stuffed rabbit I sleep with every night, saying how sometimes you take offense to me wanting to cuddle it more than you.

I can’t help but laugh when I read some of the things on the list. At others, I grit my teeth in annoyance that he’s right. And I cry, not only at those that remind me of all too painful memories, but because this letter has made me realize that no one would ever love me as much as Harry Blanchard does.

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#eeeeeek #we got the title reveal ladies and gentlemen! #(and theydies and gentlethems) #so i can officially say “roll credits” #lolz #anywayssss #what do we think this means for the future?? #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling #*whoever loves her next