#utterly cursed seeing cloud smile like My Man. Do Not <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teklarn · 3 years

Note

hi, this is my first ever ask so I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, if that's the case I'm sorry; I don't know how tumblr works just yet >:')

would it be possible for you to write something about bakugo, pining incredibly hard for fem!reader and initially hating how strongly he feels about her? because they're not even friends, they only exchange few words occasionally and she doesn't even glance at his way whereas he slowly finds himself unable to divert his eyes from her during classes? shes always with damn deku and his friends and doesn't even seem interested in him at all but his heart can't ignore the way she looks at him proudly whenever they spar together, the way she sends him small confident smiles as they fight each other with all they have; so he thinks that maybe, maybe he might have a chance. basically bakugo liking reader so much he's completely lost in self-hatred because he always thought feelings were for weak romantics and not great people like him, but everytime he sees reader doing some badass things (again, like sparring with him and basically matching his skills etc...) he's reminded of how badly he likes reader? but when he finally accepts he's fallen for reader, after ignoring and trying to forget about how she makes him feel, he masters up the courage to confess? and it's a very clumsy confession because he's awkward and has no idea how to deal with those feelings? and he tries so hard to make reader realise he's never been more serious than now? and reader is startled and speechless before rejecting him? and at that point he's just completely humiliated, so he nods and walks away.

it might be a little dramatic but I've always been into unrequited love and one-sided pining. thank you, its okay if you don't want to write about this, i'll understand <33

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader (my hero academia)

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

a/n: AHHHHH this is so cute <33 honestly this is super exciting for me and this ask made me so happy, lovey. i’m fairly new to tumblr, i’m usually just a reader but i wanted to migrate here from wattpad so this made me so happy. here u are my love <33 i hope this lives up to what u wanted !! :)) a bit lengthy, but i had a lot of fun writing it !!!

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you.

genre: fluffy, fluffier than the clouds istg, however the clouds are sprinking a little teeny weeny droplet of angst.

warnings: cursing (bakugou, duhh), one-sided pining (on bakugou’s part) second hand embarrassment (on bakugou’s part bc we can all agree he’s a complete idiot when it comes to trying to get someone’s attention), just bakugou being a jackass, i gave the reader a quirk

word count: 3,859

(pls excuse any typos or mistakes, i edited to the best of my ability but i miss some things sometimes !)

- - -

part 2 is here my loves <3

brutal. it was utterly ruthless. he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think right. his hands were already exceptionally sweaty, but gosh when he saw your damn face, he was ready to explode. literally.

what the hell was it about you? was it your stupid smile? or the way you just seemed to carry every battle on your back? was it all the undeniably sweet things you do for others ‘just because’?

it made him angry that he thought about you, but gosh he couldn’t wait to see you every day.

just like any other day, bakugou found himself staring at the large door to the classroom, awaiting the moment you would bounce into his day, skirt shifting around your legs, bag slung loosely around your shoulders.

his leg was bouncing eagerly.

bakugou didn’t know when the feelings came. his cheeks just started flaring up all of a sudden and one day you just looked...different. you hadn’t done anything different to yourself. it was just him. not that he would ever admit that, to you or anybody else.

you were insufferable. you were stupid and obnoxious and so...so damn...

“y/n! come look at this!”

you’d come walking into class just as expected, and as soon as you did, that stupid nerd had called you over.

it didn’t help that deku sat right behind him, either. the two of you had recently gotten closer. bakugou noticed it last month when he yelled at the two of you to shut up about all might and get to work. he’d turned around to find you leaning over deku, hands resting on his shoulders while you peered at his phone.

“sorry, bakugou,” you’d said, barely acknowledging him. you had waved him off like an annoying fly. is that all you were to him? some nuisance that got in the way of your oh-so-entertaining conversations with deku?

all he heard nearly every day was your chipper voice talking to deku. always, “oh my gosh, midoriya, did you see the fight edgeshot was in last night?” or “midoriya! i have something to add to our quirk analysis book!”

that was the one that took the cake. you two dorks shared a notebook, occasionally passed between one another, and filled it with junk about quirks and pro heroes. but no matter how much he tried to tune you out, no matter how he tried to zone off and think about something else, you were always there. it made him want to vomit how much he thought about you.

you were doing an adorable shuffle over to midoriya’s desk and leaned over the table as you usually did while he angled his phone your way. “did you see this hero report?”

deku let you slip the phone out of his grasp to get a better look.

“no,” you breathed. “was this just recent?”

“yeah,” deku said, taking the phone back. “last night.”

“holy—”

“can you guys shut up over there?” bakugou said, his voice quaking.

“sorry, kacchan.” deku scrolled through the article.

dammit, bakugou thought. “i wasn’t talking to you, nerd. i was talking to shitface over here.” he jerked his head towards you. his eyes flared in anger when he saw you were looking down at your phone, now focused in on the article yourself. “i was talking to you, asshat!”

your eyes flicked up to his. you looked around for a moment before slowly pointing to yourself as if to say, “me?”

his face scrunched. “yeah, you. you’re so damn loud.” gosh, he hated how his voice was cracking, how he could feel his ears and cheeks lighting up in a swollen, cherry red. his stomach flipped.

she’s looking at you, gosh i’m sweating. i’m going to throw up. she’s so gorgeous. what the hell? they’re ugly as shit, i don’t think anything of them.

his eyes bore into yours.

“did you...need something?”

your voice broke his trance.

“kacchan, are you okay? you dozed off there for a second. you look like you’re burning up.”

bakugou looked to deku who was currently stretching out of his seat, arm extended. he pressed the back of his hand to bakugou’s forehead. “you’re really warm, kacchan. should we call recovery girl?”

it took him a moment to realize what was happening. his vision got blurry every time he was with you. bakugou smacked deku’s hand away. “i’m fine!” his voice lifted at the end, cracking. “i’m not sick. don’t you think i’d take better care of myself?”

“i don’t doubt you take good care of yourself, kacchan, but everyone gets sick once in a while. there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“i never get sick!” besides, if i got sick, i wouldn’t want you to be the one taking care of me.

he was still pissed. he was always in a bad mood, however, more so right now because you’d gone straight back to your phone and that stupid hero article that was supposedly so damn interesting.

soon enough, the bell rang, and you were seated at your desk. it was jirou’s old spot, however, after much convincing, you two had switched spots so you could be closer to deku. just a few months of getting close to the idiot and you two are suddenly best friends. jirou hadn’t minded one tiny bit, claiming she needed a break from how loud that section of the room was.

late as always, aizawa came trudging into your room. thankfully, his entire body wasn’t obscured by a yellow sleeping bag that smelled of something unwashed and coffee and gasoline. (for some reason, aizawa’s clothes always smelled of it.)

“lucky for you,” he began while shuffling papers on his desk, “all of you are doing training for these first periods.”

the class cheered in perfect unison, followed by their individual chatter. you had erupted with glee along with them, and bakugou was sure he felt his heart clench and then explode. just a tiny bit. but he shoved the feeling down just as quickly as it had come up.

“go out to the field and wait for further instructions. don’t make a sound in the halls otherwise, i’ll expel all of you.”

this shut everyone up in almost a second, the sound draining out just as water does. the first years trailed out into the hall, single-file mimicking the positions baby ducklings would take when following their mother.

bakugou found himself walking faster when he saw you take up your spot in the line, hoping to land his spot right behind you.

unfortunately, this idiot who considered himself bakugou’s friend tugged him back. “bakugou!” a familiar voice rasped.

“shitty hair, let go of me.”

“hey man, chill out. wanna partner up if we’re doing training in pairs?”

bakugou glanced at the line, the spot that should have been reserved for him now taken up by sato.

bakugou tugged his sleeve from kirishima’s hand. “whatever,” he snapped.

“sounds good!” kirishima flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. the bubbly feeling in bakugou’s chest died down as he stood behind sato, the overwhelming scent of sugar filling his nose, various candies that would go straight to your arteries.

“you smell like ass, damn,” bakugou remarked, squeezing his nostrils together.

luckily, sato was tall enough to not hear the insult, as he towered over bakugou by just another head. the line began moving like a sloppy train down to the change rooms.

bakugou scoffed as he listened to your giggle. he should be making you laugh.

“you’ll be given partners randomly from this box.” aizawa held up a familiar red box. “inside are all your names. i’ll select one, then that person will come up and pick another name from the box. that will be your assigned partner for today. as soon as you have your assigned partner, i want you guys to get straight to work.”

denki raised a hand, speaking before being called on. “sensei, why are we getting random partners? we’re always allowed to choose.”

“in the real world, you’re going to come across different villains every day. you’ll never improve your skills or your quirks if you keep fighting the same person.”

denki sighed, slumping back.

dammit, bakugou thought, gritting his teeth together. there wasn’t any way he wanted to be partners with you. it’s obvious he’d win the fight in the first few seconds.

yes! exactly right! bakugou internally grinned. his fluctuating feelings had finally soothed themselves. you were just another extra, and he had no room for you in his head.

aizawa took a moment to fiddle with the slips of paper inside the box. soon enough, he pulled out a name. “todoroki.”

todoroki walked up, digging his hand into the box when aizawa held it out for him. he pulled out a name, delicately unraveling the slip. “uraraka, you’re my partner.” he deadpanned.

the brunette grinned. “great!”

the two found their own spot on the field, and the class’s attention was once again diverted to their grouchy teacher as he pulled out another name.

“bakugou.”

bakugou strutted up without a worry in his mind. he pulled a name to find...

“y/n,” he said, voice a low growl. instead of the annoying fluttering in his chest, his eyes met yours, and they were filled with a different, new ferocity. he crumpled the paper in one hand, letting it twirl to the ground.

you looked at him, unsmiling. your eyes gave away nothing, and to bakugou’s knowledge, all you saw in him was another opponent.

it took him a moment to realize you had both locked eyes for about a minute. perhaps the two of you would have stayed as you were if aizawa hadn’t snapped at the two of you to get moving as yaomomo’s name was called.

bakugou was on his way to the back of the field, you followed close behind. while there was plenty of room still, he chose a secluded area. while it was still open enough to view everything going on so nobody got hurt, it was often nobody chose to train here. for whatever reason, you weren’t sure.

“wait up, bakugou,” you said. after a bit, you caught up to him.

“if you can’t keep up, then...” then what? he looked at you from the side of his eye. “then don’t keep up...” gosh, here came the embarrassing, disgusting feeling of redness in his cheeks.

you laughed. “what?”

“shut up.”

“you’re an idiot, bakugou.”

“i said shut the hell up!”

“what, so you can call me shitface in front of the entire class but you get all pissed when i call you an idiot?”

so you had heard him!

he tongued his cheek, curling his hands around an invisible ball, explosions sparking in the centers of his palms. “don’t expect me to hold back, dumbass.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

gosh he loved that about you.

bakugou caught his thought in the air.

ahem...gosh he hated that about you.

you both charged in at the same time. his cry was louder than yours, but you struck first.

he admired your quirk. while he’d overhead you explaining all the drawbacks it had, it was strong, and you were strong because you knew how to control it.

purple arrows flew from your arms, going in your desired directions. if you lost focus for one moment, they’d vanish and weaken. if you focused too hard or long, you’d be plagued by a splitting headache.

he’d spent too much time obsessing over your strengths and weaknesses.

your arrows were weightless, however they were solid objects capable of carrying any mass, any thing, and worked as extensions of your body.

the violet arrow had shot out at him, twisting around his right gauntlet and crushing inwards. it’d snaked around him without him noticing, slithering along his back.

bakugou struggled to get the air-light arrow off his wrist, but it was no use. he glared back, only to see your focused, furrowed brows. he’d expected to see your cocky ass smiling. it was nice to see you weren’t.

that was one thing that had also caught his eye. you never underestimate your opponent, but you never underestimate yourself, either.

you conjured a larger arrow. it snaked around your right arm as you hurled bakugou into the air, releasing your grasp on him. you shot your other arrow into the air, and it raced into the sky.

it swerved. bakugou’s eyes went wide as the tip of the arrow came down on his chest. if they weren’t intangible things, he would have been bleeding out.

another drawback: the arrows, while they could solidify, they couldn’t do any actual damage. you had to use your surroundings to inflict harm on your opponent.

he coughed out as the arrow shot him into the ground. he hadn’t even touched you, and here he was, vulnerable and so...so...

you stood over him, hands on your hips.

vulnerable and so lost in that adorable, winning smile.

“get away from me, idiot,” he grunted and turned onto his side, his back crying out in pain.

“i think i won this fight, bakugou,” you chirped, rocking on your heels.

“don’t get arrogant, shithead. you won’t be winning against me anymore.”

you grinned, arrows shooting out behind your back.

the dorms were exceptionally quiet. you were typing away in the common room, bakugou on the couch reading. everyone was off doing something else. it was the weekend, luckily. he’d expected you to go bounding out with everyone else, however you’d stayed back, claiming you had some homework to catch up on.

bakugou being classic bakugou had stayed back. he was excited to have the dorm to himself, but your dumbass was stuck here with him. couldn’t you have done your typing in your room?

you were so aggressive on that poor keyboard.

“oi, quiet down with your shit typing.”

you barely grunted in response.

“don’t ignore me.”

“i heard you, mom.”

“the hell did you call me?”

no response. only your aggressive typing is a bit less aggressive.

“i can still hear it,” bakugou remarked, eyes fixed on your back.

“‘kay,” you said. your typing slowed a tad, and your pressure on the keys lessened.

it was quiet now. bakugou should go back to his book. he shouldn’t still be looking for a reason to talk to you.

the pages crinkled in his fingers. he bit his tongue, keeping his snarky comments in.

“you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? doing your damn homework. it’s due tomorrow.”

you turned, pursing your lips. “and how would you know what i’m working on? are you stalking me?”

“i- what? no. you’re such an idiot, of course i’m not—”

“i’m messing with you,” you breathed, face un-moving.

“o-oh,” bakugou stuttered out. he blinked awkwardly.

“gosh, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re a jackass.” you returned to your work. bakugou settled with reading in his room. reading consisted of jumping onto his bed just as the stereotypical high school girl would in an eighties movie. he buried his face in his pillow, face burning bright red. he cursed you for making him feel this way, and hated himself even more for how much he enjoyed it.

the next day came swiftly. you’d left early to go train with midoriya. there were many improvements needed to be made, but you weren’t doing too bad.

you propelled yourself forwards with an arrow, and your green-haired friend shot back, lightning flickering around his body.

landing back on the ground, you panted and swiped the sweat from your brow. from the corner of your eye, you could make out both kirishima and bakugou coming to the training grounds.

bakugou stopped in his tracks, frowning at the sight of you.

it was evident he hated you a bit more than everyone else. he was always making his annoying comments, he was always snubbing you. you saw no reason to talk to him, so you didn’t. either way, even if you tried, he would still get angry for no reason.

it’d taken you quite some time to get used to his obnoxious attitude. tuning him out had been the best course of action, in your opinion.

the way you and midoriya had bonded was through bakugou, in a way. the first day of school, bakugou had snapped at you for tripping over your laces and nearly crashing into him. later that day, midoriya had stepped up and apologized for his old friend’s actions.

you two had never been too close until now. the recent incidents going on with the league of villains had snagged your attention, and it seemed you were the only person who didn’t mind listening to him ramble on about heroes.

you were just as passionate and just as dorky, but midoriya could talk your ear off. you never minded, and he always took the hint when you didn’t want to listen.

you brought your leg up, twirling in the air with ease and watched your heel collide with midoriya’s face. he grunted, stumbling back.

you were about to charge in again when a hand landed on your shoulder, big and rough. you turned to see bakugou standing behind you, a scowl on his face.

“fight me again,” he demanded.

“excuse me?”

“don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”

“i’m in the middle of fighting midoriya right now.”

“so?”

“so if you think that i’m just going to ditch my friend because you want to fight, i won’t.”

“you’re being stubborn.”

“i’m being reasonable. back off.”

“y/n?” midoriya rubbed his jaw—right where you had struck him. “what’s going on?” he jogged up to you and bakugou.

“he wants to fight me in the middle of our fight. it’s nothing serious. don’t worry about it, midoriya. let’s just ignore him.”

bakugou made a sound someone would only make if they were choking. “the hell did you just say?”

“we’re ignoring you!” you waved him off and placed your hand on midoriya’s shoulder, wandering away.

it was new to him, not getting what he wanted. and what he wanted right now was to be around you. again, it wasn’t like he would ever admit that to himself.

“dude? you good? i thought you went off to fight y/n. i was so ready to cheer you on, dude,” kirishima’s chipper voice piped in. “she’s not fighting with you? why not?”

“the dumbass was just probably scared of getting her ass beat by me.”

“dude...that sounds really weird.”

“whatever, shitty hair. let’s go.”

the clock ticked. his ears were on fire. again.

gosh, it was happening again. it was all you. his face scrunched up, his voice would surely crack if someone were to ask him what was wrong.

bakugou was once again stuffing his face in his pillow, hiding his expression from no one. why did you have to go train with that shitty nerd? why were you always around deku? deku, of all people. what did he have? why was he so great?

bakugou was a man of many insecurities, but losing to deku? that was possibly his biggest fear.

perhaps he wasn’t the nicest, or the most soft person out there. bakugou could admit that, at least. but he was smarter than deku. he was stronger and he was better and people liked him more. right?

what was so...amazing about deku?

it was often bakugou would find himself obsessing over little, insignificant things such as these.

you were what he was thinking of most of the time. just yesterday, he’d gotten a test returned. he was expecting an eighty at the lowest, but more so expecting a high ninety. it’d come back exactly sixty percent.

sixty. percent.

bakugou vividly remembered staring at your face. he also remembered not being able to focus because of it. his grades were dropping because of you.

you were the only person to be able to do this to him.

his heart grew quiet, but the pounding of his didn’t cease. he lifted his head.

“alright, fine,” he said aloud. “you win, y/n. you win.”

he settled with getting over his feelings the way he’d read them in his collection of romance manga.

bakugou left his room and knocked on your door. (he was banging on it, but it was his nice way of knocking.)

you answered, looking around awkwardly. “yes?”

his hands shook. how was this supposed to go? sure, he’d seen it in romance movies and read it in books but it was always easy to tell whether the guy would get the girl or not.

in this instance, bakugou was clueless. for once in his life, he was clueless. you stood, tapping your foot with a hand on your hip, waiting expectantly for him to tell you why he was here.

“um.” he scratched behind his neck. “you uh- i uh...i’m sorry i called you a, um...a shitface.”

“okay? is that it?”

what? come on! it was already unlike him to apologize. what else did you want from him?

“did you...i’ve been thinking, maybe? maybe we could..train together as...friends?”

“...what?”

gosh dammit, as friends?

“whatever, um...the uh...” oh gosh, what did the boys do in all the books he’d read? right! bakugou stretched out his arm, resting his forearm on the door, leaning to the side.

although he didn’t, really, because like the clumsy jackass he was, bakugou missed completely and nearly toppled to the floor.

this earned a snicker from you.

his stomach flipped and churned, and bakugou found himself unable to reach your eyes. “uh, would you maybe..? okay, um. do you want to go on a date with me? you absolute fucking dumbass.”

your eyes flew wide. “...what?”

“no, that’s not what i— i mean i didn’t mean the last part. um, i meant the first part. the first two parts. the part where i was asking you if you wanted to go on a date with me and then before that when i said maybe because it’s still a maybe until you say yes. or...or no because that’s an option too.”

he swallowed.

you resisted the urge to mock him, just a little bit. “um, bakugou, listen.”

he leaned closer. “yes?”

“it’s going to be a no. i’m sorry, but i’m just not interested in you like that.”

it took him a moment to register everything. his shoulders sagged. gosh that was brutal.

“oh, alright.”

“yeah, uh, sorry about that.” you offered him a weak smile, still a bit shocked yourself. he did his best to return it, and when you closed the door, his face was ready to explode.

it was so damn difficult to deal with these feelings, but maybe it was better this way. knowing where you stood on your end, he knew he wouldn’t miss out on anything.

perhaps it was alright to admire from afar. things could happen in the future, right?

right now, he’d just wait. for a long, long time. bakugou pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. maybe it was alright to not have you right now. perhaps he could better himself for you. just for you.

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [10]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting, abuse

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: double digit chapter!!! like 3 parts to go everyoneeee woo!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

The nostalgia was strong.

The last time you and Sam were sitting like this, you were deciding on what to make of the bread supply that was now dwindling. The soup had ran out maybe a day or two ago and you were left with just bread, peanut butter and jelly.

You two had to devise an escape plan. You’d been there long enough and now with Sam making his first public appearance as Mob’s Most Wanted, even if it was for a good cause, there was no doubt that people would be after you.

“What if we go back to Ransone and let the rest sort itself out along the way?”

You made a note of it on the paper but you weren’t very convinced with the idea, not with the realisations you had made along the way.

“Do we know any other hideouts?” you asked instead, tapping the pencil against the paper.

“None that you don’t already know.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “What are your thoughts on caves? Think we can make a bed outta some leaves?”

You wrote down ‘Sam’s cave idea’, just to humour him. Stupid, but more plausible than other options.

“If we make a run for it, what are the chances we’ll survive?”

“With law enforcement, civilians and gang members looking for us, I’d give us about-” you said candidly, “-two months. Three max.”

It wasn’t like you had no experience running from the state, but it was never on this scale.

“We’d have years if it was only law enforcement, but we had to go get the entire fuckin’ mafia involved,” he huffed in annoyance.

An idea occurred to you that made you pause, but you hated it.

“What if we split up?” you suggested halfheartedly. “It’ll take them more time to find the both of us, if they’re looking for us together.”

When he didn’t reply, you looked up at him from the sheet in front of you.

“We’re not splitting up,” he began steadily, just as you knew he would. “The same people who are after you are after me. We need to stick together.”

“I know. I’m not saying we can’t meet again after that, I’m saying that maybe it’ll be easier for us to hide.”

He couldn’t deny that it wasn't the worst idea, but something didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to do it.

“Okay, then how do we find each other after that? When? I don’t have your email; fuck that, I don’t even have your number.”

“We’ll schedule it, I guess,” you murmur, trying to work out the logistics. “Whoever gets there late has to buy ice cream. And I’m particular about the flavour I like.”

You tried to lighten up the mood but he wasn’t having it, as much as he appreciated it.

“I don’t care if it’s more difficult,” he said slowly. “But I’d like us to stick together. Not until we’re out of this mess. Then if you want to never see my face again, which you shouldn’t because it’s beautiful, we’ll go our different ways.”

He was adamant about it, and you knew he’d argue and poke holes into the plan until it didn’t make sense anymore. You weren’t going to argue.

“Okay,” you accepted. “We stick together.”

A smile spread across his face which equated to one of triumph. “You got any other ideas?”

“We stay right here and fight off whoever comes.”

It was dumb. This place wasn’t yours, and staying here would be a death wish. That didn’t stop you from saying it since neither of you were holding back on implausible ideas.

“This is our house now,” Sam added with determination, playing along.

“Damn right,” you affirmed, cracking a smile at him.

Bringing your attention back, you stared at the list. There is one option you wanted to explore but you weren’t sure if you could because you didn’t have the resources. But he may.

“You got any friends whose help we could use?” you asked cautiously, unsure of how this would play out.

He continued chewing on his lip for a second like he was analysing all options, before nodding.

“I got a friend. Well, my only friend,” he corrects himself. “His name’s Riley.”

“He got a place we can stay, this Riley?”

“He does. But I don’t want to involve him. He’s-” he paused, trying to find the right words to frame what he’s thinking “-he’s been through a lot.”

“We’ll leave him alone then,” you assured, realising that it must be a touchy topic for him.

Sam didn’t move on, though.

“I’m all ears if you want to talk,” you offered.

He pressed his lips together, giving you a tight smile. He looked like he wanted to say more but was holding back. You reciprocated, hoping it would give him some reassurance, noting how he exhaled softly.

“When I joined the cartel, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to since everyone was much older than I was. Riley was the first friend I made. He was a mouthy li’l one.” Sam smiled wistfully and you found yourself smiling with him. “He talked so much shit and he had the spunk to back it up but he never really got that far because no one wanted to test their luck with him.”

“We spent whatever free time we had together. He didn’t have a family so he and I-” he trailed off but you knew what he was getting at. “Ransone found out. Didn’t like anyone in his stupid squad becoming all buddies because if we turned against him, he knew he’d lose.”

Shared experience. You didn’t have any friends in the organization either; they were always separated from you willingly or by force. You wondered if that’s why you had taken such a liking towards Sam, knowing fully well that it was the first time in years you were able to be friends with someone without having to worry.

“He started pittin’ us against one another. Combat training, preferential treatment, just plain out sabotage. Riley’s the reason my back’s all kinds of fucked up.” He gave a short laugh. “Tried everything he could to make sure we’d stay away or even kill each other if it came to that.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But we didn’t,” he confirmed. “Ransone fuckin’ hated it, so one day, he decided that he’s going to finish it once and for all. Sent us on a fake mission so that we’d be alone together, then told us that only one of us could come back. One of us had to die or else both of us would. Some sick fuckin’ form of entertainment.”

It was exactly something that Ransone would do. Dramatic, vile and utterly despicable, just for his own joy,

Your eyebrows knit together when his eyes glazed over.

“Riley, he- he didn’t even let me have at the gun. Just straight up chose for the both of us that he was going to be the one who died. He was so tired, of everythin’.” The muscles in your jaw tightened at where this was going. “He didn’t do it though. We figured out another way.”

You didn’t realise how tensed you were until you forced yourself to relax.

“Faked his death.” He shrugged. “It was the only way. Let Ransone believe he bled out and that I buried him behind the warehouse he sent us to. Shot him in the leg to make it look convincing. He’s still got a limp.”

“He made a run for it. Found himself a place in New Orleans, changed his identity, basically made turned into a whole new person. Ransone bought it for a while because I’d make it a point to visit the grave, leave some flowers and shit. Told him that if he messed with it that I’d put a bullet in his head and I was angry enough for him to see that I wasn’t kidding. I knew he’d figure it out eventually but I was hoping I’d get rid of him by then.”

“He lived in New Orleans for years. Never had a problem until recently.”

Sam paused for a second, but it gave you the time to pull up an old conversation you had with him.

“He’s the one Ransone threatened you with,” you connected the dots. “He’s the one he found.”

“Said he’d kill him if I didn’t take out Pierce for him,” his words were bitter, confirming what you said. “Sent me a picture of him in front of his house to prove it.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” you breathed, leaning back. Sam’s situation was more dangerous than you initially thought. Having Riley in the picture just made it more difficult to help Sam get out of the organization, especially since he was now leverage material.

“You asked me once what the scariest thing I had done was.” You didn’t get immediately what he was talking about until you remember the questions you had asked to get to know him better. “It was that. Getting him out of this life and trying not to get caught in the process.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“He’s the only family I got left.” The way his voice dropped made him sound so tired. “He’s already on their radar. If they find out I’m staying with him or that he’s helping in any way, they’ll kill him.”

You didn’t say anything, not like you had anything constructive to offer at that moment.

“That got dark real quick,” he remarked, the corners of his lips quirking upward.

Clearly he didn’t have anyone to talk to about this. To explain the entire thing from the beginning must have drained him completely.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” you said quietly.

He paused for a second, looking like he was thinking to himself.

“Me too.”

______

The sky’s beautiful, you decide.

You could stare at the clouds for hours.

Which is what the both of you have been doing.

“If you fucking say it’s anything other than a dog, I’ll push you off the roof myself.”

“It’s clearly a penguin, Samuel.”

“I hate you.”

The cement was cool against your skin even though there was a blanket serving as a mediator between you and it. The sun nipped at your skin and your back was aching from staying in the same place for a prolonged period.

Sam tended to think better when he was outside, unconstrained by harsh white walls and artificial light. So you grabbed a spare blanket, a bottle of water and the ladder to haul the both of you to the roof. It was filthy, as you expected but you managed to tidy a part of it to the best of your ability before laying the blanket down.

“I know why you brought me up here, Y/N,” he piped up.

You just knew that when you needed some space, he often implored you to go outside. You figured the best way to help him was to do the same, not knowing what else you could have to give.

“Just wanted to let you know that I appreciate it,” he added.

Okay good. It helped.

“That’s a tree.” You pointed upwards, avoiding his gaze.

“You get three more seconds to change that answer to a table.”

“That looks nothing like a table. You’re delusional.”

He laughed, not offering a counter argument.

The outside did him good. He was calmer than when you first came here a few hours ago. He didn’t let his spite towards Ransone show very often, especially at this volume. Talking about Riley only reaffirmed how much he despised the man.

“We need to get out of here eventually, you know?” you mused.

You don’t want to. You don’t want to admit that saying it out loud made it worse.

“We do,” he sounded sure and you wondered if he ever felt bad about it too, “but we need a proper plan.”

The clouds shifted. It looked like a kid on a bike; not that you’d ever tell him. He would never agree.

“We need help,” you stated.

“We can’t.” You knew he’d say that.

“You know we do, Sam.”

“There’s no one out there we can trust.”

You liked that he used ‘we’. The only other times you had been referred to as ‘we’ had been for things so sinister, so violent.

His elbow was touching yours lightly. You wanted to move closer, press against him.

“There’s one person who might be able to.”

He turned to look at you questioningly. You did the same.

You waited till he figured it out on his own. His face shifted the minute it clicked in his head.

“No way.” He turned away, almost laughing out of bewilderment.

“It’s our only option.”

“Then we’ll find another one,” he began to sound more insistent, realising you were being serious. It was a crazy idea, you’d give him that, but it’s the only one you had that had a sure shot of working.

“We’ve tried. You’ve tried. There’s only one way,” you knew that getting annoyed wouldn’t get through to him and you also understood his hesitations. “He’ll help.”

“We don’t know that. It’s too fuckin’ dangerous.” He couldn’t afford that; not this late in the game.

“I know it. Lis- Sam. Look at me,” you commanded gently, and he obeyed reluctantly. “I understand that this is absolutely batshit wild, but I promised I’d help you. This is the only way I can think of. But I need you to trust me.”

He looked unsettled.

He didn’t have anything to go on. Only your word and his faith in you. He could say no and he knew you’d spend countless hours pouring over multiple options just to find another way. He could say no and you’d take it in stride and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. It wasn’t about trusting you, it was about not trusting the others.

But he could also say yes and let you take control, trust your instincts. You had never let him down before and he knew you wouldn’t now. He could say yes and help you work on one solid plan that had equal chances of failing as it did being a success, but it was something that you could be sure of.

“I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

He felt your fingers trace at his face patiently. He scooted closer, letting your bodies press gently against each other.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

He didn’t know if he made the right choice or not, but the smile that appeared on your face made him think that maybe he did.

God, he was done for.

___

“You ready?” you asked him.

“No, but what the hell; let’s do it.”

You let it ring right to the very end.

“Hello.” It seemed gratuitous at this point because you knew the conversation wouldn’t proceed with that.

“Code?”

“1993.”

“Y/N. Hello,” his voice came back loud and clear.

“Hey.” You snuck a glance at Sam. He was completely stiff.

“How are you?”

“I’ve been… good,” you admitted.

“Oh?” he sounded amused. “That’s a change.”

“Yeah.” You shifted on your feet awkwardly. “Listen, I need help.”

“Help with?”

“We need to get out of here. We can’t do it without you. I mean we can, but it’d be better if you lent a hand.”

“When you say ‘we’, you’re referring to…”

“Me.” Sam stepped forward towards the phone. You shifted it so it was between you.

“Oh, hello,” he sounded surprised, and he had good reason to be. “You know about-”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Y/N, you trust him?”

“Yeah,” you looked up at Sam, “I do.”

“Alright. If shit goes wrong, you’re both fucked. I’m not taking any responsibility.”

“We get that,” you sighed. “Can you help or not?”

There was a momentary silence on the other end as he thought.

“Tell me what you had in mind.”

“We got a hit.”

They turned away from their conversation with the person walking beside them at the interruption.

“This better be important.” They gestured to their companion who looked annoyed at being interrupted. He was too dangerous to have on anyone’s bad side but the agent didn’t care. This was crucial.

“Someone saw him. Wilson.” He was breathless from the flight of stairs he had run to come upstairs.

“Where?” They could hardly believe their ears, restraining to contain the excitement that was threatening to rise.

“A town, miles away from Pierce’s place. Said he roamed around looking for a store, bought some food and then left.” His eyes shone. “We think we might know where they are. A rough sketch at least. Couldn’t follow him too far because he kept checking.”

“Finally,” their face gleamed, completely discarding the guest they had and the confusion on his face. “Some good fucking news.”

“Do you want us to put a hit out on them?” The relief the agent felt was almost overwhelming. His partner may have died but it didn’t look like he was going to.

“No,” they said crisply, certainly. “This one’s on me.”

Next part

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Wei Wuxian never had the patience for embroidery, and Jiang Yanli was passable, but preferred cooking. Jiang Cheng found it comforting, stabbing something over and over again, with a better result than breaking training dummies.

It started with Jiang Cheng being a sticky child, refusing to leave his jie’s side even when she sat for her embroidery lessons; with him being noisy and troublesome and the teacher just shoving the needle and thread into his hands with a muttered comment about it being good for men to know how to repair their own clothing – as if a future sect leader would ever need to know something like that.

Jiang Cheng quieted down and focused, all hard work and determination to please the way he went about all aspects of his life – he wasn’t a natural talent, in cultivation or swordmanship or even this, but he always tried his best.

His mother covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter when he presented her with the results of several weeks’ worth: it was just barely recognizable as the world’s ugliest duck.

“A symbol of loving devotion,” one of her maids said.

“There’s only one, though,” the other maid said. “They’re supposed to be a pair.”

“He’s still young,” Madame Yu said, and then held up a fabric with a vaguely incoherent green-white-pink blob. “And anyway, it’s still better than this – what is this supposed to be again, A-Li?”

“A lotus flower,” Jiang Yanli replied, utterly untroubled by her mother’s criticism.

Madame Yu and her maids studied the fabric for a little while longer, trying to identify a flower inside the knot of threads, helpless expressions on their face.

“A-Cheng is a duck without a partner and A-Li is unrestrained by commonly understood boundaries,” Madame Yu finally said, pinching her nose. “With signs as inauspicious as this…well, at least you still have your father to hold up the world for you.”

“Men care more about cooking skills anyway,” one of her maids said. “And A-Cheng is an heir to a sect: he’ll find himself a lady duck one day. Maybe even a whole set of them.”

“He’d better not find a whole set of them!”

There was a small needle on the floor of the hut where the Wen sect had stuffed him away – too small and thin to attack anyone, even if a useless waste with no golden core could muster an attack at all, and so it had been overlooked.

Jiang Cheng held it over the flame of the lamp to sterilize it, and then, with shaking hands, turned it on his own flesh.

He didn’t have a choice – it was that or die bleeding out onto the floor of some closet in the Lotus Pier he’d never even known existed, some of the cuts left by the Wens too deep to be left alone even for a little while, and he didn’t have spiritual energy to encourage the healing process.

Maybe he should just die. What was the point of living? He was a waste, now. Maybe the deep cuts were even meant to be a kindness – a way out of the misery that awaited him, a life of being Wen Chao’s slave, an object of pity and mockery.

Jiang Cheng’s hands might be shaking, but his embroidery was good: he’d kept it up, citing it as good training for precision, a way to improve his dexterity, but in fact it was the only thing that could make his mother smile at him anymore. Sure, she yelled about him wasting time with feminine pursuits when he ought to be cultivating, training, getting stronger, surpassing Wei Wuxian, but when she looked at the little things he made for her, she still smiled, almost as if she couldn’t help herself.

She wouldn’t smile for him any longer. Neither smile nor scolding.

Jiang Cheng would live to see Wei Wuxian take the revenge their parents deserved. He could wait until that was done to die.

A regular needle could prick the finger of a cultivator a thousand times before drawing a single drop of blood.

Jiang Cheng’s fingers were covered in bandages, but the new disciples of his Jiang sect had robes embroidered with lotuses, the way they should have, and they need not be ashamed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the other sects in battle.

It wasn’t a job a sect leader should ever do, but there was no one else to do it; any money had to be spent on supplies, none left over for paying seamstresses to do something impractical, and the few women who joined up expected to be used for their skill at the sword, not the needle.

It was just another thing he had to do with no time to do it – he had to train himself in preparation for battle, teach the new disciples the Jiang sect techniques, make sure they had enough to eat and drink, keep one step ahead of the Wen sect’s forces that sought to destroy them, recruit new sects to join their cause and all of it while searching desperately for Wei Wuxian, who had gone missing.

(Sometimes, in his nightmares, Jiang Cheng wondered if Baoshan Sanren had seen through their mischief, recognized him as someone other than her disciple’s son, and demanded a price be paid for the gift she had given him.)

At least embroidery was something he could do at night when he couldn’t sleep, something productive that wouldn’t disturb the sentries or make anyone worry about him.

Sometimes, Lan Wangji – who had joined him in searching for Wei Wuxian – would come and sit next to him at the early hours of the night, undoubtedly fleeing nightmares of his own. His meditation didn’t bother Jiang Cheng, and as much as he hated to admit it, the company was welcome.

That didn’t stop him from embroidering a small awkward stork on the inside of Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon the one time the other man had asked him for help fixing it after it’d been cut in battle.

“I know Madame Jin probably already got you something better,” Jiang Cheng said, his fingers twisting together – in fact, he hadn’t thought of it at all, not until he reached Lanling and heard the women on the street speculating as to which skilled seamstress had been retained to embroider all the auspicious signs onto the wedding clothing of the Jin sect’s new daughter-in-law.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that they would just buy a set pre-made – wedding clothing was traditionally embroidered by the bride herself, preparations made over the years, and of course the set Jiang Yanli had (with no real motivation or ambition) been working on had gone up in flames along with the Lotus Pier. When she’d come to let him know about Jin Zixuan’s impending proposal, and that she intended to accept, Jiang Cheng had panicked and ordered the silks and thread himself; his sister was passable at embroidery at the best of times, much worse when under pressure or a deadline, and he didn’t want the Jin sect to laugh at her.

He should have realized. What didn’t the Jin sect solve with money?

“As if I would wear anything other than what A-Cheng made for me,” Jiang Yanli said, voice warm as she ran her hands over the red silk he’d brought with him, the golden threads glinting. “It’s beautiful. Your ducks have gotten much better since your first attempt, all those years ago.”

Jiang Cheng covered his face with embarrassment. His mother had kept that stupid hideous duck for years, often just sitting in her pocket alongside regular necessities so that she could pull it out to embarrass him whenever she pleased; it had probably only died when she had.

“I left some undone for you to finish,” he said through his fingers. “I brought the thread…if you want?”

“Of course. A-Cheng will sit by me and make sure I don’t make any mistakes.”

The last pair of ducks ended up crooked, their heads too close together, their beaks at such an odd angle that it almost looked like a smile; they were Jiang Cheng’s favorite ones of all.

“For you,” Jiang Cheng said, shoving the box into Wei Wuxian’s arms and ignoring the look of confusion. “For when Hanguang-jun finally decides to live up to his responsibilities.”

“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian said blankly. “Why are you even at the Cloud Recesses?”

Jiang Cheng sneered because it was easier than doing anything else. It was the first time he’d seen Wei Wuxian since the events at the Guanyin temple: Wei Wuxian hadn’t come back to the Lotus Pier, not once, even though Jin Ling had tried several times to invite him.

“Am I not allowed, now?” he demanded irritably. “I’m a sect leader; I have a visitor’s token, same as anyone else. Anyway, I have other business to attend to – just take it and be done with it. Don’t make a fuss.”

It was a mistake to say that – as soon as Wei Wuxian realized there was the possibility of a fuss, he couldn’t wait to confront it at once, and disregarded all rules of etiquette to pull open the box right there as they stood, before even Jiang Cheng left.

“Red…?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. “Jiang Cheng, you got me wedding clothing.”

“Reused ones,” Jiang Cheng said before Wei Wuxian could get too emotional or anything. “The only adjustments were to the size and shape – don’t think too highly of yourself!”

“Sect Leader Jiang is too humble,” Lan Wangji said from the door. “It must have been a great effort to make clothing for a man from the ones your sister wore.”

“Sister…? You – this is what shijie married in?”

Jiang Cheng glared at the immovable Lan Wangji rather than look at Wei Wuxian. “Her marriage was happy,” he said stiffly. “Yes, it was cut short –”

Best not to say by whom.

“– but it was still happy. It’s not meant to be a bad omen or a curse…I thought you’d like it. Not that I expected you’d remember what it looked like, with your memory.”

“Of course I like it!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, hugging the red fabric to his chest. “You made it for shijie, and she finished it, right?”

“I had to add some more fabric to make up for the size difference,” Jiang Cheng said, still refusing to look at him directly. At least Lan Wangji had the good grace to be easy to glare at, that pig who dug up his family’s (lost, dead, resurrected) cabbage. “There are a few more that still need finishing. That way, it’ll have something from all of us – don’t you dare cry at me!”

“I’m not crying! My eyes are watering from laughter at how sentimental you are, that’s all!”

“It is good that we will both have signs of Sect Leader Jiang’s approval with us,” Lan Wangji said mildly.

Wei Wuxian turned to him at once. “Both? What do you have?”

Jiang Cheng was equally confused, and only when Lan Wangji reached up to his forehead ribbon did he remember his fit of pettiness in horror. “Wait, no, don’t – it can’t still be there –”

It was.

Wei Wuxian’s cackles followed him as he fled.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #yu ziyuan #jiang yanli #lan wangji #wangxian #my fic #my fics #I really like how this one came out actually #Anonymous

1K notes · View notes

emeren · 3 years

Text

unorthodox - armin arlert (1)

pairing: armin arlert x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: none <3

chapter notes: the first chapter is a little boring, but bear with me! it just gets better from here ;)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: reader does a favor for her shy roommate, causing her to meet a cute and familiar florist who’s words have a bigger impact than intended.

“shit!” you breathed, squinting up at the sky. the feeling of warm, sticky droplets of water began to pepper your skin, dark clouds looming above. you were in an absolutely foul mood, bringing your free hand up to shield your face.

“what’s the matter?” your roommate’s voice rang out through the phone, oblivious to the plight you were enduring on her behalf. you glanced around, the unfamiliar street and buildings only adding to your annoyance.

“it’s fucking raining,” you cursed, looking for an awning to stand under as the rain grew harder. it was trickling down your face, seeping through your shirt. “okay, where is this place?”

“like i said, it should be on the corner of 53rd,” her voice was muffled, indicating that she was nervously chewing on her finger nails. you rolled your eyes, trying to read the street sign through the rain droplets flying towards the ground. “thank you so much for doing this.”

you sighed, thinking about how desperately she’d begged you to pick up and drop off the bouquet of flowers. “right, it’s no problem. corner of 53rd you said?”

“erm, yeah? i think so,” she responded softly. you had no idea where you were, hopping off the subway at an unfamiliar stop. by the looks of it, there was no 53rd in sight. there was, however, a promising looking building on the corner.

“sash, what’s the place called?” you prompted, trying to blink away the water dripping down your face. your roommate was utterly incapable when it came to boys, especially the one she’d quote on quote ‘fallen head over heels’ for. he’d rendered her a social mess, hardly able to form a sentence let alone drop off a bouquet of anonymous flowers. that left the job up to you, the ever dependable friend.

sasha shuffled around on the other line, your legs carrying you towards the green building. “i think it’s like ackerman flowers or something along those lines.”

low and behold, the building had a large beige sign that promptly read out ackerman flowers in pretty writing. you thanked your lucky stars that you wouldn’t have to wander around in the pouring rain much longer, attempting to wipe your face dry before stepping inside.

“alright, i’m here sash,” you sighed, getting ready to hang up.

“wait!” she cried out, voice seemingly hesitant. you rolled your eyes, wanting nothing more than to be out of the rain. “could you, um - could you put a note in it?”

“a note?” you asked, dumbfounded. you stepped to the side as an older man left the shop, umbrella in hand.

“yeah,” sasha muttered, voice growing quiet. “like a love note or something. but don’t sign my name!”

you involuntarily laughed, phone nearly slipping from your wet hand. “sorry, um, yeah. i can do that.”

“thank you so much,” with that, you ended the call, slipping your phone into your pocket.

the rain lightened as you eyed the outside of the building. it was painted a deep forest green, a small metal table sitting out front. there was one large window, filled with all sorts of differently colored flowers and plants. the building looked homey, or maybe that was because you were desperate to get out of the rain.

a bell dinged as you pushed the door open, greeted by a gush of warm, humid air. the small shop smelled like greenery and jasmine tea, filled to the brim with flowers. it looked like a scene from a movie, the window allowing the grey toned light to wash over the plants. you breathed out in awe, eyes scanning the dark brown desk for an employee, but were met with a fat, fluffy cat.

it was a light yellow color, lounging comfortably on the desk as if it were a bed. you slowly made your way over to it, the creature blinking up at you bemusedly with a pair of large, glassy eyes. you smiled at it, scratching behind its ear as you waited for an employee to show up.

“oh, i’m sorry,” you were startled from the cat by a surprised voice, eyes snapping up to land on a boy about your age wearing a dark green apron. there was something oddly familiar about him; blonde fluffy hair and light blue eyes. his features were rounded yet pronounced, an apologetic look on his face. “i didn’t hear you come in, i was in the back.”

“that’s alright,” you smiled, trying to pinpoint exactly where you’d seen him before. his gaze followed your hand to the cat, a small grin on his face.

“i see you’ve met erwin,” he said softly, wiping his dirt covered hands on his apron. you quirked a brow, silently asking him to elaborate. who names a cat erwin? “he’s the owner’s. i think he was named after an old friend of sorts.”

“oh, that’s such a weird name for a cat,” you scrunched your nose, looking back down to the fluffy beast. the boy nodded, leaning on the front desk.

“levi’s not very personal, so i never got a backstory,” his long fingers reached up to glide down the cat’s back, scratching right at the base of his tail. he sighed before standing again, folding his hands on the counter. you gave the cat one last pet, noticing the boy’s confused stare. “is it raining outside?”

“huh?” you frowned, realization dawning on you as your hand came up to pat your wet head. “oh, yeah. it started pouring right when i got here.”

the boy’s mouth formed an ‘o’, the light glinting off of his name tag. you squinted slightly, making out the name armin. odd, you thought. never heard that one before.

“well, cat and rain aside, what can i help you with?” he asked. you couldn’t help the slight embarrassment you felt when you considered how you were dripping water onto the ground, a small puddle forming by your feet. armin didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything about it.

you let out a breath, giving him a smile. “right. i’m looking for a flower arrangement that is simple yet, uh, romantic?” you quoted sasha, watching as armin took in the information.

he nodded his head, a contemplative look in his eyes. “i think i might have a good idea.”

your eyes followed him as he slipped past the counter, walking up to one of the bundles of baby’s breath. you took a moment to glance him up and down, a light blue crew neck and dark jeans underneath his green apron. you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive; a slim, muscular physique and broad shoulders.

armin flitted around the small space, grabbing some of this and some of that, absentmindedly muttering to himself. you leaned against the counter as he came up, a beautiful selection of flowers in his hands.

“how about this?” he beamed, walking behind the counter to grab wrapping for the stems. you had to give it to him, the arrangement was gorgeous: flowers of various lavender and baby blue tones. it was soft and sweet, just what sasha wanted. “or, if you’d rather, i can go for the more romantic rose approach.”

he was leaning forward on the desk, looking up at you through his brows. something about his stare made your face burn. “no, these are perfect!”

armin chuckled lightly, his own cheeks a light shade of red. “i’m glad you think so. do you want ‘em wrapped up?”

“yes, please,” you replied, watching as his long fingers placed the bouquet in a light brown paper wrapping. he carefully folded it, tying it off with a piece of twine. something about the situation was sweet, armin giving you a small smile as he handed you the wrapped flowers.

it felt cliche, his hand grazing yours as you grabbed it from him. you looked down, trying to avoid eye contact as you fished through your pocket for the fifty dollar bill sasha had given you.

suddenly you remembered her odd request, eyeing armin as he got your change. you certainly didn’t know how to write a love note, and knew that sasha would be no help. swallowing the small amount of embarrassment you felt, you decided to ask anyway.

“hey, armin?” he looked up from the cash register, face slightly surprised.

“how do you... oh,” he blushed, looking down briefly. “name tag. what is it?”

you glanced at erwin the cat, swallowing your pride. “this is kinda weird, but would you be willing to write a love note? anonymous of course.”

armin’s brows raised in shock, mouth forming a little ‘o’. you quickly tried to fix the odd question.

“it’s just - i don’t know how to write one and i’m a little stumped,” you explained. armin gave you a small smile, grabbing a pen from the cup beside the card reader.

“well, lucky for you, i’m majoring in literature,” he gave you a lopsided grin, quickly scribbling something down on the paper. once he was done, he leaned forward, placing it amongst the petals. “there you go. oh, and here’s your change.”

“thanks,” you beamed, pulling the bouquet close to your chest. armin nodded, happy to be praised. “have a good day.”

you turned to leave, giving erwin one last pet before making your way towards the door. armin gave you a small wave as you left the shop, disappearing from view.

the rain had let up, sun peaking through the clouds. you smiled, quickly making your way towards the subway station, excited to get home.

you’d decided not to pry when sasha’d asked you to pick up the bouquet and drop it off at niccolo’s dorm room. she’d been embarrassed, clearly way too shy to do it herself. you hadn’t asked questions; just decided to get the flowers and drop them off without further discussion.

as you sat on the hard, plastic subway chair, you could feel that utter indifference starting to melt away. maybe it was because of the sweet florist, or maybe it was because of the way that the love note bounced tauntingly among the flowers. your fingers itched to read it, silently cursing yourself as you lifted it with your pointer and thumb.

armin’s handwriting was neat; a soft mix of cursive and regular lettering. you glanced around the train car, making sure there was no one else there. it was paranoid, but something about it felt embarrassing nonetheless.

after making sure there was no one else there, you looked back to the small note. your heart stopped as you read over his words.

there’s something simple about feelings like these - they remind me of an early morning sunrise; fresh and familiar. warms my heart and soul just thinking of you.

something about his corny words made your stomach flip, the sight of his soft face flashing in your mind. yup, you thought. i’m definitely embarrassed.

why am i feeling this way?

<3 <3 <3

#armin arlert #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert fanfic #armin arlet x reader #armin arlet #armin arlet fanfic #armin #armin arlert fluff #armin arlet fluff #emmy writes #🦧#unorthodox

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paisley-print · 3 years

Text

3:00am : George Strait Sang It Better.

About: The two of you make your way home from the bar...

Rating: SFW

Word count: 1635

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST I AM SO SORRY (no I’m not hehehe), Curse words, fluff, mentions of death, grief, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vom*t ,implied age gap.

NOTE: Not me making myself cry....not that. Also I love country music y'all can square up on me if you like. I find it funny how I am turning this satire of a character into a Nicholas sparks protagonist. Wild.

MIDNIGHT MASTER LIST

3:00am : George Strait Sang It Better

“I’m not drunk.”

Jack had you slung over his shoulder “I don’t believe that’s a correct statement.”

“Are you proud of me for beating all those guys at pool?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am sugar, you know…. I think the whole bar was lookin’ to take you home after that.”

Jack had spent most of the night sitting back and watching you interact with the other patrons. How you flitted about like a little fairy; all giddy and flushed from the alcohol. He enjoyed seeing men and women ogle over you. The looks on their faces when he scooped you up to leave was priceless.

“Wha?! No! Only you can take me home!”

He smirked “that is right babygirl- only me.”

You giggled and whispered to him, “Jack?”

He whispered back to you “what?”

“May I smack your ass please?”

You heard him chuckle “only cuz you asked so nicely.”

You gave his ass a light tap “boop”

“Excuse me mam I said smack not a boop. My ass is too incredible to have it booped.”

“Well, I booped you- watcha gonna do about it?”

“Might not help you take off your makeup when we get home.”

You gasped dramatically, “you wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me honey,” he shot back.

You cleared your throat, “wait, put me down.”

His brows knit together, “you gotta throw up?”

You hummed in response.

He took you by the waist and placed you down, keeping his hands there to make sure you didn’t take a header into the brick wall.

Before he could react you flashed him a bright grin, broke from his touch and proceeded to skip down the street. It took him a second to realize he had been conned; he had to jog a little to keep up with you. “Girl, where in the hell do you think you’re goin’?....... y/n?”

“Do you hear that?” You asked, rounding the corner onto a totally empty side street. This side of town was mostly strip malls and county buildings. A record store was playing music from inside...it floated through the street and echoed lazily into the humid June night. “My father used to sing this song to me.”

The song was a cover of ‘Cross My Heart’ written by George Strait but sung by Dierks Bentley. “God I haven’t heard this song in years” you breathed, making your way into the street and laying down under the streetlamp. You sang along, “I cross my heart And promise to, Give all I’ve got to give, To make all your dreams come true.”

Jack stood off to the side, getting more and more frustrated. “I’m not gonna scrape you off the sidewalk if you get hit.”

You laughed, unable to see that he was upset…. “hit by what? All the cars?” The street was completely deserted, most everybody was home in bed. “You will always be the miracle, That makes my life complete, And as long as there’s a breath in me, I’ll make yours just as sweet.”

Jack shook his head, shifting uneasily on his feet.

It was an absolutely beautiful night- full moon, warm, not a single cloud obstructing the sky. You gasped and sat up “Jack please dance with me!”

“I’m tired, put your shoes on- let’s go-”

You gave him the puppy dog eyes “but it’s perfect! The song is almost over anyway-”

He snapped, losing his temper and shouting at you. “What part of I’m fucking tired do you not understand? Come get your shoes and stop acting like a goddamn child!”

You stared at him wide eyed while the music played on. The two of you had little spats in the past….but you had never seen him do anything close to that. Sobriety struck you in an instant. You held tears back and pulled yourself from the asphalt. Silently, you took your shoes from him and placed them on your feet.

His tone was still a little harsh but not nearly as bad as before, “you want me to carry you?”

“No” you said quickly “I can walk - thank you.”

Jack pulled the car to a stop at an empty intersection and waited for the light to turn green.

You were the first one to speak “sometimes I get too excited and act stupid... I apologize for not listening to you when you said you wanted to go. I’ll listen better next time.”

He sighed and hesitated, “I’m sorry I didn’t dance with you.”

You shrugged, “it’s okay, you were tired...plus George Strait sang it better anyway.”

“No, it’s not that-”

You could tell that he was fighting something, but you didn’t know what. His lack of verbal communication frustrated you at times, however it was something you had been learning to accept. Each day you noticed his tells and from those you would peace together how he was feeling. He would get boisterous when he was nervous, silent when he was focused, chatty when content...so on and so forth.

Although you would rather him tell you these things, you understood that he was a man raised in a way that forbade overly emotional declarations. He was getting better the safer he felt with you and it was okay that he wasn’t perfect with it just yet. Jack had spent years shutting people out, it was going to take time for him to break the habit.

“-that was my wedding song,” he confessed.

You nodded slowly, showing him that you were listening.

“You looked so fuckin’ beautiful and just - happy…….” he sighed again. “It’s uh- do you know that the two of you share the same birthday? I didn’t realize it until the other day when you mentioned yours …...three hundred and sixty five days in a year, what are the fuckin’ odds?”

The light turned but he didn’t move, he was staring transfixed at the road - his mind somewhere far. You watched him remember her and a life that no longer existed. He always had a certain look about him when he was thinking of her. You couldn't really put it into words; he just seemed so at peace with the world….like the burden of loss wasn't weighing him down.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter “the birthday you have coming up will make you one year older than she ever got to be…. It’s like one day I woke up and twenty-four years have come and gone overnight.”

He started to choke up a little, but fought against it. “ I don’t know why it just hit me all of a sudden. I can go weeks, months, without feeling upset. Then one little thing just sets it off and everything comes rushing back at once…. and it hurts the same way it did then.”

His breathing hitched in his chest, you could tell that he was probably on the verge of a panic attack.

You placed a hand on his leg “hey-”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That wasn’t right….. I’m not that person-”

“It’s alright-”

“No it’s not. I’m sorry if I scared you and I’m sorry that I’m talkin’ about this. I know you probably don’t want to hear it-”

“Jack” you spoke softly in an attempt to stop his spiraling. “I always want to hear about what you’re going through. No matter what it is…..your wife, she sounds amazing.”

He reached down to take your hand, squeezing it gently.

You brushed your thumb across his knuckles. “If you ever need to talk about her you can, I hope you know that. And what you said about it all rushing back….grief is not linear. It's not something that has a start and end...instead it’s like a box with a little ball inside. Every time the ball hits the side of the box you feel upset. Like tonight-”

Your other hand reached up to tuck a little strand of hair behind his ear, while you went on… “At first the box is tiny and the ball hits the sides of it often. However as time goes on the box gets bigger. Meaning that the ball has much more space to travel until it hits the sides.”

You paused for a moment to let him follow along. “You grew up with her; she is literally woven into the fabric of your soul. You are allowed to miss her and miss her deeply. Even after all this time. It is okay. In the same breath though, you are also allowed to be happy. I know you carry around guilt - I see it in you constantly……. but there was nothing you could have done Jack.”

You placed a finger under his chin and turned his head to face you, “and you didn’t scare me. You just caught me off guard is all.”

“I wish I danced with you,” he said softly.

“We’ll have plenty of time to dance, Jack.”

He looked so utterly exhausted; you dropped your hand to let him focus back on the road. “Yeah” he agreed, then lifted his foot off the break to continue on.

The open windows let wind rush through the cabin. He kept a tight hold on your hand, it was the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment.

An idea surfaced in your mind…. “I think we should include her this year. We can pick up some flowers - maybe a little toy for the baby, and have a picnic. I’ll make cupcakes and we can blow out a candle for her as well ….would that be something you want to do?”

He rubbed his eyes and nodded.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you.”

You smiled softly “you don’t have to thank me Jack.”

#Jack Daniels x you #Whiskey x you #Agent whiskey x Reader #Agent whiskey x you #Agent whiskey fanfic #Kingsmen Fanfiction #Kingsmen Fanfic #Pedro fanfic #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal Fanfiction #long live the queue

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cacti-are-like-flamingos · 3 years

Text

The Golden Hand

° Assassin’s Creed Odyssey Imagine °

Chapter 3

Fem! Reader

Central Masterlist | The Golden Hand

Just how was he to take you back home when he didn’t even know where to start? Alexios had not the faintest idea on how to do that; pray to the gods? They don’t always answer, and when they do, it’s just downright confusing. His only choice was to continue on his journey and hope, that by some miracle, the answer would reveal itself soon. However, as such worries and doubts continued to plague his mind, they were soon drowned out upon his eyes falling on you.

He had to admit it.

You were utterly adorable.

Your eyes, round and soft, peered at the lively scene of the marketplace with star-like sparkles. Your lips drew apart ever so slightly, a smile merrily making its way on them as you expressed a fondness to how ancient, how....different this world was. He wondered how you felt about it all. Surely you were experiencing some extreme form of cultural shock. Two days could not possibly remedy it. Perhaps your joy was a façade, a guise for the truth of your feelings.

“Ah, yes! This tells of Odysseus’s voyages and his battles.” “And this?” “That one refers to the miracles of Zeus and the gods.” “They’re so beautiful.” You murmured, admiring the paintings on the pottery. By now, Alexios had shifted his attention back to you, pushing his thoughts all the way into the back of his mind as he came to realize that he has subconsciously followed you to the front of a small pottery stand. He watched as you kindly interacted with the clerk, the elder blushing at your beauty and compliment.

“Why thank you! Although my hands and body have begun to age and wrinkle, my passion for art has yet to fade.” You smiled. He watched you for a few moments before briefly turning his attention behind you. There, not far from the two for you, was Phoibe waving her scrawny arms around as she tried hard to get the misthios attention. Chuckling under his breath, the man leaned into your ear, breathing a short, “I’ll be back” before moving away from you. Heading over to the young girl, he gave her a look.

“How’d it go with Markos?” Phoibe asked. With a small grimace on his face, he replied, ”How it always goes. I didn’t get my money and I’m running another errand for him.” Humming, she settles herself on top of a nearby rock. Crouching to her level, the conversation continues. “Why did you let him boss you around?” Her words earned herself a gentle glare from the older male, “I owe him a debt. From the past.”

“Did you borrow drachmae?” Oh the innocence of youth.

“Not that kind of debt. Few people would take in a runaway they caught thieving. I was just a kid.” Unbeknownst to him, you had accidentally caught his words.

“Huh. I’m just a kid. And I’ve done pretty good for myself.” Phoibe stated with a sense of pride earning a snort from the man. “What do you want Phoibe?” She looked over to you,” Well, I was going to ask help first but -- who is she?” Her eyes ran down you figure, sparkling with curiosity. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop the small smile blooming on his lips as he watched you speak with another civilian. “She is...a friend.”

“She’s really pretty. Is she nice?” Alexios chuckles. “I only met her yesterday but I believe so. Now, what do you want Phoibe?” Getting back on track, Phoibe continued, ”You know Kausos?” He squinted his eyes in confusion, “The town on the other side of the island? Why?” She answered, ”People there are sick--my friend Kynna is too. There’s a blood fever. They say it’s a curse and that they need help from the gods.” “I told you, I’m not a god.” “But Ikaros--”,”Is a bird.” With an exasperated expression she yelled,” That doesn’t mean you can’t help!”

There was a moment of silence. It was his hardened expression against her own puppy yet desperate eyes.

She won.

“Agh! All right, I’ll look into it.” With that said, Phoibe let out a grin and a loud ‘Thanks!’ before running away. Sighing, the man ran a large hand over his head, massaging his temples in annoyance. First you and now this. Just how was he to-“Alexios? You okay mate?” Your voice was soft yet clear as you now stood beside him. With a glimpse he could see your concerned expression, your groomed brows knitted together. It was then that an idea struck him.

“(Y/N), since you are from the future, your people must’ve conjured many cures for various illnesses, no?” You gave him a look but nonetheless nodded. “Do you bear any knowledge of your time’s medicine?” “I’m no expert but I do have some knowledge. Although, you have to take into account that medicines are more advanced in my time. What we have, we have because of technology.” He nodded.

“We shall journey to Kausos, a town on the other side of Kephallonia. There is a blood fever. Hopefully, you can help.”

He had now realized that the two of you have managed to reach the docks. Lightly nudging you, he quietly whispered into your ear, ”

“Hopefully.”

Why did you get the feeling that today was going to take a turn for the worse?

...

The journey there was hell. There was no other way to describe it. What you could only imagine once lush and green and full of life and festivities, now seeming barren and full of death and burnt flesh. The putrid smell of corpses and of blood’s iron burning your nostrils to the point that you could barely breathe. Desperately trying to muffle the scent by placing your hand to your nose. And as the horse galloped, you watched the scene around you. Whole structures were burned either to the ground or near to it, smoke billowing out from their interiors in large clouds of black and grey. A pile of bodies, clothed in blood stained fabrics, laid beside the burning buildings, waiting to be cremated. A ring of black surrounded the pile from underneath, the dirt having been scarred from a previous cremation.

“By the gods, what has happened here?” You heard Alexios mutter under his breath as he took in the scene. Judging by the tone in his voice, you could tell that the sight had, too, taken him by surprise.

You stayed quiet, trying to focus on your breathing rather than the sound of the crows cawing loudly above your heads. It was then that you heard the cry of a man burst through the cawing, it was loud and clear.

“You’re murderers! Murderers!” What? Diverting the horse over to the origin of the voice, Alexios forced the animal to come to a stop right before a small bridge. Helping you come off the saddle, he led you over the bridge and into a situation you never thought you were ever going to be a part of.

“If the gods won’t help you, the sickness must be destroyed by our hands! We have no choice.” Spoke a man wearing dark clothing and a bow fastened around his torso. Two other men at his either side of him, surrounding what appeared to be a family.

“Help us!” Yelled one of the children as the two of you made your way over to them. His arms bound by rope.

Oh god.

“He won’t let us go!” Shouted the father.

Keeping your distance, you stayed behind the burly man. Rubbing the palms of your hands together as a way to comfort your hammering heart. Thoughts racing through your head. Alexios was expecting you to somehow save these people, but in all honesty, you had not the slightest clue as to how herbal medicine worked. I mean, you did know just a few things based on videos you had seen on YouTube but nothing that can truly save a person, much less a fucking village. Shit, now panic was setting in and that wouldn’t do any good. Steeling your nerves, you turned your attention to the conversation. Only managing to hear the last few sentences of the man’s explanation.

“...We couldn’t keep up with the bodies. It was spreading --- we had to intervene. “ He said.

“They killed our brothers! Our neighbors!” Countered the father, his wife adding on, “We survived the massacre, but he’ll kill us now!” The man, who you had now realized was most likely a Priest based on the clothing he wore, continued, “The gods have abandoned us. The sick must join the dead f we are to save the living!”

“You burned the whole village?” Alexios asked in disbelief. The Priest looked down in shame before answering,” Many nights were lost praying. We had to take action --- to scorch the blood fever out of Kausos.”

“Is there no hope for a cure?” The Priest shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh as he answered,” Nothing has worked. Sacrifice, prayers...” The wife interrupted,” Healers won’t come near us, soldiers won’t let us leave...The gods won’t answer our prayers!” Alexios sighed, shifting his weight to his left as he spoke, “But I know nothing of the plague.”

“There is nothing you can do. If you intervene, I will be forced the defend the gods’ will.” he priest warned. “We aren’t even that sick! We’ll get better!” “Nobody gets better! This is the only way all of Kephallonia will save itself from extermination!” It was then that the Spartan turned to you, his eyes having the slightest glimmer of hope.

“(Y/N), is there anything you can do? Is there any chance that you can save them?” His voice soft and quiet. It was almost drowned out by the crackle of the fires.

You gave yourself a moment to think. If this was a virus, then the only thing they could do was ride it out... but....shit, you’re not a doctor. The hell were you suppose to do, much less say?

You could feel a knot form in your throat, a bubbling sensation blooming within the pits of your stomach --- anxiety. There was a slight tremble to your hands, but why? Why were you feeling this way? This place was a game, no? It had no real consequence, right? No, no that kind of thinking doesn’t apply here, because while to you it will always be a game, you are still quite physically present in it. There are consequences to your actions. There are right and wrong answers. So what now?

Taking a deep breath in, you briefly looked back up into his own. And with the slightest shake of your head, he knew your answer.

Sighing, he spoke, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be involved in this.”

“We don’t have to die!” The mother protested. Slamming her bound wrist onto her lap.

You wanted to say something, anything. But nothing would come out. Your lips moved, but not a sound was made. Instead you hid behind Alexios, your lips sealed shut, as he spoke with the priest once more before motioning for the two of you to walk away. It was after ten steps that they’re screams were heard.

And, as if to add salt to the wound, a lone figure ran up to you.

Phoibe.

“You...you didn’t save them? What about Kynna? She’s my friend!” You felt a tug at your heartstrings upon seeing her heartbroken expression. Alexios, who stood just a foot in front of you, tensed his shoulders. A frown on his face.

“How could I make that-”, noting the increased volume in his voice, you placed a hand to his bicep. Upon feeling your touch, he breathed. “ Listen Phoibe. I know you’re sad about Kynna --- it’s a big loss. But look around you. You want this to be like this everywhere?” He gestured to their surroundings.

The young girl frowned, “No...but maybe Kynna would get better. They could be wrong about her!” “And maybe the sickness would take the family tomorrow. It’s impossible to tell.” The misthios argued.

Folding her arms, Phoibe looked to the ground, “I hope you’re right.”

You didn’t know what compelled you to speak, you just knew you had to say something to the young girl. Licking your lips, you kneeled down to her height. A saddened look on your own face.

“Phoibe, I know we have just met but...sometimes, good people die. No matter how much we don’t like it.“ She stared at you for a moment, her eyes flickering about your face. It was a only a moment later that she allowed herself to lean closer to you.

“I know...I just wish it wasn’t true.” And with that, she walked away.

Watching her figure slowly dwindle to nothing but a mere shadow, you breathed. The smoke still burning the inside of your nostrils.

“Alexios?” “Yes?” “Let’s...let’s go...please.” Your voice quieter than the occasional breeze. You heard him grunt, “ Of course.”

Realization didn’t come quick.

It was only after you had mounted onto the house, with your hands gripping tightly onto his armor, that the realization came to you.

You had killed someone. Rather indirectly, but still.

Innocent blood was on your hands.

How did it come to this? You were but a student just a day ago.

How did everything change so quick? So...in the blink of an eye?

Alexios would never tell you, but he could feel your tears dampen his clothing.

...

(A/N): Sorry this took so long, I’m still trying to figure out how I want this story to play out and for how long.

Hope you enjoyed!

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insufferablelust · 4 years

Text

THE ARTIST AND HIS MUSE. (iii)

Hi lovelies! Here it is, the third installment to TAAHM, and this has some kissing and lots of build ups so no smut yet, but we’re getting there! oh and as i mentioned this story will be quite dark— i mean not that dark i will never write about rape etc. But the whole generic theme is based on the reader’s psychological state where she’s basically an HSP where she feels twice as much and she becomes obsessed way too quickly. Some of these things are adaption from my personal background so please if you feel uncomfortable you can read other fanfics thank you and read at your own risk! as always excuse the grammars! Xx, D.

WARNINGS : Dark themed, upcoming Dom!Spencer, Sub!Reader, No smut yet (soon), Detailed Mentions of murder and corpse?, upcoming dark kinks (but not all the time, so expect some vanilla stuff too), SSA!Reader, !more upcoming warnings soon!

masterlist here to check out the first and second chapter!

———🍃———

{If perfectionism were inches, he’d go on for miles and miles. But if there are none, then he’s one.}

CHAPTER 3

You’re utterly fucked.

His voice played in your head over and over again as you drove back home from the BAU, you can feel that you are physically inside the car but your mind is stuck to where Spencer goes. It’s like he’s taunting you with every passing second, and the thought drove you crazy. You always had a crush on him, but all those months you thought he never liked you, never made an effort to at least get to know you but why now? you wanted to scream out so bad, nails digging into the steering wheel before pulling over the side of the road and grabbed your phone— contemplating whether you listen to your brain saying that he’s toying with you or your heart and your desire to just... text him.

“Do i make you nervous?”

His stupid voice is the one that made your fingers search for his number. You bit your lip harshly as you weigh your options, you could either text him and wait for a possibly long overdue answer or you could just give him a call, It’s not weird giving your coworker a call right? You tried to make sense of yourself before hitting the call button and curses under your breath “fuck it”

“Hello? Y/n? Are you okay?” you took a sharp breath at the sound of his voice, laced with worry. There’s a part inside of you that yearn to tell him that no, you’re not okay because the game you’ve been playing really start to mess with your emotions, except you answered with a tiny “I’m okay, um are you at rossi’s yet?”

He chuckled, “No, i decided not to go, figured that i’m way too tired” your heart clenched, wanting to take care of his tired self,

“well! you should get some rest right now” you hurriedly mumbled, cursing at the sound of your very shaky voice. “Y/n what’s wrong? you know you can tell me anything right?” I have a crush on your stupid ass— thats whats wrong.

“No- no i was about to ask about this uh um the last case—“

“It’s about the question isn’t it?”

“what?” you let out a choked out mewl, taking a deep breath, making a mental note for yourself to just keep breathing.

“The question, Do i make you nervous? isn’t that why you called me?” Your heart raced that if he’s close enough to the phone, you’re convinced he can hear the thump. “Spence— i uh, yeah.” the voice you let out is barely a whisper, you almost hope that he didn’t caught it, but of course he did.

“Is that yes to the question?” You were about to answer his question before he interrupted “You don’t even have to say it Y/n, I know that i make you nervous.”

“How—“

“How would i know? Alright, you never called me before, not unless there’s an emergency or a case, that’s why i got worried when you called. Your breathing—“ he paused for a second, taking a deep breath when he hears the tiny whine that escaped out of your lips, before continuing,

“Your breathing is labored, i can hear you hitches every time i said something that you know is true, i can also hear the way your knee bounce and hitting the dashboard each time- it’s a nervous tic and the only time you do it is when i’m near you. and from the way you stayed silent, trying to keep down any noises is the answer i needed to know that i’m right. The right question isn’t do i make you nervous, but why?”

When he finished talking, you hadn’t even realized that your knees were bouncing, immediately stilled your leg and cleared your throat, pushing every bit of bravery you have left to answer him “My apartment, in an hour. I’ll grab chinese on the way, and we can talk?”

“I’ll be there”

“Okay, ill see you—“

“And princess? drive safe”

Just Fucked.

————

Your knees just couldn’t stop shaking with excitement as you set your small dining table with Chinese take outs, you even made sure to have spoon and fork ready for Spencer since he won’t use his chopsticks, smiling at the perfect looking table— you sprinted to your bedroom to check your appearance one last time. Wearing a simple dress and cardigan on top seemed appropriate enough to meet your coworker right? you stare at yourself in the mirror before adjusting the hair that fell down your sides, and taking a deep breath.

Knock, knock

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath before opening the door to see a smiling Spencer still in his work clothes with what looks like bags of candies in his hand— you could’ve sworn you were about to cry because he remembered, he remembered how much you love your candies, reminding you over and over again that the cause of your hyper-ness cant be from candies, “Sugar rush is not a thing (Y/n)” He said once before spewing out more statistics about sugar. But god, don’t you love it.

“Spencer, come in.” You stepped back as you let him in, before closing the door and wait for him to take off his converse and coat. The silence made you nervous, that you don’t even realize that you’re tapping your knuckles on the wooden door until he mentioned it,

“There, you’re nervous.” He dropped the candy bag—practically thrown it on the couch as he cornered you, with his chest pressing against yours and his hand cupping your jaw so delicately that you flutter your eyes shut, engulfing the warmth thats radiating off of him.

“What’s going on inside that pretty head of yours (Y/n)?” He whispered, knuckles brushing over your cheeks ever so slightly, causing the goosebumps to rise at his command, it’s crazy how much control he has over you already like he holds your life in his, but you don’t complained— you want this, you craved it. You have craved the feeling of being obsessed with someone again, it’s been so long since you’ve given up control, and your mind and body just wants a break from all the stress you’ve put yourself through it. And Spencer— Spencer might just be the perfect escape.

“you..” Your voice is thick and scratchy, like something was pressing against your throat, when in reality it was a mixture of lust and desire. “Me? What about me?” His eyes never left yours, as he brush your noses together. He was so close that you can almost taste his skin, you can almost feel the emotions that runs deep within his veins, what is it about Spencer Reid that draws you in so much?

Then he pulled away, with a satisfied grin on his face “I don’t know princess, you tell me” You were about to ask what he meant before the wheels in your head are finally clicking; you were thinking out loud— oh how he loves it when your cheeks are flushed, eyes droop as you endure yet another wave of embarrassment, and something about being this is so raw and exposed- not physically but you can almost sense it, sense how he sees what got you so needy, so powerless against him. It’s almost like he’s seen you naked before; naked below your skin, like he’s seen your insides, every right turns that ignite the fire inside of you, and every right switch that makes you tic and you’d be crazy if you’d say you don’t enjoy every bit of it.

“You know— you know what it is, you just want to taunt me” You gathered enough bravery to speak at last, biting your lower lip right after the words slipped out of your mouth, until his thumb pressed down just below the part that you don’t get to bite and pull. “Y/n, Stop biting your lip, or i’ll bite it for you.” His breathing is shallow, like he’s holding something back, and now is not the time to hold back— you thought. now is the time to just let go.

“Talk is cheap, Dr.Reid” You smiles cheekily— almost borderline bratty, and you know it. But the second those words left your mouth, the look on his face makes you hold out your whine— the look on his face is the look of anger, anger and full of temptation, like when adam bit the forbidden fruit. It was so stern that you almost apologize, wanting nothing more than to please him not disobey him. But before you get the chance, he pressed his lips against yours in a bruising manner.

This is it— the moment you’ve been craving.

The moment his lips touched yours, you surrender all control to him, giving him your all without even asking for anything in return, it’s like you were born to be his— the drunken lust part of your mind doesn’t seem to want to understand the logic behind any of this and how dangerous it is, not when the man you’ve loved for a long time is now sucking on your lower lip and push his tongue in to tangle it with yours. The sounds were filthy, filled with gasps and wet noises, your noses bumps against each other but you couldn’t care less, the oxygen grew thin inside your lungs but none of you seemed to mind, you were savoring each and every passing second of this.

His fingers are warm but the tips are cold suggesting how nervous and excited he was, you tilt your neck backwards as he wrapped them right on your neck, pressing them ever so gently, the pressure is enough to let you gasp out a moan onto the kiss. You both were positively burning from the pleasure, the need, and the lack of oxygen, everything is clouding your senses as much as its clouding his, and before you know it, he has to pull back in order for you both to still go to work tomorrow.

Gasping, you gulped down as much oxygen as possible as your knees buckled, you’re pretty sure you would’ve fell if it weren’t for his tight grip. You both calmed down, before coming back to your senses, everything is blurry and fuzzy inside your mind, yet you smiled— looking up at his disheveled state and smiled, “What does this mean?” is the only question you can get out of your chest.

“I— i may or may not have a crush on you Y/n..” he trailed off, licking his lips as he took a step back, his movements were so calculated and gentle that you’re afraid you had said something wrong that makes his demeanor changed— as if he didn’t know how happy you were to found out that your love for him isn’t one sided.

Gently, you reached for his hand then drag him with you down to sit on the sofa, grabbing the candy bag and picked out a cherry lollipop. Spencer let out a chuckle as he shakes his head— looking at you as you peeled the wrapper.

“What?”

“Nothing..”

“Spencer what?” You pouts as you hold the lollipop between your fingers, waiting for him to answer, “nothing, you just.. that’s your favorite” he smiled “i remembered the first day you joined, you were so nervous that you didn’t even realized you were still sucking on your cherry lollipop, only letting go of them when you saw me and your jaw—“

“Okay, you can stop now!” You paused him, pushing the lollipop through his lips, hiding your face on the crook of your arms, he laughs loudly as you hit his chest twice,

“Hey i’m just saying facts Princess, you were so cute i almost had the mind to bend you over the desk that very moment the lollipop dropped out of you gaping jaw.” He always managed to make every cell in your body feel like they’re being burned but- the good burn. You couldn’t help but to clench your thighs at his ‘facts’. This is the Spencer reid you never knew existed behind all the books and statistics. And you can’t lie and say that you didn’t love both because you love everything about him.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because that’ll not be appropriate would it baby? In a work place after all, or have you thought about that before hm? me bending you over my table when everyone’s watching as you suck on these little lollipops that you love so much?” He pulled the lollipop out of his lips before smearing the sticky top on your lips, before throwing it to the trash can then pressing his lips on yours to kiss you again, this time gentler.

He took his time on devouring you, savoring every inch of your lips, and the depth of warmth inside your mouth like he was trying to imprint the feeling inside his memory so he could relived it over and over again— well he didn’t have to, you are his.

He pulled back gently as he smiled at you, you searched his eyes to know what he’s worrying about, and you knew exactly what it is. “I- i have had the longest crush on you too.. Spencer” You mumbled, playing with your fingers and reminiscing the taste of his lips on yours as you ran your tongue over them.

“But we can’t...”

“I know you’d say that.”

“How?”

“Lets just say, you were not as good at keeping your secrets as you thought you were, Princess.”

Your heart dropped and for the hundredth time that night, you knew you’re fucked for real this time.

————————

TBC!

Taglist and Long Blurb requests are open, feel free to leave a message if you want in! you can also message me any feedbacks or constructive criticism. And lastly, please like + reblog! thank you!

SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE TAG, TUMBLR DECIDED MY WORK DOESNT DESERVE RECOGNITION AND THE HASTAGS DOESNT WORK SO I HAVE TO DO A REUPLOAD! so sorry!

( @blancastans @spencerwaltergubler @slutforthegubes @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @babybloomer @liaabsurd @midnightsubmissives )

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #TAAHM #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds smut #dom!spencer #spencer reid blurbs #spencer x reader

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ymiwritesstuff · 3 years

Note

Hi! I saw your requests are open and I could definitely use some Kakyoin lovin, so could I slide ya a lil idea? What about Kakyoin saves reader from an attack and she gives him a heat of the moment kiss as a thanks. And then gets all embarrassed cuz it was super impulsive and she just kissed her crush and then comes clean about it? 🥺

Awww this is ADORABLE!! I had so much fun with this, I hope it came out the way you were hoping, Anon. Thanks for the request and please enjoy!

Action of Gratitude

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Noriaki Kakyoin x Fem!Reader

Summary: A seemingly normal stroll around the foreign city quickly turns dangerous with no hope in sight.

Notes: Minor swearing

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” The red-haired teen asked, tiny specks of worry glimmering in his lavender eyes. You smile at him, finding his concern rather adorable as he was always looking out for everyone in the group.

“Don’t worry, Nori. I just have to go grab a few things from the shop. I’m sure it won’t take long,” you replied, his gaze immediately easing a bit as your words reached his ears, a pleasant smile appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m not like certain someone who always gets in trouble with the enemy when he wanders around a foreign city on his own.” Your eyes immediately glance at the silver-haired Frenchman who you had been referring to and judging by his and everyone else’s expression, they had understood what your slightly sarcastic but playful sentence meant. Polnareff was quick to defend himself.

“Hey! It’s not my fault I get attacked all the time!” A small laugh escapes your lips at his words as you turn to momentarily leave the group to do your shopping. “I’ll be back in a bit, don't you dare leave without me.” The tone in your voice is playful and it gets a few laughs and eye rolls as a response as you begin your little adventure.

The shop wasn’t far away, but you had to be careful as the attacks from the enemy had increased in numbers lately. What you said about Polnareff was merely a joke, but at the same time, it reminded everyone about the risks involved. No one knew what kind of a stand would try to deter you next, and the thought admittedly scared you. The last thing you wanted was to see someone get badly injured. Especially Kakyoin.

Something about him was pulling you in like a magnet. Perhaps it was his calm and collected demeanor or his unrelenting desire to help in any way he could, you weren’t sure, but there was definitely something in him that made your heart race and stomach twist. In addition, his good looks definitely amplified the feelings of affection.

You had held onto these feelings for quite some time. They developed gradually as you witnessed his personality and skills in battle, which gave you a better understanding of who he really was. He was a diligent young man who put others before himself, a trait which you respected greatly. He had gone through a lot, with the vicious flesh bud and all, which made you feel bad for him. And yet, he bounced back and became a valuable member of the team. Perhaps that’s what caused your attraction. He had a strong spirit that refused to give up and fought valiantly when danger appeared.

However, there was a cloud of uncertainty and despair above your head, as you weren’t at all certain if he held the same kind of feelings towards you. You tried not to give yourself too much hope, but as the journey progressed, you found yourself more and more attached to him. It frustrated you to an extent and a part of you just wanted to come clean to him even if it meant you might look like an utter fool.

Suddenly, in the midst of walking through an empty alley that was shielded from the bright sunshine, something shot at you from the shadows at a high speed. Your eyes quickly locked onto the blurry speck that traveled towards you and you tried to dodge, but whatever was flying towards you managed to hit your wrist and pulled it to the hard ground. That’s when you felt the sticky substance on your wrist that mercilessly held you on the ground with no signs of letting you go. This was bad.

You immediately summon your stand and try to pry your hand free, which quickly proves to be a terrible decision as soon as your free hand goes to touch the substance. A small gasp leaves your mouth as both of your hands are now stuck. No matter how hard you pull or move you aren’t able to break free which quickly increases your panic. “Shit, shit shit!” Your knees on the ground you try to look for the culprit as you are more than certain this is another enemy stand attack.

“Man I thought this would be at least a bit more difficult,” said an unknown male voice. Your eyes immediately shot at the direction of the voice, your heart beginning to race slightly as the enemy emerged from the shadows. He had a confident smirk as he watched your predicament you tried so hard to ease. Your efforts were in vain as the spiderweb-like restrains showed no signs of loosening. A chuckle that left the enemy stand user’s mouth only increased your panic.

“Don’t even try it, missy,” he said and pulled something from his pocket; A knife. Your (E/C) eyes widened at this and despite his words, you continued your fruitless struggle. He noticed this. “Damn you really are persistent. Don’t you get it? There’s nothing you can do.” Despite the annoyingly mocking tone in his voice, he was right. Summoning your stand in this situation was impossible due to the fact that you were completely immobile, your hands glued to the ground.

“Let me go you asshole!” He took a few steps closer, still holding the sharp knife in his hand as he let out another derisive laugh. “And let you attack me with that stand of yours? I think not.” Your heart pounded in your chest as he knelt down in front of you, holding the blade dangerously close to your face. Still, you kept your eyes on him. “You see, my stand isn’t exactly suited for combat. The only thing it can do is shoot that glue-like substance that sticks to everything. It works well as a trap but it won’t do any physical damage.” You glared at the enemy despite the obvious panic raging inside you. The situation was dire, but you weren’t ready to lose. Still, the knife in his hand shook your entire being.

“That’s why I carry this little thing around.” His eyes glanced at the blade and he brought it even closer, to which you responded by quickly spitting at him making him quickly tumble backward, a groan escaping his mouth. What an idiot. A small smirk makes its way on your face but it quickly disappears as your quick action proves alarming as he recovers quickly, his eyes burning with anger.

“You little bitch!” He quickly lunges at you, knife in hand, aiming to strike you down. That previous panic amplifies and you try to break free once again, despite it being utterly useless. You breathe heavily as the rapid footsteps of the enemy get closer and closer, your struggles getting more and more desperate as the fear of death quickly consumes you. The situation had gotten extremely dangerous and you quickly closed your eyes, unwilling to see the knife stab you.

But the sharp pain never came and instead, you heard a loud thud mere inches away from you and upon opening your eyes, the enemy, was on the ground, completely knocked out. You were so shocked and confused you didn’t even realize your hands becoming free again. Only when a familiar voice called out to you did you finally come to your senses.

“(Name)!” Kakyoin quickly rushed to your side and helped you up, worry shining in his eyes. “(Name)? Are you okay? Did the enemy hurt you?” As you looked at him, something inside you exploded and before you knew it, you crashed your lips into his, catching him completely off guard. Your lips tingled pleasantly as they touched his, the fact that he had come to your rescue doing something inside you that caused you to kiss him in the heat of the moment.

However you quickly realize what you had done and as you glance at him and notice his wide lavender eyes and a faint blush you pull away, internally cursing at yourself for doing something this reckless. “N-Nori I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The embarrassment makes itself known on your face as you quickly try to somehow explain yourself and try not to make yourself look like a fool. Though, it’s probably too late.

“I-I just... I thought because you saved me, a-and- I’ve liked you for some time- I mean! I-I was so afraid, I didn’t know what I was doing I-” Your quite pathetic rambling gets interrupted by a warm chuckle that leaves the teen’s mouth. Before you have time to process his reaction, the feeling of his soft lips against yours returns as he captures them in a pleasant kiss you had been secretly waiting for.

Your hands find their way around his neck while his are tenderly on your waist. Your heart flutters, the red shade never fading from your cheeks as the kiss from the person you had been attracted to for so long completely takes over and all doubt about his feelings towards you fades away as you lovingly embrace your red-haired savior.

#jjba #jojo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Stardust Crusaders #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin #jjba kakyoin #jojo kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin x reader #jjba noriaki kakyoin x reader #kakyoin x reader #jojo kakyoin x reader #jjba kakyoin x reader #reader insert

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athina-blaine · 3 years

Text

MoMM Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I deserve that. Your friendship. After everything I’ve done since…”

“Of course you do. Listen to yourself; it’s not like you wanted to frighten me.” An inch of space sat between their hands. “Is this …? Um. Is this okay …?”

The winds continued to howl, and Martin's hand lay limp on the bed sheets. His face grew hot, and he started pulling back. Stupid idea. But then Jon slid his hand closer until their fingers brushed. Emboldened, Martin wrapped his hand around Jon's, his burn scar grazing the soft skin of Martin's palm.

He squeezed gently.

“No one deserves to be lonely, Jon.”

Jon had no response, staring out to the storm that continued knocking on their windows. He stared, and he let Martin hold his hand.

Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1

Martin was an optimist. He had to be. Anything else would have been utterly unbearable.

That being said, he was… relatively confident things would get better. Jon had confided in him the terrible secret of Magnus Manor and the truth of this hellish storm. The Lonely. And understanding a problem meant you were one step closer to solving it, right? It meant one step closer to getting out of the cursed estate you’d found yourself trapped in.

Most importantly, though, the two of them were talking again. Above all else, that gave him hope.

Jon was waiting for him in the foyer the next morning. His nose was buried in a book, but when Martin approached, he looked up, and Martin liked to think he looked pleased.

“Good morning,” Martin said, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered.

“You as well. Would ... would you be amenable to sharing some morning tea? If ... if you're still offering ...”

“Y-yes, of course.” So yesterday hadn’t been a fluke; Jon wasn’t going to leave him alone again. “That sounds great. Um. English Breakfast, then?”

Jon smiled, nodded, and fetched them both a pot and one cup apiece. The porcelain warmed Martin’s aching fingers, a refreshing respite from the chill that crept so subtly through the halls.

They drank, and they talked about very little. Martin’s tongue burned with questions (–what’s it like living with these entities? How do they manifest? Will we get out of here soon?–), but he restrained himself; the age lining Jon’s face had soothed as he sipped his tea, and when he asked Martin how he’d slept, there was a shy twist to his mouth.

Right now, Martin wanted to enjoy himself. Enjoy Jon and a warm cup of morning tea. There would be plenty of time to agonise later.

In the meantime, he’d just need to keep busy. Now was as good a time as any to give cleaning the manor another chance. Masochistic, maybe. Impossible, certainly. But at least this time he didn’t have to worry about being reprimanded. Probably.

One of the many study rooms that littered the estate would be a good place to start. Small as it was, its sooty fireplace and dusty couch was enough of a time sink for his purposes.

He was in the middle of battling a particularly stubborn stain when the door opened and Jon peered inside. Despite everything, Martin couldn’t help his trill of anxiety, made all the worse when Jon kissed his teeth.

“Must I iterate that it’s not necessary for you to – ”

“I want to.” It was still such a shock to just see Jon, to have them talking, that the words came out in a breathless, jumbled mess. “I promise. I-I like cleaning, honest. It keeps my mind off … you know, things.”

Jon paused mid-stride. For a moment, Martin thought he was going to be chased off anyway, and then he’d have to actually beg to clean, because the thought of spending another minute with nothing to do but contemplate their situation–

“I–” Sighing, Jon brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Yes, fine, if you insist. So long as you understand that it is absolutely not an expectation of you.”

Martin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Another hurdle crossed.

He’d just convinced himself to relax and finally let his mind wander, soothed by the familiar, tediousness of cleaning a fireplace, when Jon unclasped his cloak, lying it over the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Assisting you, obviously. Having you clean it in my stead when I’m the one responsible for it falling into disrepair doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Doesn’t bear thinking about. What didn’t bear thinking about was a man of Jon’s stature doing menial work like this in the first place. But Martin was hardly about to refuse his help … or his company, so freely given. “Um. Thank you. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, though. There’s literally no way you could have kept this place clean all by yourself.”

“I appreciate the reassurance, but the point is moot.”

Well, if Jon wanted to roll up his sleeves and work at a grimy fireplace, Martin wasn’t about to stop him. When Jon literally rolled up his sleeves, he bit back a smile. The skin of his forearms was paler than that of his hands and face, smooth and free of blemishes. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a bit of sunshine without his shirt buttoned up to the chin?

Not that Martin had any business considering a thing like that in the first place. God, his face was burning again.

“I hate cleaning,” Jon murmured as he dunked the spare cloth in the water bucket. “Nothing ever stays clean.”

“Yeah. Gotta do it, though. Oh, you should keep your elbow up. You won’t tire out your arm as quickly.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” Jon sighed. “Perhaps the fault lies with me. I’ve never been particularly good at domesticity, after all. The rare times my grandmother was home, the only thing we talked about was how untidy my room was.”

Martin’s ears perked. The opportunity to learn more about Jon and his past? It was too enticing to resist. “Your gram wasn’t home much, then?”

“Not often. She was the matriarch of our family, so important business kept her in the capital most days.”

Oh. How … odd. Martin didn’t know anything about how noble families handled representing themselves, but … “I figured your mom or dad would take care of that sort of thing after a while. Did your gram just enjoy the work?”

“Both of my parents passed when I was a child.”

Martin’s stomach plunged to his feet. What a stupid blunder to make. “I’m … I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jon said, waving him away. “I was barely more than a baby at the time. I simply don’t remember enough of them to mourn their loss.”

Martin wasn’t sure if that made it worse. For all that Martin mourned the absence of his father, at least he had fleeting memories of warm hands and a deep voice to prove he’d existed at all. That he’d had a father once. “Still, that must have been … a bit lonely.”

“Not at all. I always had my governess’ supervision. She provided the structure and discipline I required.” Jon laughed, a wistful, breathy thing, and lowered his head. “I was … a rather troublesome child.”

That did even less to make Martin feel better, because he suddenly had this image, unbidden, of a little boy with big eyes and gangly knees, head hanging as his grandmother told him off in clipped tones, before leaving once again to the bustling capital. No hugs, or gentle forehead kisses. Just a scolding about his messy bedroom.

I’m sure you were wonderful, he wanted to say. I’m sure you deserved better than that.

But he was probably just projecting again.

“I’ve always liked cleaning,” Martin said, instead. “Makes me feel useful. My mum, she’s … she’s been sick most of my life. Nothing too serious,” Martin added quickly as Jon turned his head. “She just gets tired a lot. You know, hard to stay upright most of the time. There wasn’t a lot I could do to make her feel better, but keeping things clean helped.”

“I … I’m sorry to hear your mother is ill.”

“We were really lucky, actually. We lived in the same town as a really good doctor. He was really generous with us, but eventually … I-I couldn’t keep up with the bills running the farm all by myself, especially after our last goat died. We had to sell a few years ago, and I had to find work in the city.” Even after all this time, his throat tangled at the memory of leaving his childhood home. “Managed to land a really good job at the lord’s castle, so I always had money to send home. Every month. Haven’t been late once, yet. Until …”

“… Until now.”

Martin opened his mouth, because, well, he wasn’t late yet. There was still time for Martin to send his letter: about a week or so. That was plenty of time. But he refrained, because saying as much to Jon felt … dangerous. Like he was tempting fate.

Things were going to work out. They had to. The storm was going to clear, they were going to get out of here, and then …

“Your devotion to your mother is admirable,” said Jon.

Warmth ballooned in Martin’s stomach, spreading to the tips of his ears. It was an absurd thing to receive praise for (oh, you love your mother, really going above and beyond), but … well, it was still nice to hear, every once in a while. Or at all. “Thank you.”

It took most of the morning, but, with their combined efforts, they managed to restore the fireplace to an off-colour white. Martin stepped back, basking in the glow of a job well done. Jon, however, didn’t appear quite as chuffed as Martin felt. Rolling out his wrists, the man collapsed onto the couch, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process and triggering an intense coughing fit.

“Break time?” Martin asked, taking a much more gentle seat. His only answer was more coughing. Poor thing looked utterly done with the whole enterprise, if the curl of his nose was any indication. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. Unless you really intend to help me clean this room all day?”

Jon laughed, turning away sheepishly. “I … yes, um … Well, this and that, I suppose. Reading, mostly. I’ve always had a penchant for it, and I’ve yet to make my way through the library. Um. Music, although it’s been quite some time since the gramophone worked. I took to baking for a time. I like to think I’d gotten rather good at it.”

“Wait, so you did bake that bread? When I first got here?” Martin thought back on it, how crispy the crust was, the soft and tasty inner dough, how fresh it had been. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten fresh bread. “That’s seriously amazing.”

“It’s hardly a complex task. But … yes, thank you.” Martin wasn’t sure if it was the haze of the dust, but Jon’s face looked a bit darker, a bit flushed. But then, the good humor in Jon’s eyes fell away. “And then there was the garden, of course. It was … well. A disaster, to put it mildly.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I killed everything, didn’t I?” Jon’s eyes dropped to his lap, shoulders sinking. “Not a single bulb flourished under my care. I … I eventually figured it was more merciful to give up than keep trying.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Would be better to start with anything but roses, he wanted to suggest. You’re just setting yourself up to fail. But that would certainly come across as annoyingly patronising. “Maybe I can lend a hand?”

“Pardon?”

Wait. No. What business did Martin have making an offer like that? It wasn’t as if he knew any better about keeping things alive. But something about the resigned nature of Jon’s tone tore at him; his mouth had fallen open of its own accord.

“I-I mean … Well, it might be fun, yeah?” Martin tried. “Personally, I’ve always wanted to learn how to garden.”

“Is that so?”

Martin nodded, intending on leaving it there, but Jon was watching him, waiting. Oh.

“W-Well, uh, when I was a kid,” Martin said, face warming, “I’d always dreamed of having a, um, like a little cottage? That I owned? With a great big plot of land in the middle of a forest somewhere. Would get married, settle down, grow flowers and all kinds of food together. It’s … it’s a bit silly.”

“Not at all,” Jon said, eyes softening, and Martin’s heart fluttered something fierce. “I think that’s lovely.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t come out as a grimace, because it had been a long, long time since he’d indulged in that particular fantasy. It just wasn’t feasible, these days, having a little cottage of his own or … or finding someone who’d want to marry him when he’s never even had a serious relationship before.

“Thank you, though, for your offer,” Jon said, cutting through Martin’s thoughts. “I’ll … be sure to consider it.”

The tight knot in Martin’s stomach unwound just a bit. “‘Course.”

By that point, the dust had become utterly unbearable, and they were forced to evacuate.

The brass of the door handle glimmered under the lamplight, rusted with age and disuse. How long had Martin been standing here, knees locked and shivering beneath the thick chill? Ages, by now. Griffiths was going to have his skin peeled for shirking his responsibilities like this, and the head butler would be perfectly within his rights.

But every time Martin tried to remind himself, that he still had so much work to do –

“… Hello?”

That voice. Still out there, somewhere behind the old door. Distant, but not beyond Martin’s reach. If Martin had already been here for ages, then that voice …

Wasn’t anyone coming for them?

If he opened the door, he could just take a quick look. Call out, see who needed help –

“And what do you think you’re doing, young man?”

Martin yanked his hand back, hand burnt on the molten brass.

“M-Mum?”

“I always knew you’d leave for good someday. I could see it in your eyes, you know. You couldn’t bear to take care of your poor, sick mother, and now you’re off to traipse about the countryside with some invert.”

“I didn’t leave.” Tight pressure strangled Martin’s throat, the back of his eyes burning. “I’d never do that. Where are you? I’m coming, I-I’ll find you–”

“And what, pray tell, would be the point of that?”

“Mum, please, just tell me where you are, I’m coming–”

“You’ve always been a wretched liar.”

Martin lurched upright, sucking painful gasps through his aching teeth, his sleep shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. No light permeated the windows— he may as well have been in a tomb, for all that he could see.

Jon was out there somewhere. Alone. As was his mother.

I’m coming back to you. I’ll find a way out of here. I’m doing everything I can–

Liar.

Martin curled up onto his side, wrapping trembling arms around himself. Even though there was no one else to hear him, no one to stifle himself for, he drove his teeth into his lip until his mouth filled with the dull taste of copper.

Check out the Monster of Magnus Manor here!

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #[air horn noises]#yes chapter 4 will now be officially two chapters #their love just could not be contained #momm

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toorusbaby · 3 years

Text

second choice, pt. 1

hi guys (: this is my very first piece of writing that i’m publishing and i’m so nervous excited to share this with whoever’s reading. thank you for giving this a chance, ily reader. i put my heart and soul into this (literally, it took me ages) and i didn’t think i’d ever share it with anybody else, but here i am at 11:56 p.m lol. there are six parts in total, some longer than the rest. i hope you enjoy <3

summary: being in love with hajime iwaizumi is like riding a rollercoaster of emotions. it’s thrilling as it is exciting, but you feel a little lightheaded... because he doesn’t know how you feel. the worst part? he thinks you’re in love with his best friend.

warnings: just pure fluff, oikawa cockblocks, slow burn, slight angst if you squint real hard

word count: 2,924

part two here

Iwaizumi silently watched from the exit of the ramen shop as Oikawa eagerly helped you gather your belongings at the table the three of you just finished using. Despite the indistinct conversation you and his team captain were sharing, Iwaizumi didn’t fail to notice your small giggles that were probably in response to one of Oikawa’s many attempts at flirting with you. Who in their right mind wouldn’t flirt with you? You were a sight to behold, at least in Iwaizumi’s eyes... and every other male’s at Aoba Johsai, including none other than Oikawa.

It was no secret, not even to you, that you were attractive. With curves in all of the right places, glowing skin, and bright doe eyes framed by long, curled lashes, you were everything females wanted to look like and what every man dreamed of calling theirs.

Even though he knew you were physically gorgeous, Iwaizumi was more drawn to the beauty of your soul. Your alluring intelligence intrigued him the very moment he first heard you speak your mind without hesitation in class on the first day of school when you were both first years. When you became an assistant manager for the Aoba Johsai volleyball club during your second year, your kindness enthralled him when he discovered that you voluntarily stayed up all night on multiple occasions to devise game plans for every Seijoh volleyball match.

By your current third year of high school, Iwaizumi found himself utterly captivated by your empathy when he saw you through his silent tears, embracing a sobbing Kindaichi away from peering eyes, whispering words of comfort despite your own sobbing, shaking frame as a result of Seijoh’s lost chance of attending Nationals. Back at Seijoh later that day, Iwaizumi overheard Kunimi thanking you for comforting Kindaichi when he couldn’t do so himself. When he saw you smile, gently place a hand on the second year’s shoulder, and reassure him that you would do absolutely anything for ‘your boys’, he was enamored.

It was safe to say that Hajime Iwaizumi had fallen in love with you.

“Y/N, let me walk you home. It’s already dark out. Can’t stand the thought of my pretty girl getting into danger, you know?” Oikawa’s flirtatious words brought Iwaizumi’s attention back to reality. The green eyed boy’s gaze landed on your approaching frame and he couldn’t help but grin when you rolled your eyes in mock annoyance.

“The sun isn’t setting for another hour, Oikawa. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” You reassured, giving Iwaizumi a smile of gratitude when he opened the door for you. Oikawa’s quick stumbling after you however, completely destroyed the butterflies that fluttered in Iwaizumi’s stomach, causing the annoyed ace to huff.

The three of you made your way to the corner of the street but not before Oikawa could stop whining. “Y/N, you can’t possibly leave me with Iwa-chan!” The setter complained with a pout and sagged shoulders but you paid him no mind.

“Oi,” Iwaizumi grumbled, harshly elbowing his best friend’s chest, emitting a yelp from the pretty setter. “What’s that supposed to mean, dumbass?”

You glanced at the red crosslight before facing the two volleyball players with a grin. “Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Kawa. Iwa gives the best company. Isn’t that right, Iwa-chan?” You turned to Iwaizumi with a toothy smile, a small giggle leaving your lips when the spiky haired boy pouted. Hajime’s cheeks flushed not only because of how cute you looked craning your neck to look up at him, but also because of your usage of his cursed but infamous nickname.

Maybe that stupid nickname isn’t so bad, Iwaizumi quickly thought. Thanks, Oikawa.

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Oikawa cut him off.

“Lying isn’t good, little manager. But if you give me a hug, I won’t complain for the rest of today… maybe.” The setter smirked and opened his arms in your direction.

I take my ‘thanks’ back, you sly fucker, Iwaizumi thought begrudgingly.

Once again, the ace felt as if he had been punched in the gut. When Iwaizumi saw you chuckle and embrace his cocky best friend, who was more than happy to tightly wrap his arms around your body, jealousy filled the boy to the brink. The hug you gave Oikawa was a hug he desperately wanted for himself instead. Sure, friends hugged each other all the time; Iwaizumi could simply ask you for one and call it a day.

Would Y/N even be comfortable with that?

It was that specific question that constantly lingered in the back of his mind. The fact that he had the biggest crush in the world on you however, prevented Iwaizumi from even wanting to ask you for one in the first place.

It was simple, really; the only thing that scared Iwaizumi more than asking you for a hug, was simply being rejected by you under any circumstance.

On the other hand, you always questioned why Iwaizumi never seemed to want to have any physical contact with you. You were comfortable with all of the boys on the volleyball team; even Kyoutani, of all people, allowed you to give him small side hugs. The only times you and Hajime ever made physical contact were through quick high-fives on the court when he scored points during games. Other than that, everything between the two of you was verbal. Hugging him was definitely out of the question. Perhaps Iwaizumi liked having physical boundaries set in place? Or maybe because you were a girl and he was hesitant? You weren’t sure, but you could understand. After all, the ace did have his shy moments despite his aggression towards Oikawa.

You never admitted it to anybody, not even to yourself, but Iwaizumi’s physical distance made you feel insecure. You thought you were fairly attractive and friendly enough; you felt confident most of the time. Did something about you disgust him? Did you talk too much to the point where you annoyed him? Did he lie about viewing you as a friend only to preserve peace within the volleyball team?

The idea of Hajime disliking anything about you caused your stomach to twist and turn. After all, it was only natural since you’ve had such strong feelings for Aoba Johsai’s beloved ace for quite a while.

Your troubled thoughts clouded your mind and you instinctively clung onto Oikawa a bit tighter. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Iwaizumi, who was surprised to feel his fingernails carving crescent shaped marks into his right palm. He immediately released his grip and clenched his jaw. Even if the ace decided to turn his gaze away from the sight of his crush and best friend hugging, it definitely didn’t help when Oikawa grinned and began to make flirty comments about how perfectly you fit in his arms.

It definitely struck a nerve, but the pain was overshadowed by jealousy and annoyance.

Iwaizumi had never experienced relief the way he did when he saw the crosslight finally signal for pedestrians to cross the street. With a quick sigh, the boy called out to you and Oikawa. “Shittykawa, you can let her go now. She has to cross,” he said and gestured to the crosswalk. It had taken all of Hajime’s willpower to steady his voice and keep the venom out of his voice.

At the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice, you immediately let go of Oikawa, ignoring the captain’s small whimpers and claims of ‘missing you already.’ Instead, you made your way to the edge of the curb instead. You thanked the spiky haired boy with a bright smile which he returned, but something about it was strained. Even if your heart ached at his weak expression, you found yourself quickly adjusting Iwaizumi’s unfolded collar, an odd habit you developed as the team manager, before stepping onto the pavement.

Iwaizumi was caught off guard by your sudden action but kept his composure regardless. Clearing his throat, he lifted his hand to offer you a small wave. “Be safe, Y/N. Text one of us when you get home, yeah? And don’t stay up too late studying for tomorrow’s exam,” the ace chided. “You seriously need to get more sleep.”

Your smile widened at Iwaizumi’s protective words, even though you’ve heard them on multiple occasions. I’d get more sleep if you didn’t occupy my every thought at two in the morning, you thought before stepping onto the pavement. When Oikawa’s pleas for you to text him instead of Iwaizumi interrupted your thoughts, you teasingly rolled your eyes at the setter, but nodded at the shorter boy beside him.

“I’ll text, don’t worry. As for getting more sleep, I can’t make any promises... but I’ll see you two tomorrow. Be a good boy, Toru!” You joked and gave Oikawa, whose cheeks were crimson from the cold and your usage of his first name, a pointed stare before making your way home. The setter chuckled to himself and shoved his hands into his pockets, moving to stand beside his best friend who silently watched you walk down the street.

When you were a safe distance away, Oikawa opened his mouth to speak. The setter’s words were so sudden, Iwaizumi had to steady himself; otherwise, he would have stumbled off the sidewalk and into the now moving traffic.

“You like her, don’t you?” The taller brunette noted, his eyes unwavering from your shrinking figure the farther you walked away. It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement that needed confirmation before anything else could be said. Oikawa’s tone wasn’t the usual, cheerful one that Iwaizumi was familiar with. Instead, it was serious. The team captain didn’t have to look at Iwaizumi to know that the green eyed boy was far too stunned and flustered to come up with words of denial.

The deep shade of red that tinged Iwaizumi’s ears and cheeks, along with widened eyes was enough to confirm Oikawa’s assumption. With a click of his tongue, the team captain chuckled under his breath, his lips molding into a small smile. Iwaizumi didn’t have any words; he didn’t know what to say. What could he say? How do you tell your best friend that you’ve been in love with the girl that he’s currently interested in? What kind of best friend does that?

Maybe Iwaizumi wasn’t the ‘best’ friend after all.

The small nudge of Oikawa’s elbow to Iwaizumi’s arm caused the flustered boy to shove both hands into his pockets. Together, the duo silently made their way onto another familiar street in order to get home. No words were spoken until the ramen shop was out of sight; only the shuffling of shoes against the ground could be heard. With his hands folded behind his neck and head leaned back to admire the clouds, Oikawa was the first to break the silence.

“You know you can tell me anything, Iwa,” Oikawa adjusted the strap of his shoulder bag, turning his head to glance at his friend. “It’s okay if you like Y/N.”

With a swallow of his throat and a heavy sigh, Hajime focused the path ahead of him before responding. “Look, Oikawa. I’m sorry. Really. I know you told me you were into her, but I’ve liked her since our first year. I tried to stop when you told me you were interested,” Iwaizumi’s fists clenched in the pockets of his jacket and his eyebrows furrowed. “But I just...” he began to twirl a loose piece of thread from his jacket between his fingers, a nervous habit of his. “I couldn’t. I can’t. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.“ He cut himself off.

Since I think she likes you too, was what Iwaizumi was going to finish off with, but it would make his heart ache even more than it already was. As much of a pain Oikawa was, Iwaizumi knew his best friend didn’t deserve to be the target of his demise. It wasn’t Oikawa’s fault, not at all; it was his own for liking you as much as he did.

Especially because he knew that he could never compete with his best friend.

It was no secret that between the duo, Toru Oikawa was always the preferred choice. The first choice, in fact. He was as attractive as he was charismatic; who in their right mind wouldn’t be interested in Oikawa? He was six feet tall and the oh-so very talented captain of the volleyball team, not to mention the fact that the setter received at least two love confessions a day from swooning fangirls.

What special qualities did Iwaizumi possess that could even compare to his best friend’s many accomplishments? Sure, he was the team’s ace. After his failed stunt against Karasuno’s team at qualifiers however, Iwaizumi now believed he wasn’t worthy of such a title. On a better note, the green eyed boy came to realize that he was in fact good-looking, having received a number of love confessions himself. Even if he had a serious, stoic expression most of the time, girls seemed to take interest in it. Gentle green eyes and soft, but spiky hair that gave his appearance a bit of an edge, what wasn’t to like about Iwaizumi? Nothing, really. But in comparison to Oikawa? Everything.

Even with attractive physical traits, Hajime Iwaizumi wasn’t Toru Oikawa. In fact, he would never be on Toru Oikawa’s level.

Hajime Iwaizumi was simply destined to be the runner-up. The second choice. Nothing more, nothing less.

Oikawa let out a quiet hum, but kept his eyes up ahead when Iwaizumi glanced at him. “Nothing to apologize for, Iwa-chan. But cut the shit. It does matter. Y/N is a great girl... like, seriously. Nobody intimidates Kyoutani the way she does, not even you. She doesn’t even have to try,” Oikawa let out a loud laugh and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle himself.

“I do like her, don’t get me wrong,” the setter sighed, but the smile on his face never wavered. “But I think you love her.” Oikawa’s smile, now a smirk, widened when he noticed Iwaizumi’s ears beam pink with embarrassment. The taller boy reached out to poke one, but his hand was quickly swatted away by the blushing wing spiker.

“You little shit, I-I’m just cold!” Iwaizumi grumbled and raised his scarf to cover a part of his red nose to avoid his best friend’s teasing gaze. He let out a stubborn sigh.

“Who’s the little shit? I’m not the one who’s under six feet, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa snickered mockingly. The death glare Iwaizumi sent Oikawa’s direction was enough to silence the captain’s laughter. “Whatever. But I’m still gonna back off regardless.” Oikawa’s words only confused Iwaizumi, who questioned the taller boy.

“But why? You like—“

“I like her, yeah. But it’s nothing serious, I’ll get over it in a few days,” Oikawa’s word choice immediately caused the ace’s eyes to narrow, but the setter held both hands up to his chest in surrender. “Don’t take it the wrong way! No, it’s not like that, I’m not an ass. I just really want to focus on volleyball for now, that’s all.” He reassured and grinned at his friend’s eyeroll.

“Besides,” Oikawa added. “You two really would make a cute couple.”

A cute couple?

Iwaizumi let his friend’s words float in the air as they turned the corner to near his house that was further down the block, before allowing them to sink in. A comfortable silence was shared between the two until they finally made their way in front of the Iwaizumi household. The older of the two was at a loss for words, still too flustered and embarrassed from being read so easily, especially by Oikawa of all people.

The fucking nerve. Iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek.

Nonetheless, he turned to face Oikawa, whose face showed genuine joy; joy for his best friend who finally developed interest in a person after avoiding romance for years up until now. Truthfully, Iwaizumi couldn’t be annoyed with that. He sheepishly placed his left hand behind his neck and took a breath before speaking.

“Um. Thanks... for hearing me out. For understanding, too. I’m still really sorry though.” Iwaizumi’s sincere words were met with Oikawa’s annoyed groan.

“Jesus, would you stop apologizing? Apologize one more time and I swear I’ll actually steal Y/N from— ow, I was just kidding!” Oikawa lifted his hand to rub the side of his left arm that Iwaizumi had punched with a frown on his face. The ace then made his way up his porch steps before turning over his shoulder to glance at his friend whose pain subsided, the boy now waving goodbye to Iwaizumi.

“Make sure to tell me if Y/N texts you that she’s home, yeah?” Iwaizumi called out and opened his front door.

“You got it, Iwa-chan! She’ll probably text you instead though.”

“We’ll see. I doubt it though.”

When he entered his house, Iwaizumi quickly greeted his mother with a kiss on top of her head before making a beeline to his room. As soon as Iwaizumi put his belongings down on his desk, he heard his phone’s text tone go off in his pocket.

Guess she texted Oikawa already, he thought and pulled out the device.

When Iwaizumi’s eyes landed on his screen, he couldn’t stop his face from burning when he read the text notification. Without realizing it, he was smiling from ear to ear.

Y/N: ‘Got home safe, like I promised I would. See you tomorrow, Iwa (๑❛ᴗ❛๑)’

#haikyuu #iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi #haikyu x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #haikyuu fluff #friends to lovers #aoba johsai #seijoh

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marvelobsessedteenager · 4 years

Text

Playing Cupid

Pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff?? Hopefully lmfao, a sprinkle of angst, My Best Friend’s Wedding Spoilers? (edit: cuRSING LMFAO COMPLETELY FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE)

Summary: You’ve been playing Cupid your entire life, setting people up left and right, and have never put much thought into who would be your eternal soulmate. That is until you met Tom Holland. But you don’t know if he feels the same way you do, and you only find out when someone else decides to be your matchmaker.

A/N: Heyo! First fanfiction piece and mAN am I nervous, haha. Enjoy? Also, the scene that I’m talking about below is linked for those of you that haven’t seen the movie :)

-------

“I don’t know what to say, y/n/n. I’m going to look like a div and-“

Not wanting to hear Harrison’s complaining, you quickly pinch his lips in between your fingers and shush him, “First of all, you already look like a div and that’s pretty much never going to change.”

Haz rolls his eyes and grunts as you continue, “Second of all, it’s just a conversation, Haz. Amelia’s pretty chill and is probably the easiest person to talk to. You’ll easily fall into conversation with her. You guys like the same things, why do you think I chose her out of all the girls?”

Ah, yes. That was your job after all. Well, not a job job, though you wish you’d get paid for setting people up with each other. You’d be a billionaire before you reach the age of 25.

But it was your job as a friend to be like a bachelorette for others and help them reach the love they crave. It was quite simple, really. Harrison claimed it had been a gift you were born with - a power sent by the gods above. It seemed like everyone you’d pair up ended up thriving as a couple.

Perhaps it really was a gift, and you were destined to you use it for good.

Right now, you, Haz, Tom, and Harry were inside a cafe giving Harrison the pep talk before his blind date. Amelia was practically your best friend - besides the three dumbasses you were currently with - and was constantly grumbling about not being able to find a guy she genuinely likes. When asked about her interests, you noticed they were strikingly similar to Harrison’s, who was, coincidentally, also single. Ergo, you set them up, knowing they’d be the perfect couple.

“Now,” you run your hand through his untamed hair that he’d spent hours stress-tugging, “Go out there and talk to her. You’ll do great, Hazzy.”

He stares at you intently, blue eyes boring directly into yours, clouded with immense fear. You could tell he was on the verge of backing out, so you take this as your chance to lighten up the situation.

You sigh as you fix his collar while maintaining eye contact, “I’d totally be in love with your dazzling ocean eyes but you’re not my type so stop staring at me, and go stare at her.” You tease and look up at him through your eyelashes, tilting your head towards where Amelia was sitting, waiting for Harrison to ‘arrive’.

He chuckles, “Right. How could I forget?” He gives you a sly smirk, and leans down to whisper in your ear, “Your type is everything Tom is.”

He pulls back fast enough to catch your fleeting eyes and the slight blush that crept up on your cheeks at the mention of your crush.

Well, less of a crush and you’d admit, you’re maybe, slightly, completely and utterly in love with Tom.

Harrison, the one who’d introduced you guys - stating ‘fate has brought you two together’ - effortlessly guessed that you were head over heels for Tom. He even began calling you ‘Cherry’ whenever he saw you go red at the mention of his best friend.

Your friendship began when you went to your local pub for a light drink with one of your closest co-workers. She’d spotted a cute guy whose eyes never left hers, even from across the room. A pub quiz was starting in a few minutes, and you’d told her that that was her chance to go and see if the chemistry was as real as it looked.

Of course, being the good friend she was, she immediately tossed that idea out the window.

“I can’t leave you here alone,” she’d said. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for you to convince her to go. With the quiz starting in a couple seconds, you searched around for a lonesome guy and spotted Harrison.

You downed the rest of your scotch and strutted over to confidently sit beside him.

Before he even got the chance to speak, you opened your mouth and blurted out everything in a word vomit: “Hey, I’m y/n and my friend’s watching because I told her that I’d talk to you and start up a “romance” since that was the only way I could really push her to leave me to talk to the guy that she’s had her eyes on so please just shake my hand and we’ll sit here and talk or do the quiz or whatever the fuck you want, just go along with it?”

You ended it with a lopsided smile, your hanging hand awaiting his own.

Luckily, he’d laughed it off and clasped your open palm. You and him got on like a house on fire, and instantly became close. Later on, he introduced you to Tom.

You never believed in love at first sight, but, fuck, Tom sure was a sight.

“Oi, hurry up, it’s hot as shit in these disguises,” Harry whines as he tugs the collar of his hoodie, interrupting your train of thought.

You shake your head, “Anyway,” you clear your throat, “Remember, it’s just a girl.”

He closes his eyes, chest rising as he takes a deep breath and nods, “It’s just a girl.”

“Attaboy,” you turn him around and push his shoulders, “Go get her, tiger.”

You take a seat with the boys at a booth that was directly in the sight of your friends with Amelia’s back pointed in your direction. You watch with pride as Haz rolls his shoulders and walks over to Amelia, politely touching her arm. He sits in front of her and starts up a conversation, and has her shyly tucking her hair behind her ear and giggling.

“So,“ Tom says lowly, making you jump slightly at the sudden close proximity, “we just sit inside in these ridiculous disguises and watch them?”

You gasp, offended by his words, and playfully slap him across his chest, “These are not ridiculous. they’re fool-proof.”

“Right. ‘Cause no one wonder why we’re wearing hats and sunglasses inside. And it’s totally normal for the three of us to be hiding behind our menus.” He mocks, sending you a quick wink that would’ve made you weak to your knees had you been standing.

“Shut up Thomas, let me concentrate.” You giggle, pushing his face away, despite the gnawing feeling of wanting him even closer.

For an entirety of 3 excruciatingly long hours, you intently watch the couple, paying extra attention when they finally - finally - stand up to say goodbye.

You gasp as Harrison charmingly holds her hand and plants a kiss on it. You grab both Harry and Tom’s cheeks, shoving them into yours as you squealin delight, “It’s working!”

You feel Tom smile into your cheek, “You love playing Cupid, don’t you, y/n/n?”

“Oh, you bet. It’s kinda sad I don’t get to shoot people asses with an arrow to get them to fall in love but the reaction is enough to satisfy, I guess.”

Harry and Tom let out a loud laugh as you watch Haz walk Amelia out and return to the group with a dreamy smile.

“I take it it went well, didn’t it lover boy?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, as Haz jokingly punches his arm.

“She’s so..perfect. Honestly, it’s- I’m literally speechless. I asked her if she’d like to go on a second date and she said she’d love to.”

You grin widely at the revelation and was about to say how proud you are when you receive a text from Amelia, and immediately check to see if she was right. To your horror, she was.

You facepalm and slide your hand down your face as you bring your eyes to meet Haz’s, looking at him in disappointment.

What a fucking idiot.

His face drops, and he tenses, instantly panicking, “What? Did I do something wrong? Did I say something? Did she say something?”

“Haz, honey.” You smile sympathetically, “Maybe next time, check to see if your fly is down before the date.”

———

When the four of you return home, you cross out Haz’s name from the list on the whiteboard, and happily clasp your hands together as you turn to face the trio.

“All right, Haz’s mission has been a success.”

Harry snorts, “Yeah, even if she saw the Spongebob Squarepants underwear. Tell me, which character did she see? Sandy or Mr. Krabs?”

Harrison lets out an exasperated sigh while Tom and Harry high-five each other, “I told you guys, I was in a hurry this morning and this was the only one left.”

You let out an amused giggle but stop when Harrison glares at you and clear your throat. “Children,” you lightheartedly scold with an accusing finger, “settle down, it’s not that funny.”

“Yes, it is!” Tom manages to say through his wheezing, and your heart squeezes at how adorable he looks when he throws his head back in laughter.

“Anyway!” You yell, rolling your eyes, successfully grabbing the boys’ attention, “I believe it’s Harry’s turn” you turn to smile mischievously at Harry, who was now cowering in fear.

He fidgets in his seat and profusely shakes his head, “Oh, no, no. I’m good, honestly.”

“Harry, I’ve seen you cry while watching Bride Wars and cuddling a life-sized teddy.”

“So? It’s sad.” He mumbles.

“It’s a comedy, for god’s sake.” You frantically dismiss the subject, "Look, I’ve already found the perfect girl. Her name’s Sarah, she goes to the University of Arts, London, and has the same interests as you. Plus, she’s super smart, which should come in handy, especially for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You chuckle, waving your hands around.

He shoots daggers at you before his face shifts, and you can practically see the light bulb go off in his head, “You know, you keep talking about us guys getting girls, but what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Cupid fell madly in love with Psyche. If you’re Cupid, there must be someone you fancy. Isn’t there, Cherry?” Harrison grills you, and you figure this is his way of getting back at you for calling the boy’s attention to his zipper.

“Uh,” you gulp, mind completely blanking. For the first time in your life, you practically had no comeback. No snide remark. No sass. Nothing. Your mouth went dry as your eyes briefly connect with Tom’s. He clenches his jaw and bows his head, trying to keep his lid on his simmering jealousy at the thought of you liking someone.

Someone besides him.

See, Tom was also completely head over heels for you. But because of your personality, it was hard to tell whether your flirting was just a part of you, or if you were genuinely into him.

There was always an unspoken spark between the two of you, and even if it was regularly being pointed out by friends and family members, neither of you have talked about it, nor confronted it.

It was just..there. Existing in every space, no matter the time, and though the both of you longed for one another, the profound fear of rejection and stepping over the ‘friendship’ line terminated the thought of any sort of engagement from both sides.

You simply dismissed the electricity in the air with a white, yet massive lie: “We’re just friends.”

“Well, this Cupid isn’t done with her job just yet. I still have to work on Tom, too.” You stupidly point out, mentally facepalming. Why would you say something like that?!

Great, you thought, I just forced myself to set up the love of my life with some girl and watch him happily fall in love with her and then he’ll get married and have kids and-

“I’ve..actually already got eyes on someone.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” You raise your eyebrows, flashing him an incredulous look.

“Yeah, I like someone. I might even be in love with her.”

“Oh.” You slap on a plastic grin before anyone notices your crest-fallen face, rapidly blinking away the tears that have gathered in your eyes, “I’m..happy for you.”

You feel hot flashes run down your spine and your heart shattering into multiple little pieces, each bit slicing your lungs until you felt like you were suffocating. You couldn’t help but feel like an idiot, once succumbing to the hopes of maybe, just maybe, he would’ve fallen for you, too.

But, then again, who were you to get your hopes up? It’s Tom. There was no way in hell he would’ve wanted someone like you.

You clear your throat to try to get rid of the massive lump that was lodged in your airpipe and give him a humorless laugh, “Well, I guess you’re off the list, too.”

You turn and bit your lip, supressing the tears that were just on the verge of falling as you cross his name out. You sigh and make up an excuse to leave the boys’ curious stares, saying that you needed to go shopping for groceries and snacks for the upcoming movie night that you suddenly dreaded.

Maybe you should grab an extra bucket of ice-cream for yourself.

————

“Heyo! I got double the amount of snacks because I know you fat fucks will probably focus on the food rather than the mov-“ You look up and furrow your eyebrows at the unusual sight of an empty and peaceful living room. You couldn’t help but feel your heart lighten just a bit. Maybe you really need some alone time to think.

“In here, darling!” Tom’s wavering voice calls out from the kitchen.

Or, no alone time.

Regardless of what happened a few hours ago, butterflies erupt in your stomach at the nickname before you attempt to shake them away, telling yourself he wasn’t yours, berating your body at its inability to control itself. You sigh, placing yet another plastic smile, and stroll over to the kitchen.

“Hey, Tommy. Where are the rest of the dudes?”

“Just you and I today, love.” He beams, and you could’ve sworn you caught a glint of impishness in his eyes as he walks back to the living room with a large pizza box in his hand.

But, no. Again, he isn’t yours.

Though that didn’t stop the fire in your chest to grow with curiosity, nor did it stop the thoughts of something special happening tonight. Maybe a confession, your brain hoped.

Oh, great, you roll your eyes, now my mind and my body are betraying me.

You feign a sigh and look down at your arms that were filled to the brink with snacks, “Well,” you shrug, “can’t let the snacks go to waste.”

Once you were sure his hands were empty, you drop all the snacks on him, giggling when he threw his fists up, ready to punch.

“Y/n!” He lightheartedly rebukes you.

“Sorry, my love.” you mockingly apologize and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, “I’m gonna go get changed.”

You run out into your room before you see his reaction and slam the door, placing your head into your hands, mouth dropping at what you’d just done.

Did you just kiss him?!

Wait, no.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was just a kiss on the cheek. A friendly kiss, no less. It’s not like you made out with him and told him you’re madly in love with him.

Wonder what would’ve happened if I went a little to the left and- no. No. Get a grip!

“Why can’t my body understand he doesn’t like me?” You whine in annoyance.

After putting on your comfy pj's, and cursing yourself underneath your breath, you waltz back into the living room, situating yourself at the other end of the couch, ignoring Tom’s confused gaze. Usually, there was not a single sliver of space between the two of you, but you figured tonight you’d have to control yourself.

“So, what’d the boys pick out?” You wonder out loud, trying to get rid of the tense awkwardness that settled in the gap between your bodies.

“Some movie called My Best Friend’s Wedding and- why are you sitting so far away?” You jump a little at the quick change of subject within a sentence.

“Wh-uh,” You stammer, rummaging through your brain for an excuse, “I might have a fever?” You state, though it comes out as a question. You add a fake cough to cover up for your lame excuse.

Tom stares at you skeptically before rolling his eyes, “You suck at lying. Come here,” He pulls you by your arms and places them around his waist while his circle your shoulders. Your typical position.

You felt confused. He liked - possibly loved - someone, yet continues to cuddle you and give you pet names. It felt like he knew something, a very specific secret, and was toying with your emotions.

He offers you a slice of pizza when he saw your dazed expression, which instantly melted away as you began eating.

Neither of you focused on the movie, too busy moaning and eating away at the delicious pizza. Blindly, both of you reach for the last slice, resulting in mild hand-to-hand contact that set your body on fire.

You slowly look up at each other, eyes alight with warmness, before you narrow yours and snatch the slice away, “Mine!”

Tom seemed to snap out of his daze when you made a run for it, “Hey! That’s my slice! Y/N!”

He staggers to his feet, immediately running after your giggles that led him to the kitchen, where each of you was on opposite ends of the island.

Your lips curl into a menacing smile as you slowly bring the slice to your open mouth.

“Don’t,” Tom warns, gradually inching towards you.

“Or what?” You challenge.

“I..won’t talk to you for a week!”

With pursed lips, you look down at the slice, pretending to contemplate your decision before you shrug, “That’s not even a punishment-“

In a quick moment, you feel your stomach flip as you squeal and hit a hard surface, only to realize that surface is Tom’s rigid back. He’s currently holding your thrashing self over his shoulder, arms tightly gripping your legs.

“Put me down, you buffoon! I do not enjoy being this close to your ass!”

“Oh, please. Anybody would kill to be in your position.” He begins his walk back to the living room when you realize the slice laid face down on the ground, completely forgotten by Tom, but not by you.

You gasp loudly, attempting to reach for the idle pizza that seemed to be getting farther and farther away, “Wait, Tom! The pizza!”

He laughs and throws you onto the couch and lays on top of you, head on your chest. You pout and hope and pray to the gods above that he doesn’t hear the wild thundering of your heart.

You’re at the part of the movie where Julianne takes Micheal somewhere secret to confess her feelings towards him, and a snide remark casually slips from your lips.

“Those glasses make her look like Yzma from Kronk’s New Groove.”

“Oh my god, I can’t unsee that now.” He chortles wholeheartedly, and you feel the vibrations from his chest rattle your body. A jolt of love and happiness surges through your veins. His laughter was like music to your ears. You would listen to it all day if you could.

God, you’re so in love with this boy.

“Why didn’t she tell him before the wedding?” He questions after calming down, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You huff out in slight annoyance and pause the movie, turning your head to look at him, “Did you not just hear her whole rant?”

“I still don’t understand it, honestly.”

“Well..would you?” You ask, slightly afraid of the answer. You knew this question was a loaded one, that this wasn’t about the movie anymore. That is was time to confront him about what was killing you inside.

He furrows his brows, obviously caught off guard, “Would I what?”

“Um,” You suddenly sit up, body facing his, “Let’s say that we’re best friends-”

“You’re saying we’re not?” He cuts in, jokingly placing a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt.

“-And you’re in love with me.” You roll your eyes, despite the ache in your ribs resulting from the intensity of the banging of your heart. I’m actually doing this, you think. “You’ve been in love with me for a while now. But you’re scared that I might not reciprocate those feelings. Would..would you tell me anyway?”

You knew that that was not the plot of the movie, nor was it the reason Julianne didn’t tell Michael. This was your plot now. Your story.

He blankly stares at you for a moment before he speaks, “Well,” he starts off softly, grabbing your hand, and for a moment, you fear this might be his way of letting you down easy, “Maybe I do want to risk it. If I want to let you know, maybe I’d set something up. We’d be at home, alone, watching a romantic comedy that seems to almost match our issue. But, maybe I don’t want their ending. The one where one ends up heartbroken and the other marries someone else.”

His gentle eyes finally meet yours, and you feel yourself softening, “And maybe I’m hoping you don’t want their ending, either.”

At last, you feel most of your insecurities melting away, knowing he felt the same way you did. He cautiously inches towards your face, and you do the same, lips merely centimeters away when-

“Wait,” you push at Tom’s chest, causing him to look at you with wide, panicky eyes, “So, I was the girl you were talking about earlier?” You wince, just an ounce of anxiety lingering.

Tom scoffs and shakes his head lovingly, “Yes, you dumbass.” He goes to lean in again, and you stop him. Again.

“Wait, wait, wait.” At this point, Tom closes his eyes and huffs in frustration, “Did you just spoil the ending for me?” You ask with wide eyes, staring at him in disbelief.

“Oh, for the love of-“

He crashes his lips into yours, and you freeze for a moment before melting into him. He pulls at your waist until you’re practically straddling him, lips never detaching from one another. They move in sync, almost like they were merely made to fit and function as a unit.

Just when it was getting heated, you reluctantly pull away when you hear a ruckus near the front door.

“YES! WHO’S CUPID NOW?” Harrison barges in, pumping his fist in the air.

“You set this up?” You disbelievingly question in between your pants.

“Well, I did most of the work.” He smirks and shrugs his shoulder, just as Harry appears from the doorway, punching him in the arm, “I helped, too.” He grumbles.

You glance at Tom and your eyebrows shoot up, lightbulb instantly going off in your head, “Wow, guys.” You praise, voice dripping with slick sweetness, “I can’t believe you finally got me and Tommy together. Now I can finally kiss him whenever I want and call him whatever I want.”

“Isn’t that right, babycakes?” You dramatically coo, cradling Tom’s red face in your hands.

His eyes light up as he finally gets it and plays along, “That’s right my cuddly-wuddly.” He murmurs, rubbing his nose against yours before pulling you in for another kiss.

You titter into the kiss when you hear gagging noises accompanied by “Ugh, gross!” And “Get a room!”

Tom pulls away, resting his forehead on yours, “I love you.” He whispers, almost afraid to break the fragility of the situation.

“Likewise, movie star.” You tease with a suppressed smile.

He shakes his head and lovingly rubs small circles on your waist when you hear Harry’s booming voice, “Why is there a dead pizza slice on the ground?”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x yn #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #marvel #tom holland angst #peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #peter parker fluff

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putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty · 3 years

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The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 6

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate. A/N: Hi sweeties! Writing this chapter has been hard, looooot of feelings in this one :( Hope you like it, bacetti! Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior. General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence Chapter’s warning: Angst-ish Words: 3937

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six: Leaving

Aoife was happy to see that Finan was back to his old cocky self now that Uthred had come back. Aoife had stepped back against the wall, careful not to interfere with the celebration of Uthred’s return. She had watched him hug Finan, with a wide smile on his handsome face and the Irish warrior seemed utterly light-hearted for the first time since Uthred had left. But it was fleeting moment because when gave him the news of Sithric departure with the Dane prisoners, cloud covered his honey-eyes. The Lord didn’t looked particularly surprised. Hurt, yes, but after all it was his last order for Sithric to leave. He quickly dismissed the issue, turning around to greet the young monk. “You still alive?” he asked, hugging him tightly. “Of course.” Osferth answered, and the Dane’s eyes found Aoife, sending her a grateful smile. She had saved his friend’s life, all in all. And ask quick as he smiled, his attention was diverted and captured by Aethelflaed. She had entered the hall and was looking at him with the widest smile on her face,. “You are back.” She stated happily. “I told you I would.” Food was brought for the Lord. Aoife was sitting between Aethelflaed and Osferth, while Finan was sitting in front of her with a fur wrapped around his broad shoulders. They all were discussing how to recover Skade and Uthred seemed confident in the success of the plan, even if there wasn’t an actual plan yet. He looked happier than before and Aoife would have liked to ask him if he had found peace for his brother. She surely hoped so, but she could not ask such question; Finan had told her that Uthred’s brother, the great Dane warrior Young Ragnar, had been brutally murdered by an unknown companion, without his sword in hand, which meant that he was stuck in the cold, Dane hell, the Niflheim, and not feasting in the Valhalla. How could people be so cruel, Aoife could not understand, but if Uthred’s smile meant that he had found the solution he was searching and had help Ragnar to enter the Valhalla, she was pleased with the ending. Her streamed of thought was interrupted by Aethelflaed who stood up to leave the room, not without ordering Uthred, with a sly smile on, to walk with her after he was done eating. She patted Aoife on her back, a silence demand to go with her, and the maid followed her outside with a last smile to Finan and a little bow to Uthred. “Are you humping her, Finan?” Uthred asked and the other choked on his ale. “ ‘M not, Lord.” he mumbled shily, gasping for air. “You’re a fool, then. She surely has desire behind her eyes, might as well fulfil them myself.” Finan’s hands open and close frantically, he knew Uthred was making fun of him, but he was also known for desiring every beautiful woman and for winning their love back most of the time. He could not even imagine losing Aoife for his Lord. Uthred laughed loudly at his rage “I’m mocking you, Finan.” he slapped the back of his head lightly “But you should act on it before someone else does.” “You, insolent woman!” Aoife laughed, entering Aethelflaed’s room. Their relation had developed to a point of friendship where Aoife felt free to tell her Lady whatever she wanted, without fearing the consequences; likewise, when they were alone, Aethelflaed dropped her serious stance of Lady of Mercia and acted as the girl she still was inside. The Lady shot a shameless smile “I had to take advantage of the moment.” She jumped on her bed, not very lady-like, and started brushing her hair emphatically “And he look so handsome. Even more handsome than before, don’t you think?” “Stop that, you’ll bald in moments.” Aoife screamed exasperated, snatching the brush from her hands and working on her hair more delicately, the free hand place on the top of her, careful not to pull her hair. “And you’re the one talking!” the Lady continued, raising her voice “Walking around my estate hand in hand with Finan!” Aoife blushed intensely “He’s my friend” she tried to explain herself. “You’re lying, and you know that.” She was right, Aoife knew that, what she was feeling wasn’t friendly at all, nor holy if she had to be entirely honest, but she also knew that if Finan would have felt those same feelings, he would have acted upon them. They were only friends who held each other’s hand. It was that easy. “So, what do you want to tell Uthred?” she changed subject, and Aethelflaed let her do so. “For once, I will not share my thoughts with you, Aoife.” She answered and her friend hit her playfully with the brush “Rude.” Aoife had left Aethelflaed with Uthred and was now walking around the town with Osferth. He was recovering well, no longer limping. “So, when are you expected to leave?” “Very soon. Uthred is eager and wants his seer back.” “I don’t understand, he could have Aethelflaed and he is risking his life for that… that witch.” Osferth laughed heartily “It’s not that easy, lady.” he stated “He believes he is cursed by Skade until he lays with her.” Aoife twitched her nose “Disgusting.” The monk nodded “Indeed. it would never lay with Aethelflaed, anyway, as much as he wants to. He believes he would corrupt her.” Aoife shot him a questioning look “What does it even mean?” “It means that she is a Lady, he is a heathen. He does have feeling for her but cannot act upon them because it wouldn’t be right for her. Adultery is a sin, and it would mean a great deal both for Wessex and Mercia. He does not want to endanger her for his selfish desires. Which, funnily enough, is also what Finan thinks about you.” She really needed to learn how to not blush “Hush, Osferth. He does not.” “You like to think that you know him to the core, Aoife. But you do not. I’m confident you will end up together, one day or the other.” She didn’t know what to answer, but luckily Finan forced his way between them and wrapped his arms about their shoulders. “What are we talking about?” “Your departure!” Aoife answered quickly, raising her voice to cover Osferth possible answer. He did not speak, however, and repressed a smile. Finan didn’t seem to notice the weird interaction, and pinched Aoife’s cheek “You’ll miss me, lady?” he asked playfully. “Very much so.” She answered, sarcastic her tone, not her words. They walked around town until Uthred and Aethelflaed returned with a guest. They had been attacked by a group of Danes and the man with them was an hostage and one of Aethelwold’s man, Uthred had recognised him instantly. They went back to the hall, Aoife standing next to Aethelflaed in a corner of the room, following Finan’s every move, while he was heating the pliers over the fire. She wasn’t sure she was ready to watch a man being tortured, or better yet, she wasn’t ready to watch Finan do such a cruel thing. However, she was well aware that he would not enjoy it either, but he was doing what was needed to guarantee the safety of his people. After all, the hostage that now seemed harmless and afraid had tried to kill her Lady and his Lord. Deep in her guts, she was feeling guilty for leaving her Lady’s side; her job was specifically to keep her safe and she had failed miserably. Nonetheless Aethelflaed didn’t seem to mind and she was gripping her hand tightly, earnest, resolute and vigilant. She had never looked more threatening. Torture was not necessary, however, because the men spoke immediately. He was sent to kill Uthred. “Why did Lord Aethelwold send men to kill Lord Uthred?” Aethelflaed walked closer to the prisoner, slowly and dangerous as a wolf, Aoife followed closely, she would not leave her alone for a moment more. “Because Uthred is Alfred’s sword and shield.” He answered truthfully as if it was the most obvious answer. Uthred was inscrutable: calm, almost bored. Aoife was watching him in amaze, and a fire of desire started in her heart, she wanted to serve him as a warrior. As quickly as the idea came, it was gone, leaving her guilty towards her Lady. Uthred offered to spare his life if he would carry a message to the Danes, which was weird and honestly reckless. “You will return to Aethelwold, Haesten, Cnut and Bloodhead and you will tell them that Uthred of Bebbanburg is coming as a shadow walker and they will die as my brother died. I will send them all to Niflheim.” The man accepted, a gaze of fear and admiration in his light eyes, and Uthred turned around to address his warriors, Finan standing at his side as the good second in command he was “Like Sithric, some of you might doubt me. I understand why. There have been times, of late, when I have doubted myself. Those times are behind me, now.” Aoife, from the corner of her eyes, saw Aethelflaed watch him in adoration. In any other moment, she would have made fun of her, but now her too, like everyone in the room, was captivated by him, by his words. “I am a Lord without wealth. Without land. I cannot offer you silver nor the wall of a fortress behind which you can grow fat and lazy. Follow me and I will take you down a hard, brutal path. But it is a path that leads to the one thing every true warrior desires: reputation. Follow me and you will have my sword and my oath. For what that you are Dane or Saxon, I swear I will die to protect each and anyone of you. My mind is clear about what must be done, though I cannot do it without you.” One after the other, all the men stood up without hesitation. It was a matter of second and so impressive that Aoife desired to be sitting on the chair, just so she could stand up with the others. As the most violent of rivers, Aoife felt the desire of join Uthred’s army hit her soul once again. It was just a moment, though, because she turned around to watch Aethelflaed, who was already watching her, and she immediately felt guilty, for she loved her friend and Lady and she had oath to her. That woman had given her protection, love, the freedom to be herself, happiness; and she had only asked for her loyalty, and yet, Aoife was craving another life, which would mean leaving her. But which would also mean being what she had wanted to be for a long time now. And moreover, it would mean living side by side with Finan. Was her desire for a man enough to betray her Lady? It was not. She followed Aethelflaed up to her room and help her out of the dress. The Lady was unusually silent, and Aoife feared it was because of her. Aethelflaed could easily read emotions on her face and she would have surely noticed the shine of desire in her eyes. She decided not to address the issue, let that moment of weakness slip, as if it had never happened; but Aethelflaed was thinking otherwise. “You should go with him, Aoife.” She casually stated, after a long silence. Aoife decided that the right thing to do was to pretend she doesn’t know what was going on “I am lost.” Aethelflaed rolled her eyes and gestured for the maid to sit on the bed with her and turned to face her “You should ask Uthred to let you go with them.” She smiled sweetly, holding her hands “I know you want to.” “I do not.” Aoife kept lying “I have sworn my sword to you, and I am more than happy at your side. It is what I want.” “No, it is not.” Aethelflaed insisted “And I know that you would stay, should I ask you to, because you’re my friend and a very loyal maid.” She gripped her hands tightly “But that’s not what you are, deep down. You’re a warrior. I have watched you training, you are never as happy as when you’re fighting.” Aoife’s eyes where already filled with tears “I promised you that you would live as a free woman and by letting you be my guard, I am breaking my promise. I have many guards, Aoife. And you know that I am safer here than anywhere else. I do not need you. But I think that Uthred needs you, both as a warrior and as a healer. And you need Uthred to be free.” She then smiled sheepishly “And I don’t think that neither you nor Finan are ready to let go of each other. Aoife was already weeping, and the Lady’s eyes too were filled with tears, so they hugged each other and cried, all night long, knowing that, should Uthred accept Aoife’s oath, they would risk to not see each other for a very long time, if not forever; for Aoife it felt like losing her only family. They fell asleep when the sky was already starting to clear, holding each other as if it was the last night in the world. The next morning, the air was cold on Aoife face, and she woke up alone in the Lady’s bed. She knew she was looking miserable when she rolled down the stairs. She was wearing her weapons, and, on her shoulder, she was carrying a small sack that contained her few belongings: some clothes and silver Aethelflaed had given her, a book and a wooden rosary. “You look horrible.” Aethelflaed commented, joining her at the entrance. “You don’t look much better, my Lady.” She joked with a sad smile, eyes wet. “You should be happy, new adventures await!” Aethelflaed tried to ease the tension. “We don’t know, he might refuse my oath.” “Trust me, he will not.” the Lady ruffled her hair “You’re a gifted woman.” Uthred was standing with Finan and Osferth when the women joined him. “You healed him well.” Uthred said to Aoife, pointing at Osferth “I have never seen him leaving for battle so willingly.” Aoife smiled, at loss of words. It was Aethelflaed who addressed the situation. “Aoife here wishes to fight for you, Uthred.” Aoife could feel Finan’s questioning look burning the side of her face. “And why should I let you fight, Aoife? The battlefield is a dangerous place, especially for a woman.” the Lord was staring at her with an amused smile on, he was not taking her seriously. So, Aoife straighten her back, ready to plead her case. She felt braver because he hadn’t said no just yet and she could tell by his face that he was at least willing to hear her reasons. “I know it is, Lord. I would be a fool not to understand the danger I would face, but I have worked hard with Finan to improve my fighting skills and, excuse my arrogance, I am a better warrior that half of yours.” “She is.” Osferth admitted. “And she is also a healer.” Aethelflaed added “And what happened to Osferth proves that you are in desperate need of one.” “I know my way around wound, yes.” Aoife smiled to her friends, then watched back to Uthred, who was staring at her with a curious and pleased look on his face. “Look. Let me try at least. Should I fail you, I will find my way back to my Lady.” She took Aethelflaed’s hand “Because one thing must be clear. My sword shall be yours as long as you desire, but I will forever be a woman of the Lady of Mercia.” Uthred was thinking about it, Aoife could see him reflecting behind those beautiful eyes of him, then with a sudden movement, he gripped at the back of her head and pushed her forehead against his. They stand there in silence, eyes closed, for what seemed like the eternity, Aoife’s heart was beating violently against her chest. Was it a yes? Was it a no? What was it, in God’s name? Then he stepped away with a huge smile on his face. “Go get your horse. You’re my warrior now.” Saying goodbye to Aethelflaed was the hardest part, but they had already said everything the night before. “I shall meet you soon, Aoife.” The Lady said, “Try not to get yourself killed.” Aoife laughed while tears rolled down her face “I will try my best, Lady.” She then pulled the rosary out of her sack “Keep it safe until I’m back, would you?” “I sure will.” Aethelflaed put the rosary around her neck and hugged her tightly “I will miss you greatly, Aoife.” “Nun!” Uthred screamed from the gate “We are to leave!” She got on her mount swiftly. Godiva, her beautiful black horse, neighed happily. She was once used to great adventures, but since Cenric had left her with Aoife she hadn’t done much more than some walk. “I know my love.” The woman said, patting her neck “You’re free now.” “You stubborn woman.” Finan had guided his horse closer to her and he did not look happy. Stretching her right leg, she could easily touch him. “You’re not happy to see me?” she joked, and he did crack a smile. “I am, trust me.” He mumbled, and she could swear he was blushing “But I know I’m being selfish, Aoife. Being a warrior… it’s dangerous, lady.” She was flattered that he cared, of course she was, and she understood why he was worried. However, it was her choice and only hers to make and even if she had chosen impulsively, she felt it was the right thing to do. She stretched her hand, and he met her halfway, their finger intertwining in the empty space between their horses. “I’m a woman, Finan. I’m always in danger.” They rode all day long and Uthred ordered then to stop only when the sun disappeared, and they could not see past the nose of their mount. Aoife was exhausted, her back was aching, and the humidity of the wood gotten to her bones and she was shivering. Yet it had been one of the best days of her life. She had never been much in the open and she had spent the entire ride stretching her neck as far as possible to look at everything she could. It was all covered in snow. When the night had come, she had almost fell from her horse, raising her gaze to the sky. She had never seen that many stars in just one night. Osferth had laughed of her and she had come back to reality. They had stopped soon after to rest for the night and she just then realised that she had to sleep in a tent, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by man. “Don’t worry Aoife” Uthred turned around to smile at her “You can trust these men. And if not, you must believe I will kill them, shall they even try to touch you.” his eyes diverted on the Irishman, who was working on Aoife’s tent “And he would too.” he patted her on the shoulder, strong enough to make her stumble, and then left her alone. The tents were soon set up, the food cooked, and Aoife realised she was starving when the soup was placed in front of her. Ale was drank – just a cup each, they had to be sober the day after – and while some men made themselves as comfortable as possible for the first turn of guard, the others went to sleep. Aoife left the group too, but she wasn’t tired, she walked around the camp for a while, to stretch her sore muscles. The night was dark, but she was feeling safe, maybe too safe. Finan was watching her from the shadow and silently slipped behind her and wrapped his hand around her mouth, pushing the tip of his blade against her ribcage before she could even turn around. “You should never let your guard down, Aoife.” he whispered in her ear, and was pleased to see her shivering against his chest. He could feel every curve of her body against his, despite the layers of clothes and weapons. She mumbled something in his palm and kicked him lightly on the shin and he quickly let her go. She spun to face him, red her cheeks for their proximity “I have you keeping an eye on me all the time, I’m not worried.” she joked, but seeing his stern look she added before he could scold her “You’re right, thought, and I apologise. I’m just enjoying the freedom. I’ve dreamt about it for so long.” He was still angry at her lack of caution but couldn’t repress the smile. He had spent the ride watching her admiring landscape and the night sky, he had seen how happy she was, how good the freedom tasted. He had also come to terms with the reality that all he seemed to notice, those days, concerned Aoife. He hadn’t even thought about the mission yet, he hadn’t thought about his possible encounter with Sithric, what would he do if he had to fight him. He hadn’t thought yet about how Uthred’s plan was doomed to fail. All he could think about was Aoife, where was she, how was she feeling, how happy yet worry he was to have her at his side. Sweet Jesus Christ, was his feelings deeper than those of a friend? “We can stay here for a while, if you want.” They stood there for a long time, in complete silence, Aoife savouring the clear air, the smell of snow and pine, Finan watching her, with a small smile. They was called to guard duty and sat around the fine, facing each other. “We should talk” Finan said “to keep each other awake.” “Tell me something, then.” Aoife smiled lazily, she was not used to be awake at night, but she would fight the tiredness until the end of the guard. She wanted to prove to Uthred – and to herself – that she was, indeed, a warrior. “I told you much about me, lady.” Finan laughed “And I know nothing about you.” “I have been a nun most of my life, I have no memories of the life before. You know everything.” “I do not.” She put her chin on her hand “What do you want to know, then?” “Who gifted you the horse, Aoife?” He didn’t even have to think about a question, it was something he had been curious about since the day they rode to Winchester. He had guessed that whoever had left her the horse was the same person that had gifted her the weapons and taught her how to fight; and then there was that comment from the Abbess: “I will not let it happen again.” What should not happen again? Had it have something to do with a man like Finan? “You had that question ready, hadn’t you?” Aoife laughed but he could tell that she was uncomfortable. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” She took his hand in hers, they were cold and soft “You had trusted me with your past, Finan. I shall trust you with mine.” Chapter Seven.

#finan #finan the agile #fanfiction #fanfic #tlk #tlk finan #The Last Kingdom #uthred #the last kingdom fic #osferth #Aethelflaed #sithric #writing #finan x oc

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twokinkybeans · 3 years

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The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [Starker] - Chapter 3: “WORLD TOUR WISHES”

READ “CHAPTER 3: WORLD TOUR WISHES” ON AO3

Other Chapters: Prologue Chapter 1: Soundcheck Setback Chapter 2: Roadie Rush (To be continued)

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth & @staticwhispersinthedark

Find the fic’s Masterpost here ^^

Chapter 3: World Tour Wishes

The show is on fire. Not literally, of course, but Peter can’t stop smiling and jumping around the stage. The audience is super enthusiastic and responsive, much better than most of the crowds they played for so far. It’s the blessing and the curse of being an opening band when people don’t know your songs yet. It’s a great shot at promoting your music, but sometimes it results in an audience that sells you off as background music while they keep chatting to their friends. Peter doesn’t blame them, before he was in a band himself, he did the same thing.

Not this crowd. Some of the teens squeezed together in the front even wear some of their merch. Peter is 99% sure that all of this is a dream. That he’ll wake up any second now and sigh when reality comes crashes down on him. But then, he also knows that all of this is in fact very much a real thing and it has his mind blown.

“This is our last song for tonight,” MJ breathes into her mic. She gracefully accepts one of the other roadies handing her her bass guitar for the final piece of their set. Quickly, she puts the strap over her head. “But that doesn’t mean the party is over! Who… Is ready for The Avengers?!”

The crowd cheers and whistles and it’s a sign for MJ to continue while the energy is at its high. She nods, Ned brings his drum sticks together four times to count down to the beginning of the song. Peter’s fingers easily travel their way across his guitar and he stalks over to Ned, playing towards him. Ned laughs and adds a little more energy and the crowd breaks into yet another wave of cheers.

“We were The Arachnoids, you’ve been amazing for us. Thank you so much and enjoy the rest of the show!”

The second they set foot backstage, the three of them break into a series of squeals and a very uncoordinated, jumpy group hug. “Holy fuck, that was-” Peter rushes out and shakes his head in disbelief. MJ squeezes both boys into her sides and chuckles, just as amazed as the others. “This, this is what I want for the rest of my life,” Ned states and Peter bumps into him a little more. “Yes, please, I don’t want this to ever end.” “Crazy, it was absolutely-”

MJ never gets to finish her sentence when suddenly there’s a scoff coming up from behind them. Peter turns around. “So,” none other than Tony Stark mumbles as he stares them up and down. “I didn’t know you’d be this young. You legally drinking yet?” Peter frowns, unsure what to respond. “We’re young enough to not crash after one shot, unlike you,” MJ retorts. Tony huffs dismissively and shakes his head. “You must be… Venus.” “Pleasure to meet you.” “Mmmh,” is all the famous guitarist responds. He sniffs and looks around, clearly trying to find something he can use as an excuse to get away from them. Peter feels his heart sink. During the show, he’d somehow forgotten about the mood-killing presence that was Tony, and now it hits him right in the face.

“Alright, we’ll get going. Wouldn’t want to mess up your precious extra time to set up the stage.” The man raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. He laughs. “Go on then, little spiders,” he sneers at the boys. “Follow your Queen.”

MJ keeps her head up proudly when she walks past him. Peter and Ned quickly follow. Peter can hear how Tony diverts his attention to someone else and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Fucker,” MJ mutters under her breath. “God, I didn’t know I could hate someone this bad. Seriously, what’s his issue?” She takes off her bass and sighs, carefully placing it in the designated standard. Peter does the same with his guitar.

“I should go help the roadies with my drum kit” Ned whispers apologetically. “I’ll meet you back here to watch the show?” “Yeah!” Peter confirms. He feels a tad bit conflicted about having to watch The Avengers now. He still likes the music, obviously. He should just enjoy it as much as he can “I saw a bottle of champagne in the trailer by the way. We should celebrate after their set ends!” “Oh my god yes,” Ned piques up with newfound interest. “Well, they better hurry up then!” “Ha, gotta wait till midnight, honey,” MJ teases and she waves as Ned walks over to the stage again to help with the drum kit. Peter finds the cases of his guitar and MJ’s bass, and together they put them in there.

“Guys!” Harley comes rushing past and he gives them a double thumbs up. “I don’t have much time right now, but you were absolutely amazing out there. I fucking loved it! I’ll talk to you after the main set, ‘kay?” With that, he’s gone again. MJ stares after him and Peter grins. “Harley’s nice, isn’t he, MJ?” “Oh, fuck you,” MJ snorts and shakes her head, her eyes sparkling playfully. “I’ll take back what I said earlier.” “Which part exactly?” Peter teases. MJ nudges him and wraps her arm around his shoulders. “That, little spider, is anyone’s guess.”

Peter smiles and presses a quick kiss onto her cheeks and then grabs his guitar case. “Let’s get these back to our trailer and then we watch the show?” “Solid plan.” Together, they walk back to the trailer. Peter’s mind is still buzzing with a post-concert haze and he loves it. Tony Stark may not like ‘em, but everyone else seems to have a different opinion and that’s all that matters.

The Avengers’ show is amazing. It’s very different, watching them play from the sides rather than the crowd. Peter never imagined his first time actually seeing the band live would be from this angle. He enjoys every single second of it. Ned found his way back to them easily and the three of them are vibing, singing along, and having lots of fun overall. At one point, some of the roadies and crew join their little party and Peter loves it. Loves this; meeting new people within the industry. He finally feels like maybe, maybe, this is what his future might look like.

Just as with the soundcheck, as soon as Tony sets foot on the stage and starts singing or playing every trace of his appalling behavior has vanished. He looks like a true rock star out there. He is a true rock star. He owns the stage fully; pacing around with big strides, playfully cracking a joke here and there between songs. Even Natasha and Steve seem to loosen up slowly but surely. The redhead smiles wide when Tony walks over to her for a little guitar vs. bass play-off, and Steve’s motions become grander with every single hit on the drums.

The stage lights, the smoke, the gravely warm voice coming from Tony’s throat combined with the audience singing along every single word… It’s magical. Marvelous.

“Aaaahhh, thank you so much, everyone! Woah, what a way to end this beautiful year!” Tony breathes into the microphone, slightly out of breath after ending a particularly fast-paced song. He raises his hands and bathes in the cheers from the crowd. “Now!” He continues and looks behind him where there is now a projected timer, indicating it’s no more than one minute until the new year starts. “I want us all to count down from ten to one together! Anyone got any good resolutions… Nat? Steve?” Natasha laughs and she leans in a little closer to her mic. “What about a world tour, Tony?” “Ah!” Tony exclaims and bounces on his toes. “What a good idea! We’re definitely doing that! Should we drop the tour list after our show? Steve?” “Why not!” “Alright, that’s settled then!” Tony stops moving and cocks his head, glancing at the timer quickly. It’s at 00:00:13. He rubs his hands together and raises his mic towards the audience this time. “Ten!” Everyone screams. “Nine!” “Eight!” “Seven!” “Six!” “Five!” “Four!” “Three!” “Two!” “ONE!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Everyone fucking loses it at this point. The pyrotechnics detonate the stage gerbs and it sets off in fountains of sparks. Peter grabs Ned and MJ and pulls them in for a tight hug. “Happy new year, and may it bring a series of life-changing events for our band!”

Harley stalks over towards the band and the other roadies with a large plate filled with long champagne glasses. He hands them out to everyone, wishing them a happy new year too. After he’s handed them to the backstage crew, he makes his way onto the stage to give the last three glasses to The Avengers. Tony raises his glass.

“Who’s ready to mosh?!”

It feels so utterly surreal now that everything’s over. Peter can’t quite understand the feeling. Happiness flutters inside him, but a hint of sadness clouds his brain as well. He wishes the night would never end, but it already had. The band had their little after-party in the small trailer with some random people from the tech crew and now they were packed up and ready to go home. It was only a short ride. They could’ve stayed here and slept in the trailer, but honestly, they were all longing for their own beds to crash in. “I’ll go get the van,” Peter says with a smile and grabs the keys. He’d only had one glass of champagne at midnight, and that’d been two hours ago so the alcohol has left his system already. He’s good to drive.

The van is parked not far from the stage terrain, but he makes sure to dress up warmly to face the outside world. It’s not freezing at all, but cold enough to want the comfort of a good winter coat. He jumps out of the van and starts walking. He passes the stage and shakes his head. It looks so massive from down here, and he can’t believe he was on it.

“Howdy, space boy?”

Peter freezes, startled. He immediately realizes who spoke to him, though. Peter grits his teeth together and slowly turns to face The Avengers’ guitarist. He’s so done, so utterly done with the man’s cocky behavior. And you know what? Peter’s got nothing to lose anymore. They played, they had their fun out there, it’s time he stands up for him and his band. They might be young, and new to the industry- but he’s proud of what they’ve built so far.

“Seriously, what’s your problem with us?” Peter clamps his teeth together right after he’s said it. The surprise sparking in Tony’s eyes is worth it, though. “I beg your pardon?” “Everything we do, say, or even look at is reason enough for you to humiliate us over. I looked up to you, big, big time. Guess I was wrong about you.” Somehow, that’s enough to silence the other man. He simply stares back at Peter, clear astonishment written over his face. It confuses Peter.

“You got some nerve, kid,” Tony says, finally. His voice wavers. Peter shrugs, unsure what else to do. He expected Tony to fight back instantly, but the man looks truly thrown off-guard. Tony sniffs. “I gotta admit, I admire that.” “You what?” “I’m serious. People don’t talk back to me unless they know me. Until you and your band came hopping along apparently.” “Still doesn’t explain a thing.”

“Look, Bambi-” “Bambi?” “Spiderling, then. See, it’s nothin’ against you- or your little band. On the contrary, I think you kiddos got something unique going on out there.” Tony pauses for good measure. “The thing is, I’m just having an incredibly shitty day.” For the first time, Peter believes he can see through the cracks of Tony’s persona. He doesn’t look annoyed. No, it’s definitely no annoyance. It’s fear. “Oh?” Peter asks quietly, not sure how to handle the different turn of this conversation. Not sure which boundaries he might be overstepping.

As soon as the cracks showed, they’re gone again. Tony straightens his shoulders and presses his lips together into a thin line. “Right.” The man sniffs once. “I forgot how clueless I was when I was your age.” Peter snorts. “You got issues man, I hope you sort them out soon. People are fed up with you.” “You don’t know me. Or them.” “No, that’s true. But I do know that simple annoyance can turn into resentment real fast. Don’t be a dick.” “Oh, fuck off. You’re too young to be wise like that.” “And you’re too young to be so cranky.” Peter says and he sighs. He shrugs, feeling a little bit helpless. It’s actually rather pathetic how Tony behaves. It’s not Peter’s problem to solve.

“My band’s waiting for me. I gotta go.” Peter starts to turn around again but Tony stops him. “Wait, kid, what’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.”

And with that, he walks off.

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rovewritesit · 4 years

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

- - - - - - -

February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair.

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song.

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat.

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat.

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board.

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

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Curse Meant to Be Broken | Geralt x Reader | Pt. 5

Summary: After facing your worst fear in battle and freeing your mother’s soul in the process, you travel with Geralt all the way to Kaer Morhen—but he has been hiding something.

Word Count: 2,416

A/N: Again, I know that this portrayal of a Noonwraith is not canon, but here we are.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you want to read more of my work, you can check out my masterlist, and if you’d like to be tagged, check out my taglists and I’d be happy to add you! I’ve also set up a ko-fi page. A dollar here and there would help me be able to help me start moving toward part-time work so that I can focus more on my creative work. But of course, as always, the best way you all support me is by continuing to read my stories. I appreciate it more than I can say.

Another Trial

“Kaer Morhen,” you breathe, eyes drinking in the sight of the old castle. There are places where the stone has crumbled, but it is still grand. Though, it does strike you in the way that old, deserted places do – with a sense of sadness and loss for what was once there. Though, Kaer Morhen holds no dear childhood memories for you, and so it is easier to bear that looking at your old hut in the village back home.

“Where I grew up,” Geralt nods in response. You sneak a look at his amber eyes, which seem to be searching the castle much the way yours are. You want to ask him what it looked like when he trained here, but you have no idea how long ago that was, and you don’t wish to pry.

“Why’ve we come?” You can’t help but ask the question that has been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you set off on the journey—or at least for as long as you’ve been conscious. After the first few days, the pain had gradually started to fade, even without the help of elixirs. You still took a milder potion, but it didn’t cloud your mind the way the stronger one did. You’ve seen much more of the Continent than you had ever hoped to.

Geralt looks at you with a twinge of guilt – regret. Your first instinct is to turn and run or cower in the corner. Has he grown tired of your company? Does he wish to dump you here, leave you with someone else so that he doesn’t have to deal with you anymore? All of these questions swirl in your head, making it impossible for you to voice any of them.

Finally, he speaks.

“I…” he begins, golden eyes shifting from your face down to the floor at your feet, “The wound on your back, Y/N.”

You don’t know what he is about to say, but you feel the need to cut him off. “It’s been feeling better every day!” you protest.

“Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before it…” He seems to have lost words again, and now you are panicking, heart thudding in your chest.

“Before it what, Geralt?” You can’t keep the shrill edge out of your voice as you speak, your nerves choking you. “What are you talking about?”

“There is a poison.” Geralt hangs his head, looking utterly defeated. “The wound will heal, but the infection will spread. This is the only place I know that will be able to help.”

You look at him, mouth hanging open in shock. You want to be angry with him that he hadn’t told you sooner, but the consuming panic is making it hard to see straight. Perhaps it was better that you hadn’t known this entire journey.

“W-What do you mean?” you stammer, taking a step closer to him, your voice still sounding shrill in your head. “She caught your arm as well… Does that mean…” You can’t even bring yourself to form the sentence. Somehow, the Witcher being in imminent danger is much more frightening to you than yourself.

The Witcher shakes his head, face growing more serious—more pained, by the moment. “No, Y/N. The poison doesn’t work like that on Witchers. Our mutations make us immune to disease, to infections.”

Your eyes momentarily widen as the whole world seems to blur out of focus. Your thoughts, however, somehow remain intact. If a Witcher’s mutations are the only thing that can stop the infection, and he’s brought you to Kaer Morhen, the old Witcher school, there can be no other reason than undergoing mutations yourself.

You are shocked that the prospect both excites you and terrifies you at the same time. Geralt’s face, on the other hand, betrays nothing but resigned desperation.

You know what the mutations entail—or at least, in a general sense. Nobody really knows how the Witcher mutations work save for Witchers themselves, and he is the only one you’ve met. Now you understand his unwillingness to talk about them. In the days spent traveling, he would change the subject each time it veered anywhere close to his childhood and the mutations he underwent. You only know that part of the reason his hair is white is because of extra mutations he underwent. You do, however, know that only three in ten boys made it through the mutations alive… Those are not god odds. But then, if what he is saying about the infection is true, those are even worse odds.

“The lesser evil,” you whisper, not sharing any of your other thoughts. You are sure he’s thought about it plenty.

He looks at you, taking a hesitant step forward and making your breath catch in your throat. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if there were any other way,” he says.

You trust him. But something is still nagging at you.

“I thought that only men could become Witchers.”

“It is the norm,” he says, “But it has been done.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, attempting to calm your nervousness but failing.

“I think,” he finally adds after an abnormally long silence, “There should be a way to use minimal mutations—only the necessary ones.” His face betrays a pain, long-repressed memories that had been shoved to the very back of his mind for decades.

“Visimir will know.”

You vaguely recognize the name. He has mentioned it a few times, if you are correct.

“He is… like a father to me.”

“Oh.”

Yes, you remember the name now. Geralt has mentioned him often. His father-figure and mentor, the keeper of Kaer Morhen who has been in charge since before he was born. You deduce that he must also be the Witcher in charge of the Trials; the Witcher who knows the correct elixirs and potions to turn an ordinary human into a Witcher… or Witcheress.

You look from the Witcher to the once grand castle behind him, the whole world blurred strangely. You are afraid, though you will not admit it to him. But, at the same time, the thought of the mutations—if you live—making you nearly invincible against those who had once wronged you is exciting.

“Y/N.” The Witcher’s voice brings you back to the moment, pulling you out of the fantasies playing through your head of returning to your shitty little town and teaching Stephic and his men a lesson they will never forget.

“Come,” he finally says, extending his arm. You grasp it without a second thought, perhaps pulling yourself a bit too tightly to his side. You are glad for the support, as your legs have turned into something akin to jelly, and your head is too muddled to follow directions. You are almost certain that you can feel a dull ache in your back where you hadn’t felt it before. You imagine it spreading like a virus through your veins—or a lit fuse with burning its way to inevitable destruction.

You walk beside him with unsure steps, eyes still taking in the wonder of this new place despite it all. It is a small price to pay, you suppose, to set your mother free. Besides, there were plenty of other ways you could have died back in that shit Nilfgaardian outpost of a town.

Slowly, your steps become more confident, your spine straightening and your head lifting higher. You survived a battle with a wraith, which could not be said for most humans. You’d survived the destruction of your entire village. You’d survived for years as the lowest ranking member of the staff for a cruel master. You can survive a few elixirs and mutations; you know you can.

When you walk through the massive front doors of the old keep, you gasp. Regardless of its state of disrepair, the hall is beautiful. You can only imagine what it had looked what it had in its golden age.

As the doors close behind the two of you, you hear the sound of footsteps echoing in the massive hall, growing closer. Your eyes move in the direction of the approaching steps, the image of a man with long hair, like Geralt’s. As he gets closer, you realize that he is older than Geralt—though it is impossible to tell how old. Witchers were rumored to live to all manner of ages, usually far longer than any average human.

“Geralt!”

The man smiles warmly, quite uncharacteristically – at least in your limited knowledge of Witchers – to hug your companion, who wraps his arms around the old Witcher.

“Visimir.”

“It’s good to see you, Wolf.”

“You too, old man.”

“Let’s not point out age,” Visimir says with a smirk.

A pause.

“And who is your companion?”

You want to open your mouth and answer for yourself, but you find that your mouth has gone entirely dry and it feels like your throat has closed up. You are not intimidated by the man; he seems warm and loving, at least the way he greeted Geralt. But still, you are in a new place where you never would have pictured yourself in an entire lifetime.

“Y/N,” he introduces you. “She helped banish a Noonwraith.”

A knowing look passes between the two men. You only notice it for a fraction of a second, but you notice it. You can’t possibly imagine everything running through their heads, but you can guess. You know that no Witcher school is currently creating new Witchers. There hasn’t been a Trial in years—even humans knew that. You wonder how long it has been, and why it has been so long.

Visimir looks at you and smiles warmly, despite the faraway look in his eyes. “Welcome, Miss, to Kaer Morhen.”

* * *

“What the fuck, Geralt?”

You are sitting with your ear to the wall, trying to pick up as much of the conversation going on in the next room over as possible.

“Lambert, you know I wouldn’t suggest this if there was any other way.” You feel a tightening in your chest upon hearing the strain in the Witcher’s voice; it is pained in a way that you never want to hear him.

“And what, you’ve tried everything?” Lambert counters, “Don’t the mages have some sort of cure? They sure are proud of their advanced magic.”

“Our magic is based on theirs, and apparently rudimentary at that,” Geralt continues, “Anything that they would do would be just as dangerous as this, if not more.”

You shiver, wrapping your arms around your knees and hugging them to your chest. You know for certain that you do not want to die; not when this whole new world has opened up to you.

But that would be my destiny, you think bitterly. To live only long enough to finally have something to leave behind.

“And what if it works?” a third, unfamiliar voice cuts in. “Will you start training her as a Witcher? No one in the society she’s from will give her work once she’s one of us.”

“Oh, why bother with pointless questions, Eskel?” Lambert’s voice is raised now, and you are certain you can detect a fear in it. “She won’t live. She will die an agonizing death.”

“Stop!” Geralt roars, drowning out the other voices. Silence envelopes the room, leaving only the sound of your labored breathing as you remain still, ear pressed to the wall.

“Well, Geralt?” Lambert breaks the silence, “Did you have something to say? Because I do.”

You hear no response.

“You care for that girl, I can see that.” His tone has changed somewhat, more pleading than angry now. “But trying to save her this way? You’re going to kill her, Geralt.”

More silence.

“The infection takes its victims quickly, in sleep. But to submit her to the Trial of Grasses? It’s cruel, Geralt. And selfish.”

“Not everyone regrets becoming a Witcher, Lambert,” Eskel says.

“But everyone regrets seeing people that we cared about, people that we loved die in front of us!”

You are buzzing with anxiety, anger, and words you wish you could speak. After all, it is your life that is currently being debated, very loudly, only a room over. The stone walls may be thick, but there are cracks, and it should be no surprise to the men that you can hear.

When silence has settled too long, you finally speak, loudly. You even slam your fist against the wall, as if it would help. Instead, it just leaves you with aching knuckles as you shout.

“All of these grand arguments and no thought to ask me what I want?”

You can’t hear it, but you can picture all three heads in the room turning to look at the wall. “Or does that not matter here?”

“Y/N—” Geralt mutters, and you hear a crash as someone quickly moves through the room.

You do not move from your place on the floor, even as you hear his footsteps echoing down the hall towards the door in front of you. He opens the door quickly, eyes searching for you for the briefest of moments before landing on you, huddled up against the wall, hot fury in your eyes.

He drops to his knees in front of you. You stare at him for a moment, not saying anything. He reaches out, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. But beyond that, he says nothing, does nothing, and it only makes the anger burn brighter – though you can’t quite place where that anger is directed.

“I want it to be my choice. And I choose the lesser evil.”

“Y/N,” he says, “It… You still have some time to decide, I would never force you to—”

“Geralt,” your gaze fixes intensely on his. “I want to live. I… You… I mean, a month ago, I had nothing to live for. Maybe my choice would have been different then. But now… I refuse to just let myself die, when you’ve finally given me a reason to stay alive.”

And, for the first time, you aren’t even worried about how he will react. Hell, you don’t care how he reacts. You just know that you want to kiss him, and so you do.

He reacts instantly, moving his lips against yours and pulling you against him, wishing that he could simply keep you pulled tight to his chest and protect you from all harm.

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