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lovedazai · 17 days

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BIGGEST LIE I EVER SAID . . . you finally pick up one of chuuya’s drunk phone calls.

ft. chuuya + f!reader, exes to lovers, implied blackout, taking care of hungover chuu, making up / out, 2.5k w.c.

chuuya is more used to loneliness than he’d ever admit. it came with the nature of his ability and his line of work, but it had only taken a few months with you to completely change his world, years of defense mechanisms overwritten by your soft touches and sweet words. now that it’s over, he can’t find it in himself to break his newfound habits, stubbornly clinging to their familiarity and basking in the fleeting warmth of the embers of your relationship.

even now that he goes to his favorite bar alone, he still covers the seat next to him with his jacket. it’s the one to his right; he always chose the seat closest to the door between the two of you, just in case.

he can still imagine the lipstick mark that would be left on his glass when you’d steal a sip, and he takes one pretending he’s pressing his mouth around it. he frowns as he swallows; was there anything left that wouldn’t remind him of you?

he downs the rest of what’s left in his glass, licking the stray scarlet drop that curls onto his bottom lip. his gloved hand is numb to the chill of the wine bottle as he pours himself another; it’s the last of it. today was hard, dozens of his men needlessly dying due to one subordinate’s laziness. all he wants is to hold you and let you make him forget all about his shitty day; you would’ve threaded your fingers through his hair and rubbed his scalp, letting his tension melt away off his shoulders, and then, he would’ve kissed you until it was all out of his system. instead, he’ll stumble home and spend the rest of his night in his empty penthouse, stress sitting in a tight knot in his stomach, mixed with the queasiness of too much alcohol and the ache of longing for you that never seems to go away.

god, he fucking misses you.

he pulls his phone from his pocket with one hand, the other still carefully cradling his wine glass. he lazily presses on your contact, still saved to his favorites. his eyes trail over your photo: it’s from when he brought you out to shizuoka. your hair is windblown and knotted from the motorcycle ride there, but you’re beaming at him, cheeks dimpled and eyes closed. his black jacket is draped over your shoulders, a stark contrast to the gold and peach of the setting sun behind you.

his thumb hovers over the call button. he only does this when he’s just drunk enough to ignore how bad of an idea it actually is, and to hear the sweet sound of your voice through your mailbox. it’s always after midnight when he calls, when he knows it’s too late for you to be awake and you won’t pick up.

good. he hopes you’re sleeping well.

he finally presses down on the call button, listening to the line ring. the leather of his glove is smooth against the glass as his finger traces the curve of his cup.

one…

he counts the buzz of the rings in his head. it always took five.

two…

he thrums his fingers against the bar’s dark wooden counter in a lazy rhythm. he wonders if you’re wearing that cute pajama set he loved so much tonight, with those tiny shorts that drove him crazy. maybe you fell asleep with your light on again, the way you used to when you’d wait for him to come home.

thrー

“hello?”

everything stops: his fingers, his thoughts, his heartbeat. he pulls the phone away from his ear, making sure this is actually happening, and he wasn’t hearing your voice in some alcohol-induced hallucination.

“...chuuya?” it’s muffled, and when he brings the phone back up, he can hear your sheets ruffle as you sit up in bed, your voice slurred in a sleepy rasp. “is everything okay?”

the room feels like it’s tilting, the dim lights of the bar haloing and growing fuzzy. he thinks he’s saying something, but he isn’t sure what. he feels sick, like his stomach is twisting itself and trying to crawl up his throat; he’s about to spill his guts out.

then he wakes up.

he only opens his eyes slightly before he squeezes them shut again. everything is too bright, and his head pounds in that special way that means he’s hungover or just used corruption. he groans, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow. it feels softer than he remembers, brain feeling like it’s full of static, disoriented and half awake. he swears the sheets smell just like the perfume you used to wear.

you.

he forces his eyes back open, lifting his head. that’s your dresser in the corner. these are your sheets, and there’s you, sitting on the other edge of the bed, typing on your phone. your hair is pulled back, and he can see your profile perfectly, just as gorgeous as he remembered. you see him move from the corner of your eye, looking up and meeting his groggy gaze.

“you’re up,” you stretch over to your nightstand, handing him the bottle of water there. it’s cold, small beads of condensation dripping down the sides. “finally. drink this.”

he downs half of the bottle in one go, the chill coating and soothing his aching throat. his voice is still raspy when he speaks, deeper than usual. “what am i doin’ here?”

“you don’t remember?” you tilt your head, smiling teasingly. “i guess you haven’t changed much. you’re still a lightweight.”

“gimme a break,” he grumbles into the mouth of the water bottle, taking another big sip. he’d let you get away with poking fun at him when he felt so shitty just this once. he tells himself it’s only because your cheeky smile looked so pretty in the daylight flitting through your curtains. “i was wasted.”

“i know,” you get up from the bed, moving toward your closet and shuffling around. he watches the way your legs strain as you reach on your tiptoes for something. you are wearing those shorts he loved so much, and he tries not to stare too obviously at the way they ride up your thighs.“i’m the one who picked you up when you were half unconscious.”

he hears you sigh and the soft sound of fabric as you push shirts around until you finally pull something off a hanger.

“here,” you’re holding a white button-down, and he recognizes it immediately; he has identical ones, pressed and dry-cleaned, lined in his closet. “you’ll feel better after you take a shower.”

“you kept this?” he pinches the fabric between his fingers; silky smooth, just how he liked it. your eyes widen, hand stiffening as you grip the shirt a little tighter. “thought you said you were gonna burn all my stuff.”

“whatever,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and tossing the shirt into his lap. “it was too expensive to get rid of. you already know where the towels are.”

he does know. his favorite part of his days was coming to your place after work, and he still remembers how warm he felt when you gave him a key so he could sleep next to you on nights when mafia work ran into the early hours of the morning.

he moves sluggishly when he gets out of your bed. he grabs a towel from the little shelf in your bathroom before he turns the water on, waiting for it to get warm and looking over your counter; you still have that expensive face mask he bought for you on an overseas mission, and he remembers how he’d stood between your legs as you sat on the counter, hands smoothing the curve of your hips as you brushed it onto his skin.

he takes his time in the shower, scrubbing himself clean lazily, muscles fatigued and sore. the white tea scent of your body wash soothes him the same way it would when he’d bury his face against your neck before he fell into another dreamless sleep.

when he comes out, dried off and dressed, you’re in front of the stove, the familiar smell of miso soup lingering through the hallway. he nearly wraps his arms around your waist out of the familiarity of it all, but clenches his fists at his sides to stop himself.

there’s a bouquet of flowers in the center of your small dining room table, a bundle of camellias and baby’s breath resting mockingly in a vase filled halfway with water. he glares at them as he sits down, thinking about what asshole could’ve bought them for you. did he write you poems on the card like chuuya did? he’d bet his own money he didn’t.

“by the way, those fell out of your jacket pocket,” you break the silence, nodding your chin towards the table; it's his cigarettes, one of the corners of the cardboard box bent. “you’re smoking again?”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms, fingers digging into his biceps. “i needed a new stress reliever. guess you found one too, huh?”

“what?”

“the flowers,” he mumbles. “is he treatin’ you good?”

you turn away from him and back towards the stove, but he can picture the look on your face when you speak, voice soft and tinged with a smile. “i bought those for myself.”

“oh,” he sits up a little straighter, sulk faltering as he clears his throat. “they’re nice.”

your socked feet are quiet as you approach the table. your hands are carefully cupped around the warm bowl of soup, and his eyes catch on your freshly painted nails. you must’ve gotten them done recently, and he tries not to think about how you used to love showing them off to him, or how nice it would feel when you’d drag them up and down his skin until the hair on his arms rose. you place it in front of him, full of steaming broth, kombu, and tofu floating serenely around slices of green onion.

he catches glances at you as you join him at the table, slurping his soup quietly. he didn’t think he could ever feel so unnatural around you, but tension clouds the air, awkward and uneasy. he stares into his bowl, like it could tell him what to say to fix this when you break the silence again. “do you remember what you said to me last night?”

he cringes; the last thing he remembers is that final glass of wine and your pretty voice on the other end of the line. he sighs through his nose, almost scared to hear your answer. “what did i say?”

“you said you missed me,” you brush your finger across the lone, pale pink flower petal that fell onto your table, tracing the curve of it, not meeting his eyes. “you asked me to pick you up and take you back home.”

you knew what he really meant: take me back to your apartment. it’s barely half the size of his penthouse, but it always felt like more of a home than his place ever did. there were signs of life dotted everywhere he looked, from your sink of dishes from last night’s dinner to your favorite candle in your living room, nearly burnt down to the bottom.

“you call a lot,” you finally look at him, voice quiet. “you don’t think i notice?”

“i know you do,” he whispers. “i only call so much ‘cause i miss you.”

you blink stubbornly, eyes watering. your lips tremble as you press them together, trying and failing to hold yourself together. he doesn’t hesitate to cup your cheeks between his palms, like it was an instinct.

“c’mon,” he sighs. “don’t do that. you know how much it breaks my heart.”

“i miss you too,” your voice shakes. “i really, really miss you, chuuya,” you melt against his chest the same way you always used to, arms wrapping around his shoulders and your forehead pushing against his neck. “i just want to stay like this for a few minutes,” you whisper pleadingly, words warm against his skin.

he could almost laugh; he’d stay with you for the rest of his life in your little dining room, holding you against him. he’d break the world in two for you if you asked him to.

“you’re still the best thing that ever happened to me,” he presses a kiss to your shoulder, and his heart flutters when you don’t push him away. he holds your waist, rubbing his thumbs against the small of your back. his cheek rests against your hair, and he inhales deeply. “i mean it.”

he isn’t ready to let you go when you lift your head off his shoulder all too soon, arms still solid around your waist when he feels your lips brush against his. you pull away just as quickly, but he cups your jaw before you can get too far. you fall back into each other like you were never apart, shakily exhaling in relief as your lips slot into perfect place against his own. chuuya loves you with every part of himself, and once he started, it was ingrained in him forever; loving you became a fundamental part of who he was.

you practically crawl into his lap, seating yourself on his thigh and wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders. his tongue traces along your bottom lip, and the noise you make drives him fucking crazy; his breath stutters as you whimper against his mouth and melt between his hands. he caresses your sides with a tenderness only reserved for you, trailing down to the plush of your ass from muscle memory alone.

the edge of the table presses into his side, painfully prodding at the edge of his ribs, but all he can feel is your soft lips, parted and pliant against his, and the tip of your nails, scratching against his scalp and down his nape.

this is what he meant when he said he wanted to come back home.

“i won’t fuck it up this time,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “it’s you and me. got it?”

you nod, cheeks wet against his palms, lips curled upward as you press a kiss to the slope of his nose.

“there’s that smile,” he grins, thumb stroking beneath your dewy lashes. “i missed it.”

“i missed you,” you press your hand against his the toned skin of his chest, feeling the heavy pound of his heart beneath your palms. “i’ve wanted to kiss you like that again for so long.”

“oh yeah?” he smirks, nose brushing against yours. “you stay up at night thinking about me or something?”

your fingertips are warm against his cheek as you shove his face away, scoffing as you slide off his lap.

“where do you think you’re going, baby?” he tugs you back, kissing the corner of your mouth. “don’t think i’m lettin’ you go again.”

BSD MASTERLIST

#💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖#chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd fluff #chuuya fluff #bsd scenarios

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 2 years

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Pity-f*ck

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: You end up at a house party during your first Thanksgiving after graduation. Steve seems to have taken interest in you, though you don't have the slightest clue as to why.

Warnings: Angst with a fluffy ending, Alcohol, body image issues, implied smut but nothing explicitly stated, bullying, language, my own personal anti-thanksgiving rhetoric

Word Count: 1981

Notes: this is by far the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written and I do not regret it in the slightest.

My masterlist!

Fuckin’ Thanksgiving.

Arguably the worst holiday. Even the forgettable ones like Arbor day were better than Thanksgiving, because at least on Arbor day you didn’t have to deal with extended relatives asking why you’re not engaged yet or reminding you how much weight you’ve gained since you last saw them. The food was very overrated, in your opinion, and usually needed to be accompanied by at least one whole bottle of wine per person. It was freezing, but since winter hadn’t quite come in full swing, there were no sparkling icicles or glimmering snowbanks, just frigid rain and brown slush on the roads that made it hard to drive.

Pair that with being stuck in your miserable little hometown for a week, and it had started to become a little bit of a nightmare.

You’ve successfully ran away from the prying questions and drunk aunties, though now you seemed to have ended up somewhere even worse; a highschool acquaintance’s house party. Everything else was closed, seeing as it was eleven o’clock the night before Thanksgiving, but you really, really needed an excuse to get out of the house, so you chose the lesser of two evils.

Now, instead of sitting in the corner of your house getting drunk, you were sitting in the corner of someone else’s house getting drunk.

People you sort of knew flittered by, giving you half hearted greetings and disingenuous waves. They ignored you all throughout high school, so them continuing to do so seemed about right in your mind. You grabbed a drink and planted yourself on the bottom step of the wooden staircase in the corner of the living room, having resigned yourself to a night of people watching against a soundtrack of shitty pop music and holiday chatter.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. You’d only really been invited after being cornered in the grocery store by an old friend who didn’t know you hated her, and clearly nobody else gave a shit that you had turned up. You had been invisible then, you were still invisible now, so maybe it’s time to just chug what’s left of your watered down vodka, and-

“Hey.”

You look up from your one person pity party, to find the face of Steve Harrington looking down at you.

“Hi,” you respond with an air of disbelief. Why had Steve Harrington suddenly taken interest in you?

“Can I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to you with his cup. “You, uh, you seem lonely.”

“I’m not,” you spit back at him.

“Okay.” Steve doesn’t seem phased by your animosity. “Can I sit anyway?”

You pondered for a moment. This was very out of character, at least for the Steve you remembered, who dared people to pretend to ask you out as a punishment, and tossed pencils and wads of paper at you from the desk behind your own. That Steve had been a grade-A asshole to you until you had figured out how to properly blend in with the cinderblock walls.

Though, you did have an old friend from band, one of the few people you bothered to stay in touch with, and she insisted that he wasn’t like that anymore. . .

“If you want,” you uttered, eyes pointed out into the crowd of your former classmates.

“Thanks,” Steve said from beside you. The steps were really too short for either of you to be able to sit comfortably, and while you opted to tuck your knees to the side and keep your legs away from any possible oncoming traffic, Steve had stuck his straight out with his right ankle crossed over his left.

“You’re one of Robin’s friends, right?” he asked. You perked up some at the prospect of being able to talk to Robin.

“Is she here?” you questioned, looking around to see if you could spot her in the sea of people.

“Yeah, somewhere, but she ran off with, uh,” Steve trailed off. “She ran off with somebody.”

“Lucky,” you muttered into your plastic cup before taking a hefty swig.

“How’s school going?” Steve asked you. You hadn’t been ready for more small talk, and you’d been asked that at least fifty times this week. “Robin said you’re in Chicago now.”

“It’s good.” You decided to keep your answers brief in hopes of eventually getting Steve to end the conversation and leave you be. “Chicago’s good.”

“Good.”

There was an awkward tension between the two of you. Why did Steve want to talk to you? It couldn’t actually be because he wanted to know how your classes were going, he’d never given a shit about them before, so he had to have some sort of ulterior motive, right? You scanned the room once more, trying to see if any of his (supposedly) former crew were looking in your direction, waiting for the punchline to hit. Your guard was now up even higher than it had been before, if that was even possible, when Steve spoke up again.

“Y’know, I was thinking, actually-”

“Okay, did you, like, lose a bet? Or something?” you interrupted. You were highly attuned to people trying to pull tricks on you now, and there were warning bells going off in all directions inside of your head.

“What? No, I-”

“No, you know what?” you snapped. You’d gone from mild annoyance to fiery anger, but you weren’t the same person you were when Steve had last pulled something like this. You were a grown ass adult now, and so was he. You were not gonna put up with his shit anymore. Not again. “I get it. It’s fine. Honestly, I understand why you all find shit like this funny.”

“Funny?”

“Just because the high school loser finally became pretty after graduation doesn’t mean she’s not a loser anymore, right?” you stated. Steve looked at you with an expression of shock on his face. He remembered you being timid and quiet, doing whatever you could to avoid making waves. He hadn’t expected this much brazen confidence from you, though maybe he should have. You were right when you said you’d become pretty after graduation; he almost hadn’t recognized you from across the room because of how much you’d changed since he last saw you. He stayed quiet for a moment.

“Believe me,” he said, looking intently into his plastic cup. “Out of the two of us, you are not the loser here.”

“Me versus King Steve? And I’m not the loser?” You almost had the ghost of a smile on your face, though you were still unsure of where Steve’s intentions lied.

“Oh, no. It’s definitely not you.”

“How so?”

“Well, I still live here with my shitty parents, and you got out and moved to Chicago, so there’s number one,” Steve started. He was counting on his fingers, cup balanced precariously between his thumb and pointer. “Two, you’ve got this great future ahead of you, anybody can see it, and my biggest goal right now is making assistant manager at goddamn Family Video, which, by the way, I’d put twenty bucks on it going to Robin, not me.”

You stared at him, almost in awe. If you’d been told three years ago that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington would be listing off compliments to you, you would have never believed them.

“Three, look at you! You look so cool! I don’t know how to look cool anymore!” Steve continued his rant, tossing an arm up for emphasis. “I used to know how to dress cool, and now I dress like I’m someone’s dad! How did that even happen?!”

You let out a laugh.

“You’re not dressed like a dad,” you said. “You’re dressed fine.”

“Exactly! Just fine! Not cool anymore.”

“Oh, my god,” you huffed with a smile. You paused for a moment, shaking your head. Steve looked at you, waiting for you to poke back at him, and saw your smile falter.

“What?” he asked. You turned towards him.

“I live in a dorm with a chemical engineering major who’s so much smarter than me that she hasn’t even bothered to learn my name,” you said. “I work at a Macy’s makeup counter and get yelled at by old women all day. The only difference between what I’m doing and what you’re doing is that you can actually afford to eat.”

Steve eyed you. He had a look of sympathy on his face, this time genuine, and not self-pitying to make you laugh.

“And thank you for thinking I’m cool, by the way, but I promise you I am not,” you added. “Call it a symptom of not getting hot until after high school.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, voice hushed. Well, as hushed as he could get while still being heard above the noisy crowd.

“I don’t know how to get into parties, or into clubs,” you said.

“You got into this one okay,” Steve responded.

“Well, yeah. Anybody with a pair of tits and half a bottle of booze could get into this party. The standards here are pretty low.” Steve let out a small laugh at your sentiment.

“I guess that is true, yeah.”

“I never learned how to get dates, because nobody ever wanted to date me,” you said. “I don’t know how to get a guy to buy me drinks, or take me home.”

You were oversharing, you knew it, but you didn’t really care. Maybe you had just had too much to drink, but it felt damn good to finally be able to air all of your grievances with the way you’d been treated, and saying it to Steve Harrington of all people made it all that much more satisfying.

“I have no idea how to make friends, but everybody else does, and it’s so, incredibly lonely,” you muttered. You had lost your smile, it having now been replaced by a deep scowl.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Steve said, bumping his shoulder into yours. “I don’t think I know how to do any of that stuff either.”

“Sure,” you said with a chuckle of disbelief.

“I’m serious! Once we graduated and all that popularity, hierarchy bullshit wore off,” Steve said. “Nobody gave a rat’s ass about me anymore. All that shit went away.”

The pair of you sat without speaking for a moment. Though you’d never have guessed it, you and Steve seemed to actually be in similar, socially inept boats.

“I’m not gonna lie, that does make me feel better,” you said. “Like, a lot, actually.”

“Oh, well, it’s good to know my suffering can be of use to you,” Steve replied.

“Very good use,” you quip back to him. He smiled at you, and you returned it with your own.

“Maybe we can, uh,” Steve trailed off. “Maybe we can figure out how to be cool together?”

You were silent for a moment, and Steve was worried he’d miscalculated your conversation, before a mischievous smile graced your face.

“Are you trying to pity-fuck me, Harrington?” you asked with a grin, sarcasm thick on your voice. Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Wh-no, no!”

“Because I’ve been pity-fucked before,” you said through the widest smile Steve had seen on you all night. “And it’s only fun for a little while.”

The pair of you were both laughing now, hearty laughs that came deep from the chest and made Steve’s eyes water out of the corners.

“I’m not trying to pity-fuck you!” Steve responded with a shake of his head. He took a sip from his drink, leaving a moment's silence between you two. You still had a leftover smile on your face. Interrupting the quiet you two were sharing, he slyly added, “I’m trying to actually fuck you.”

That made you choke on your drink, and Robin rounded the corner to find you coughing and spluttering, and Steve’s shoulders shaking with laughter.

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fizzy-dizzie · 4 months

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Okay I love thinking about all the things that cas would have had to learn as a human. Things that we've known since childhood, that now we don't even think twice about. I imagine for a good chunk of when he was human he had this 'child-like' period where he, while in the process of learning 'how to human', would use the methods that are used to teach kids because.. I mean what other methods are there. (Pretend with me that he stayed longer with the winchester bros as a human instead of getting kicked out)

In regards to using knives in the kitchen, dean and Sam had to inform him both of the claw grip to hold whatever your cutting to not lose fingers and to always cut away from yourself.

Dean saw how he was doing his teeth (eating his toothpaste help) and became concerned that he wasn't doing anything hygiene wise properly so he gave him a rundown of everything.

In the bathroom, you can often hear him quietly singing happy birthday to himself when washing his hands.

This was kinda Dean's fault, as he burps at a table all the time and home. But they were eating somewhere nicer and Cas just belched in the middle of the restaurant, through giggles and Snickers Sam and dean had to explain why that wasn't the social standard.

Cas regularly uses the 'bunny' method to tie his shoes, now that he actually has to remove them as opposed to not having to touch any of the clothes on his body ever.

He tracked mud all through the bunker one time without realising at first, when he went back into a room he had previously walked into he lifted his shoe to check and was severely disappointed in himself. (He cleaned it all up)

Cas at the beginning often forgot to eat. When he was alone he wouldn't eat until it hurt, in which he'd remember then finally eat something. He actually lost a lot of weight and when he was living with Sam and dean they had to remind him regularly and would even try and get as many snacks in between meals as possible to get his weight back up.

Similarly, he gets dehydrated a lot. Sam buys him one of those water bottles with the times of the day on the side that you have to drink up to by that time.

He was interested in learning how to ride a bike for a while but upon learning how treacherous (and painful) that learning curve was he figured he'd be okay with missing out

Cas was shocked enough with sleeping but the whole concept of not being able to choose when you woke up using pure will power annoyed him so much. He found the solution through a tv show when he saw a character waking up to an alarm.

He put a fork in the microwave.

He no longer uses the microwave.

He likes just watching people do their hobby of choice. If it's Sam and Dean usually they'll let him set in, help or participate every once and a while but if not he still enjoys just observing.

He struggled to find his own human hobbies for a long time but I imagine he's quite the Baker when he puts his mind to it

Dean likes his food spicy I imagine and considering Cas has never even had salt before he very quickly realised what a 'spice tolerance' was. Dean no longer makes group meals as spicy.

#does cas know how to swim??#would he drown in a body of water without his angel powers?#castiel #human castiel #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester

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faebriel · 8 months

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Ur rainduo hunger games au is just chef’s kiss. It’s so good!!!

Like niki and wilbur being friends and then wilbur disappears and she thinks he’s dead but he’s not?? And then she’s like I need to win I need to get him out of here. She’s like I am so angry but I can not show it. Like????? And her burning the forest down really suits her (I’m thinking of her burning down l’mantree) and then she hates fire but her branding is now fire +girlboss and she’s just like noooo no thank u. I’ve seen enough fire in my lifetime.

And wilbur is like a shaken up soda bottle. The lid is on tight but that does not mean that the liquid is calm. All u need is to take the lid off and it will explode everywhere. Yeah.

Anyways i love this au it is so cool!!!!

YEAH niki is such a straightforward character and she doesn't suffer the timewasting and arrogance of politics compared to so many other characters and so when her name gets pulled, she knows her odds of making it are just too low and she can't be bothered bullshitting that. she's not going to get up there and prance around for the cameras and pretend that everything is okay. it's not okay. she's not even a good liar in the first place. she has her parents presumably back home and a few friends in 12 so there's not much she can do, but there's a certain point where she just can't bring herself to participate. and then she finds wilbur, and the entire situation flips.

he is depending on her!! niki made peace with the idea of her own death as soon as her name was called at the reaping but this is an entire tidal wave of emotions that she already cannot compute. like the worst kind of grief and anger and survivors guilt. and if she loses, no one will rescue him. no one will even know he's there. and then that too, that's gonna be her fault. and even then, she gets these flashes of absolute rage...

she's so fucking lucky she has jack as a mentor to remind her of exactly the right way to smile so they can't see how tightly you clench your jaw. hbomb giving her these intricate hand braces so she can't visibly clench her fists when she talks so sweetly about winning the games and going home to her friends and making her district proud. and then she gets back to the tribute living spaces and tears her room apart in a whirlwind of burning anger, and then stays up late putting every stupid knick knack back together in case rumours spread because she needs to keep her reputation as the Sweet, Kind, Nicey Nice Girl from district 12 intact to win over sponsors.

and yea the forest fire is fucking traumatising. i can't remember if this is a canon hunger games thing or if my brain saw some fanon eight years ago and is running with it but i imagine once you win the games they slap all that megahealing shit into you so she wakes up in some private capitol hospital room and, beyond what she even thought was possible, the burns are gone. and she doesn't even know how that works but they must have done a pretty shit job because she can still fucking feel the fire beneath her skin.

you won and you got out! she gets wilbur out. maybe. but it's only really after the games that she realises she's never gonna be able to go home again. she should feel relieved to be alive at least, but all she feels is burning and a miserable, endless pit in her chest instead.

A SHAKEN UP SODA BOTTLE..... you're so fucking right KSHKDHDKD. wilbur is v interesting to me because like.... i think there's a bitter and hurting part of him that still blames himself above anyone else for getting caught. but he's been here for seven years. he has seen some horrible shit happen. wilbur has a tendency for self-hatred but he's not massively easily manipulated until someone is pushing him towards something he already wanted (thinking of how dream treated him in pogtopia.)

i think niki being reaped is a tipping point for him. like, he's not stupid. he's walked into the last seven years of reapings going not niki, and then not niki, not fundy, and then not niki not fundy please god not tommy and so on. and then the worst outcome happens, and niki barely manages to survive but only by swallowing her own voice and going through some terrible shit. wilbur saw that, he got to see it on live TV while pouring wine and retrieving stupidly rich food for stupidly rich people while he remembers arguing with tommy about whether they could eat a possum because at the time, that was their best option. it is one thing for him to be here. he has accepted that as his own fault (even if he probably shouldn't). but shoving niki through the meatgrinder? his kind, clever niki, who (in wilbur's eyes) has done nothing wrong in her entire fucking life? something needs to change, and he will bend steel with his bare fucking hands to make it happen.

now, to figure out how to do all that and actually stay alive.

the thing with wilbur that always stands out to me is that he's a character in motion. he doesn't stop. i think after being captured and having his tongue cut out and being tortured, he would obviously suffer greatly - but he wouldn't stop. his voice meant everything to him, and even though it's physically gone, part of him so venerates its absence that he cannot stop himself from trying to sustain it, to "bring it back", even if it sounds different now. even if it's all locked away in his mind. now, that is where he keeps everything he wants to say. he keeps his mind sharp over those years - reciting the names and birthdays of his friends in 12 so he doesn't forget them, tracing words across the wall when he's supposed to be sleeping so his handwriting stays neat enough to read. he's waiting, he just doesn't know for what.

and then niki is reaped. that's what.

#i kind of see nikis attitude towards the games (to start with) as somewhere between peeta in 1 and johanna in 2 #she has too many people she cares about to be as blisteringly angry as johanna but she's a bad fucking liar #she doesn't want the games to change her. and to be fair they don't change her in the way she expects #she doesn't want to have her personality swallowed up by the capitol because that is how she and her friends have always seen the victors #but after winning she realises oh. it really all is just tv cameras and hot air.#everyone from jack to the hardest career is fucking traumatised #and wilbur is. SO HEAVILY REPRESSING HIS FEELINGS to stay alive because there is no room for error #but silently he's fuming. they took a fucking lot from him but they couldn't take the belief that there's something better than this #if anything they hammered it in #OUGH. they're very. yeah #thanks the the ask mye !!! how ya doing #asks #hunger games au #aunonnies

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thepixelelf · 2 years

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woozi+gold+friendship for 17daysof17

[oh don't be such a fool] "What's the one thing I always tell you?"

Jihoon barely even glances at you as you sit down across from him at the café, one hand scrolling mindlessly through instagram while the other rests around the bottom of his Coke Zero bottle. "That buying soda in a café is a waste of money?"

"No— well, yes, but that's not what I'm talking about." Leaning slightly over the table with your arms crossed on top of it, you repeat, "You know, the one thing I'm always reminding you of?"

"Not to overwork myself?"

"Okay, yes, but—"

"Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me instead of doing this weird back and forth?"

You give him a deadpan glare and roll your eyes. "The golden rule, Jihoon! ‘Do unto others what you want done unto you’!”

Taking a sip of his coke, Jihoon raises an invisible eyebrow at you — he really should stop dying his hair just because his friends tell him it’ll look good. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Uh, you’re the one who’s always complaining to me about how depressingly single you are.”

Jihoon frowns. “I never said depressingly—”

“It was implied,” you say with an expression Jihoon knows as, you’re my best friend, of course I can read you like a book, and he bristles, but he doesn’t say anything else in rebuttal. “But seriously, you can’t lament over being single if you can’t even follow the golden rule of flirting.”

“‘The golden rule of flirting’? How the hell does the golden rule apply to flirting?”

“If you want people to try to get to know you, you have to express interest!” you tell him, pounding one fist down on the table. It’s not loud enough to warrant attention from other patrons, but Jihoon understands the emphasis you’re trying to input. That doesn’t mean he likes it, though. “You can’t be so deadpan all the time. So…” Waving a hand in front of your face, you twist your expression in what is apparently an impression of Jihoon around strangers. “...sour looking. If you want people to actually flirt with you, you’ve got to flirt back. Or at least smile.”

“What if I don’t want people to flirt with me?”

“What?” Your eyebrows knit together in a way Jihoon will probably never admit he thinks is cute. “Since when?”

It’s Jihoon’s turn to roll his eyes. “Since always. You know I don’t like meeting new people.”

“Then how are you ever supposed to get a partner?”

Even though he’s not paying attention to his phone at all anymore, he swipes his thumb up the screen and pretends to keep his eyes on it. “...Maybe I already like someone in particular.”

“What?!” Your jaw drops, and Jihoon finally looks at you in introverted panic, shushing you just as some people turn your way with startled expressions. You lower your voice, but it’s more like a hiss than a whisper when you say, “You never told me you like someone!”

Jihoon puts his phone face down on the table, shrugging and crossing his arms. “I don’t tell you everything…”

“Again: since when?” I thought I was your best friend!” you whine.

“You are.”

Clicking your tongue, you slump back in your seat like a child that just got told they couldn’t drink a slushie straight out of the machine at 7-Eleven. “Sure doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.” But your sulky demeanor doesn’t last long, a mischievous smirk appearing on your lips after only a few seconds. “So, who’s this ‘someone in particular’?”

“Like I’d just tell you,” Jihoon mutters bitterly.

“Then what am I your friend for? Just to sit here and watch from the outside?” You sit up again. “How am I supposed to give you semi-good advice if I don’t even know who you’re pining for?”

Shifting in his seat, Jihoon takes another sip of his coke and shrugs. “Even they don’t know I like them.”

“This is what I’m talking about!” You snap your fingers and point at him, Jihoon almost going cross-eyed as he flinches backward. “The golden rule! You can’t even be rejected until the person you like knows you like them.”

“Rejected?”

You shake your head. “It’s just a statistical possibility.”

“Ouch…”

“But it’s less likely than them being into you,” you try to assure him, gently putting your hand over his. He does his best not to breathe differently— or, at least, not let it show. “I mean, you’re a total catch, you know that?”

He meets your eyes. “You think?”

“Of course! You’re sweet and hot. Plus, a lot of people totally dig the whole ‘introverted until you’re in love with them’ kind of thing.”

“Gee, thanks.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hand away. “That was a compliment, Jihoon. I like that kind of thing too. It’s cute.”

“Yeah?” Jihoon has heard you say things like this before, you skirting around the words he’s always wanted to hear in sincerity. “What about me?”

“Huh?”

Jihoon leans forward and rests his arms on the table. “You said you like that kind of thing. What about when it's me?”

“Whoa,” you say through a nervous laugh. “Since when was this an interrogation? How are you ever supposed to flirt with the person you like if you keep practicing on me?”

Letting out a half groan, half sigh, Jihoon drops his forehead to the tabletop with a dull thump.

“Your golden rule sucks.”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #woozi x reader #lee jihoon scenarios #lee jihoon imagines #lee jihoon x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #.100

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edupunkn00b · 1 year

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Arizona's Journal, Ch. 2: You Can't Go Back

Prev - You Can't Go Back - Next - All - [ AO3 ]

The Kid asked me something the other day that reminded me of a conversation we had during his first month working at the shop.

"How do I go back?" Remus was re-organizing the inks on their shelves after noticing that the manufacturer's numbering system didn't put the shades in a true spectrum, but instead added "new" in-between tints at the end of each hue. I'd had to admit, they looked better his way.

"What do you mean," I hummed back, sifting though a collection of newly developed photos of client tattoos, looking for the best ones to add to the wall.

He was quiet for a long time, long enough for me to wonder if he'd only been muttering to himself and hadn't even been aware I'd spoken. He did that sometimes, get so lost in his own thoughts that he slipped away from everything around him.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice a bare murmur. "Until... Until that day, I felt happy. Well, most of the time. No, that's not right " He shook his head, scowling at the inks in front of him, rearranging the different shades and tints of green.

I waited him out, keeping my eyes focused on the photos I'd already finished sorting. Even by then, I knew him well enough to know he'd speak more freely if I wasn't staring him down at the same time. I shifted a bit in my seat, though, making sure my body was pointed toward his in a quiet invitation in case he needed a hug.

"I used to have everybody fooled that I was fine. That I was happy. " He turned the bottles on the shelf, carefully aligning them so their labels were perfectly centered. "Most of the time, I'd even fooled myself." He moved on to the shades of blue. "But now..."

"But now you can't stuff it all back in anymore, huh?" I moved closer to him, sitting in the customer chair next to the ink shelves. He quickly swiped at his face, ridding himself of the tears starting to force their way down his cheeks. He nodded.

"Ah, Kid, yeah, that's the trick, isn't it?" I leaned a little closer, reaching out to lay my hand over his. "Pretending you're okay isn't really the same thing as being okay, though, is it?"

"It just hurts," his words came out in a raspy whisper.

"I know, Kid. I know." I held open my arms and he dove into them, pulling at the back of my shirt like he was gripping the edge of a cliff. And maybe he was. "This feeling won't last forever."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what Dr. Greaves says." I nodded against the top of his head as the tears broke through his last little defensive wall. He'd managed to fold his giant form into my little 5'2" lap. Just then, Jamie poked her head in from the backroom, annoyance showing in the small frown on her lips and the crease in her forehead.

I glanced up at the clock. We were an hour past closing and I still hadn't pulled down the gate. Jamie met my eyes. Her face had softened when she saw the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed. She made a little 'I love you' sign and my heart soared with her silent understanding.

She quietly slipped through the front door, quickly lowering the gate and flipping the store hour sign that peeked through the open bars of the security gate. Jamie smiled and gave me a little wave as she returned to the tiny backroom, already pulling out her phone, pointing to a menu pinned to the wall and raising three fingers in a wordless question, 'Three for Chinese tonight?'

#Arizona's Journal #Remus Prince #Arizona Tate #OC #Happily Ever After Universe #Jamie is Arizona's partner #Logan and Janus haven't helped pass marriage equality yet in Washington State

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lifesfeelings · 7 months

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First "Breakup"...

My favorite thing that I just noticed is that I really only come back to Tumblr when things aren't going well 😂 I always want to keep posting here, for my own records, but when I have somebody in my life to vent to, I forget that I have this space! but anyway... So, I posted about him a handful of times I think. Sebastian? We met on Tinder back in April and we've been steadily getting more and more relationship-y. I thought that I was stringing him along. I really liked him, and if I was gonna make a relationship work, it would have been him. We don't live in the same town, but we made the trip to each other a handful of times, we texted everyday, we always were talking about the future: our halloween costumes we'd do together, Christmas plans, shows we were gonna watch together, plans for me to meet his parents, etc. We never made anything official, but I thought he was down bad... I kinda was "losing interest." Not in the sense that I wanted any other guy, but I sometimes think I'm aromantic and I just felt like it was getting too real. I wanted to run away. But... since Saturday, I have in fact learned that I am probably not aromantic and that I instead just have issues... He ended it out of nowhere. I've been obliterated. I can't go more than a few hours without crying, and they've been titanic like meltdown sobs... I can't get homework done. I can't focus on anything. I just came to my office (knowing I have fucking office hours and my students can come in at any time), and just finished sobbing for about two hours straight. He said that he had "felt nothingness come over him" a few months ago and that he had hoped it would go away with time. He said he just had lost the spark. And it's been fucking UGLY... I spent the weekend doing everything I thought I could. I did everything I thought I could do to claw back at his heart. I told him how much he meant, I apologized profusely for being a bit more cold and reserved the last like two weeks. I wrote him a fucking letter basically telling him how torn the fuck up I am and that I respect his choice but I'll be there if he changes his mind. I keep trying to think of the fucking perfect string of words that will move him, the "romantic acts" I could try, the posts that will get his attention... And it's just an endless cycle having to remind myself that it's over. This wasn't some skirmish or something I was doing that I can correct. He, in his heart of hearts, just truly doesn't feel it for me anymore. And he tried to let me down easily, but I kept pushing and the more I reread his texts the more clear it is to me that he has nothing for me... He said he wanted to be friends and all that. He said that maybe in time things will change. But in the letter, I basically told him that I wasn't going to hold my breath but that it would be a good while until I was done. That he could come back and I'd be there. and he basically was like "I hope that this hasn't ruined future endeavors or made you more hesitant with guys in the future" and was just politely basically telling me that it's not fucking happening... I just don't think I've been this wholly destroyed... My grandma passed away a year ago (in two days actually...). She was my best friend and the love of my life. And, this feels cringey to even be saying and thinking, but I've been taking this harder than I took that... I could bottle with her death. I could put it away and pretend that I'd be okay. I was able to keep going. This stuff with Sebastian has stopped my life. It feels like I lost the one thing that was keeping me here in line. I think between moving away from my past life, and starting a new school and new jobs in a new city.... I think Sebastian became my only rock and the only thing I could count on in my life that kept me grounded. and now he's just gone without warning. without anything I can do. I don't know what to do... I'm eviscerated. I just want this life to stop for a little bit.

10.09.23

#break up #heart break #relationship #gay

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con-rad03 · 11 months

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2150 (Part 2)

The bullet lodged somewhere in my abdomen is making me dizzy, but I continue on. For Gunner! I say to myself over and over again. Remember what you’re doing this for, or rather, who you’re doing this for, I remind myself. I limp over to a parking lot, hiding behind a car so as to not be seen. I breathe in and out quickly, almost panting, in an attempt to forget the pain. I start to pass out when I look down at the blood surrounding me. I slump over in defeat, tired of fighting.

Dominique:

I sigh as I walk out of the school building. I can already smell the cigarettes from my dad’s car. Baseball cap on my head, I breathe in the last sniff of fresh air before slinging my backpack into the back of the 2105 Chevy Blazer. The beer bottles slide around the bottom as we take off as I sit down, closing the car door. ”I miss my 2076 Ford Mustang…” I mutter to myself. “It’s in the shop, remember?!” dad says, sighing. I nod, “I know.” I say sarcastically. I look over at my dad, when I suddenly notice he has a black eye. Panic as well as concern rise in me, but I pretend to ignore it. This isn’t normal to have a black eye…he must have gotten physical last gang run…A few holes in his shirt, too…hmm. I run my hand through my hair in frustration, then turn to face the window. “ We are a black family. Gangs run in our family, too. I remind myself. “UGH! Can we get home any slower?” my sister, Anni, says loudly. My dad snorts, and immediately, without warning, kicks the car into high gear and speeds down the road. Despite myself, I smile. Wind whipping through my hair, warmth from the sun on my face, I smile.

Finally, we make it to the house. (somehow without getting pulled over by a cop or hitting a mailbox). I run up to my room and change into my house clothes, then rush back downstairs, only to find dad and Anni in a shouting match. I sigh as I open the fridge to grab a pop. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see a bottle aimed directly for me. I duck and it hits the fridge instead of my arm. “Hey!” I shout. “What was that for?” I turn around, to see a knife in dad’s hand, and fear in Anni’s little eyes. I attempt to swipe it from his hand, but in an obviously drunk state, he slashes out, barely missing my face. “YO! Dad! Put. The. Knife. Down.” I say slowly and with emphasis. He stops for a moment, seeming to ponder my question, then slowly puts the knife down, shaking. I let out a sigh of relief, but before I can blink, he has it up, slashing out again, this time connecting with my face. I yelp out in pain, stepping back, I run upstairs, blood gushing out of my face. I run into the bathroom, putting pressure on my face with a towel, then I rush to my room, grabbing anything I can, and hurl myself out of the window. Then, I run into the garage, grab a few guns, including a sniper, a handgun, and a bow and some arrows for hunting. Am I really running away? And what about Anni? Will she be okay? I shake my head. She will be fine, she can take care of herself. I nod reassuringly to myself. I grab my bag, shove everything into it, and take off down the street, glancing behind me every now and then to make sure I’m not being followed. I rush into a convenience store, grabbing a few energy drinks, paying, and leaving quickly, then rush into a nearby supermarket to rest until I feel the coast is clear.

My hair blows in the wind as I look at her through the scope of my dad’s old 7.62mm sniper from the top of the supermarket. The parking lot looks abandoned compared to the days before The Enemy, although, I suppose it’s usually rush hour when we used to come. Memories flood my brain of when we used to race down the aisles inside the supermarket in shopping carts, laughing and giggling…I shake my head, Now is not the time to be thinking of the old days, I remind myself. This is today, so we need to- I pause. What in the- is that a girl? Or is it… I stop thinking and instead, hurl myself inside the open window in the supermarket, running out the door into the parking lot over to the girl. Why do I care so much? She’s just a girl! Because she reminds me of Anni…I MUST help her! I feel her pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. I nod, pressing my hands against her abdomen, where blood is rushing out. She’s lost a lot of blood, by the size of the wound… I see that she needs help, so I’m going to take her to where someone can help her. I pick her up and slowly but surely carry her inside, grabbing bandages and gauze, shoving it in the wound and wrapping the bandages around the wound as much as I can, then I carry her over to the pharmacy, yelling out for help as loud as I can. Please, someone…Help her! She needs help! I think, panicking inwardly. No one seems to notice or care as I stand there, yelling, with a young woman in my hands. I slip to the ground, crying. Please….Help her…I wail.

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noteguk · 3 years

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a little while | kth | m

↳ inspired by the song “a little while” by yellow days.

— summary; in which Taehyung realizes that he was wrong in thinking that being friends with benefits with you wouldn’t backfire.

— contents and warnings; angsty smut!!, pretty much pwp, taehyung is emotional, fwb au, Taehyung x reader, protected sex, dirty talk (honestly like one sentence), unrequited feelings, kind of soft sex :( taehyung is whipped and sad about it

— words; 2k

— author’s note; I’ve been feeling kind of stuck with my other wips so I wrote this drabble to unwind :) idk if I plan to write more of it but who knows!!! My two functioning neurons are very unpredictable.

That was supposed to be easy.

That was all that Taehyung could think about: you two, whatever you had going on; that was supposed to be easy. It was the whole point of even starting something like that in the first place. It was the entire motive behind why anyone would ever accept a friend with benefits — no strings attached, no clingy calls, no emotional baggage. It was supposed to be a quick situation, convenient; Taehyung was supposed to see you every once in a while, maybe even forget about you, until he decided that he wanted to get his dick wet again.

It was supposed to be easy.

“Is this okay for you?” Taehyung asked, leaning a bit closer to your face. He loved staring at you like that: with your hair sprawled on the pillow and your pouty lips inviting him into a kiss. He had grown used to having you under him, and it had quickly become one of his favorite pastimes. “Want me to go faster?”

You shifted around under him, your hands moving up to rest on his shoulders. “It’s alright, I like it slow too.”

And he could only nod, because his mind was thinking too many things that he could not say. It was supposed to be fucking easy, but somewhere along the way, Taehyung had ruined everything. It was just a matter of time before the whole situation went up in flames and he managed to lose both his friend and what might just be the love of his life in one go.

Because Taehyung had broken the first and most important rule of having a friend with benefits: whatever you do, don’t catch feelings.

And now he was rocking into you slowly, sensually, actually making love to you instead of the way he usually fucked — fast, rough, with your loud moans filling his lungs until he found his high. It was ridiculous. He felt nauseous.

Worst part was that he was almost sure you didn’t feel the same — and the “almost” was because there was a small fragment of hope inside his chest that really tried to convince him that he had a shot. That maybe the way you looked at him showed something beyond hunger and lust. Maybe you actually cared for him. Maybe you wanted more and you weren’t brave enough to tell him.

“Actually, could you go a bit faster?”

Your voice shot him straight back down into reality. Taehyung only nodded, mumbling something that not even he understood before burying his face on the crook of your neck and raising the speed of his thrusts. The world around him felt suffocating and confusing, not even your honeyed moans against his ear could raise his spirit.

Still he tried to ground himself, his hands digging to your hips as he closed his eyes, focusing on the drag of your walls against his cock. The feeling was overwhelming, dizzying, earned a low groan from him as he continued to fuck you like you deserved to be fucked. Taehyung managed to pretend that everything was alright for exactly two minutes before you spoke up again.

“God, that feels so good,” you cried out. His cock throbbed inside you at your words, his mind spinning at the sensation of you growing tighter. Taehyung was obsessed with you in every way, completely enthralled by how your body reacted to his, so eager to feel more. “Want you to kiss me, Tae.”

You always asked that when you were getting close and Taehyung was always fast to do it. His lips were on yours before he could even think about it, his tongue crawling inside your mouth as he groaned against the kiss. God, he could make out with you forever, it wasn’t even a joke.

Taehyung was absolutely whipped and that was a problem.

He removed one hand from your hips and trailed it down your arm slowly, reaching your hand and intertwining his fingers in yours. He moaned against your mouth, feeling his orgasm building up on the base of his spine, and pressed your hand down on the mattress as he continued to bury himself inside you.

“Tae,” you sobbed his name so beautifully that he swore he could cum right at that instant. “I’m so close.”

“It’s okay, baby, you can let it go,” he said, his voice so deep that you felt it vibrating inside your chest. “I got you. Cum on my cock for me. Wanna feel you.”

And you did, because it was like the universe was mocking him about how perfect you could be. Taehyung groaned — both in pleasure and in frustration — as your pussy clenched around his aching cock, your thighs trembling on either side of his body while you cried out his name. It was a flawless melody composed just for him: your voice dancing in the air, the lewd sounds of your wetness as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

Taehyung, just to top it all off, committed the huge mistake of actually making eye contact with you as you came down from your high. It suddenly was too much: your hooded eyes, your parted lips, the blissful expression that covered your features. You were too much.

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung cursed. He closed his eyes, paying full attention to his growing pleasure. “You’re so beautiful.”

He didn’t really mean to confess that out loud, but you didn’t seem to mind. You smiled, that gorgeous, drowsy smile you always gave him after he had made you cum, and Taehyung swore he was in heaven. “Are you gonna cum?” You asked, earning an eager nod in return. His hair was a mess over his eyes, sweaty and disorganized, covering his gaze as he looked down to see where the two of you met. You were made for him, your pussy was made for him, and he couldn’t take that idea out of his mind. “It’s okay, Tae, you can cum.”

Again, the universe was mocking him, because within a few seconds he was doing just that. Taehyung pressed his forehead against your shoulder and spilled himself inside the condom, wishing profusely — pretending, almost — that the latex barrier wasn’t there, and that he was filling you up with his cum instead, making you his. And that was enough to prolong his high a little further, his cock throbbing as he dove into that fantasy.

But, eventually, it had to end.

The silence that followed was thick and overbearing, but comfortable regardless. Most of the time it went like that: with the two of you basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, drowning in the heat of one another without saying a word. Taehyung did not know what went on inside your head, but he knew that he needed those few seconds of silence to reset his thoughts, to try and bury the emotions that ever so gradually started to build up.

Basically, he had to take a moment to remind himself that he had absolutely no chance with you.

You sighed deeply, your fingers diving into Taehyung’s soft locks. He had collapsed against your chest, trying to regain his breath and, at the gentle caresses of your fingers, you felt his heart leap inside his chest, pounding against your skin.

“That was nice,” you said daintily. He only hummed in agreement, worried he would slip and say something he didn’t mean to. “I have to go, though.”

Just like that, Taehyung felt like he just got stabbed in the fucking jugular. He whipped his head away from your chest faster than he could think (after all, he should’ve enjoyed a few extra seconds of boob time if he had the chance) and his mouth fell open for a moment before his words finally came out. “Don’t— Don’t you wanna stay the night?”

If you thought that his plea was desperate, which it was, you didn’t let it show. You smiled, leaning back to you could shift into a seating position on the bed. The two of you were facing each other then, so close and yet miles apart. “I don’t think I have the energy for round three,” you answered playfully.

Taehyung had two conflicting answers fighting in his head. The first one was that it wasn’t for sex, something along the lines of “actually, I might be in love with you and I don’t want you to go”; the second one was the one that you wanted to hear: “it’s okay, I’ll do all the work anyways”. And, yet, as the brave battle continued inside his mind, he was left to stare in silence as you jumped out of the bed and started seeking for your clothes.

“Besides,” you continued, “I have that research presentation tomorrow.”

Oh yeah, that stupid research thing. The reason why you had to schedule that Emergency Unwinding Session with Taehyung in the first place. His initial bliss, but his final demise. How poetic.

“It’s fine, I get it.” Taehyung watched your little wiggling dance as you placed your pants back on. He would’ve teased you about it if his heart wasn’t in absolute shambles. “Can I see you later tomorrow, then?”

You didn’t even hesitate to twist the blade. “Won’t happen. It’s Yongsun’s birthday and we are going to this fancy sushi bar downtown,” you said. The universe truly hated Taehyung and you were completely dressed by the time you leaned in to place a kiss against his forehead. “But we’ll figure something out. I owe you a third round.”

Taehyung forced out a laugh, trying to brush away the storm cloud over his head. However, he couldn’t even convince himself that he was fine. “Sure. We can figure it out.”

You hummed and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to make it a bit more presentable. “I have the copy of the keys that Jimin gave me, so you don’t have to worry about locking the door. Just go to sleep and I’ll lock it on my way out.”

Taehyung simply nodded because he seriously didn’t think he could say anything without completely confessing his emotions. They were so bottled up that he felt them building up in his throat, like a shaken bottle of soda about to explode.

“See you, Tae. Thanks for tonight,” you said on your way out of his room.

He responded with a timid, “See you,” that he was a hundred percent sure you didn’t even hear. A few seconds later, the sound of his front door closing was like thunder echoing around his empty room.

Taehyung sighed and threw himself back against the mattress, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was so fucked. So fucking whipped. He just wanted to scream against his pillow until it all went away, but he knew that it wouldn’t. He couldn’t confess to you because he was sure that you didn’t feel the same, and he couldn’t let you go because he was selfish: he wanted you one way or another, even if he had to disguise his emotions and pretend that everything was fine.

He removed his hand from his face and stared up at the white ceiling, at the slices of moonlight that came from his open window. Taehyung decided that he would just continue faking that he was fine with the idea of being friends with benefits with you. But could he do it? Could he keep it up? For how long? Taehyung had endured those acting sessions for a bit too long then, and he didn’t know how much he could take before he reached his breaking point.

He groaned and rolled around on the bed. He just wanted to sleep.

That was supposed to be easy.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #smut #angst #drabble #pwp #taehyung pwp #taehyung #kim taehyung #x you #x reader #bts angst #taehyung angst #smut drabble #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #reader insert #bts x you #bts x reader

828 notes · View notes

dreaming-about-fanfictions · 3 years

Text

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Ch. 23 of 27: Promises

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST

A/N: I’m back! Most of my exams are done and I’m finally back with a new chapter. Before you read it, I recommend rereading Chapter 22. It’ll be easier to understand this chapter. Short reminder: in the german version of the books, “Narcissa” is spelled “Narzissa”. So please don’t be confused about the spelling. Have fun! <3

CHAPTER 22

Words: 3.4k Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: angst, smut

He appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

For days, you had avoided him. Sat as far away as possible from him in class, stayed close to Ginny and Hermione, didn’t give him a chance to even approach you. And now, way past curfew you met him on a random hallway near the library.

The sight of him made your heart jump. His eyes widened. The two of you stood in front of each other, quietly waiting for the other to make a move. You took all of him in and tried your best not to wince when you realized how sickly he looked. It was your fault.

Draco spoke first. “What are you doing here?” His voice was strained.

You hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like weeks and you took a moment to process it. “Owlery,” you said finally. “I was on my way to the Owlery. I need to send a letter to my parents.”

He nodded. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

You looked down. It was strangely comforting to hear it. “I know.” You wanted to say more but no words came to mind. None that would fit your current situation anyways. “I should leave,” you mumbled and straightened your back. When you walked past him, you smelt a whiff of his cologne and held your breath. You didn’t dare to look at him and resumed your way towards the Owlery.

“We need to talk.”

He had raised his voice and the words echoed in the dark hallway. You hesitated. “Draco …” Then you shook your head. “No.”

“Y/N, you owe me.” You heard his footsteps. “You owe me an explanation.”

It was then that you finally turned around. “I gave you one.”

Draco scoffed. “You gave me shit.”

“I gave you what you deserve,” you shot back. Each word struggled to come out. Lies, so many lies. “I told you, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with you. We took this too far.”

You didn’t look him in the eyes but there was no reason to. The pain in his voice showed you that the words had their desired effect: “I still don’t believe you.”

“That’s not my problem,” you said. All the exhaustion from the past week suddenly rushed back and you felt your eyes beginning to burn. You wiped over your face, trying to keep your composure. “Draco,” you began and then you noticed something in his hand. An all too familiar bottle. Ginny had the same one on her nightstand. “What –”

Draco smiled bitterly and held up the sleeping medicine. “Thanks to you.”

“Screw you, Malfoy.” You turned around and left.

“You have to eat something,” Ginny gently touched your shoulder and you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulder. She sighed but her hand stayed on your skin, warmth radiating from it. “Please, you have barely –”

“I’m not hungry.” You cleared your throat. It felt so raspy. Speaking hurt.

“Come on, Y/N,” Ginny tried again. “It’s still early. If we leave now, no one will even see us. You don’t even have to get dressed. You can go in your pajamas.” You heard the smile in her voice. “How much fun would that be.”

A smile tugged on your lips but you couldn’t bring yourself to move a muscle. You were tired. So tired.

“Oh, so we’re using last names again?” Draco followed you down the hallway with long strides. “Fine, Y/L/N.”

Your face burned, not with anger but with shame. His nightmares had returned and it was all your fault. The rational part of your brain told you that you weren’t responsible for his suffering. The break up was merely one tiny puzzle piece, one tiny thing that added up to all the drama and hurt in his life, but still it could have been avoided. The pure knowledge of that drowned out that part of your brain. And what was even worse – you couldn’t change it now. Couldn’t help him. Not now. Not ever.

“What do you want from me?”, the coldness in your voice frightened yourself.

“What I want from you?”, Draco sneered behind you. “I want you to stop lying!”

Astoria was gorgeous. You had noticed it before but now you saw her in an entirely different light. When bitter words spilled out of you, a desperate attempt to cut through her skin and into her heart, her expression changed but her beauty stayed.

Their wedding photos will be on the front page of The Daily Prophet, you realized and the thought flipped your stomach. She’ll look perfect and happy and he … will he smile?

You whirled around and nearly bumped into him. “When will you get this into your head, Malfoy? I’m not lying to you!” Every word was accompanied by a tap of your finger against his chest. Draco caught your wrist and held it still. It was unexpected and his tight grip hurt. You let out a sharp hiss.

“Merlin, when will you ever stop this charade?” Draco stared at you. The disgust in his eyes send shivers down his spine. You had seen this look before on him but it had never been directed at you. “All you ever do is lie! You lie to your parents, your friends, everyone who you say means something to you receives nothing from you except lies and deceptions. It seems to be the only thing you’re truly good at, the only thing that –”

“Shut up!”, you shrieked. You tried to pull away from him but he held tightly on to your wrist.

You read the letter over and over and over until you memorized every last word of it. Your fathers handwriting was shaky, stretched letters, barely readable as if he wrote them in a hurry. Lines were smeared, dots missing, such a strange contrast to the neatly put-together man.

They found Alissa. Your sister. She was alive and well, hiding out in Southern Germany with two other Death Eaters that fled the country after the Battle of Hogwarts. They changed their appearances and names and got low-paying jobs in local muggle stores. You almost snorted when you read it. Your sister, the same one who believed muggles should be enslaved, now served them? Oh, what bitter irony this life kept in store for us.

Two days after the letter reached you, her face appeared on The Daily Prophet. You let out a sharp breath. It’s been years since you had last seen her face and time had not been treating her kindly. Sunken cheeks and hair that hung down in greasy strands – your hands started to shake. There was barely any resemblance between the woman that stared at you with blank eyes and the sister you grew up with.

“LAST DEATH EATERS FINALLY FOUND”, the headline said. You skimmed over the words but folded the newspaper and put it away once they got to a gruesome retelling of the Cleansing of Edinburgh.

Narzissa had kept her promise and you hated her for it.

You felt the stares of your classmates burning holes into your cloak and Hermione reached for your hand to squeeze it tightly. When you looked up however, your eyes were drawn to him.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wondered if he knew. If he had figured it out.

Tears burned in your eyes. He’s right, you thought, he’s right about all of it. Draco abruptly turned his head; a clanking sound was heard at the end of the hallway. You barely noticed it.

“I have to stay away from you,” you whispered and he looked back at you. “Why can’t I stay away from you?” Your voice broke.

“You know why,” Draco replied. “It’s why my nightmares returned too.”

“Draco …” His name rolling from your tongue – it felt so right.

“We need one another.” He came closer. “We … whatever it was that we had, it worked.”

You let out a shuddering breath. “It didn’t.”

His gaze hardened again. “Stop fucking lying,” he hissed and suddenly, he let go of your hand and pressed you up against the wall. You yelped.

“Stop forcing something that isn’t there.” He was close, so damn close. “You have a wild imagination, Malfoy.”

He scoffed. “Look at me and say this again.” He grabbed you by your chin and forced you to look at him. “I said, look at me,” he growled. “Tell me it was all in my imagination. Every word, every touch, every confession late at night,” he glared at you. “Tell me, it meant nothing. Tell me, you didn’t feel it. Tell me, you don’t still dream of me. That you don’t long for my hands on your body, for the way my lips made you scream my name.”

His face was only inches away from yours. His smell was intoxicating; you could barely concentrate. The touch of his hand burned through your clothes. Naturally, instinctively, your hips rolled against his. His eyes glistened at the movement. “Look me in the eyes and tell me, it was all part of my imagination.”

You stared at him and with every passing second, you drowned in the grey of his eyes, drowned in the storm of them. “I hate you.”

When your lips met, lightning struck.

“What are you reading?”

Theo and Blaise dropped down onto the grass and startled you.

“Potions,” you replied and Blaise raised his eyebrows at your obvious lie. You had made no attempt to hide the letter that laid on top of your potions textbook. Suddenly, you tensed up, remembering the last time when the boys came to look for you. “Is everything okay with him?”

“With whom?”, Blaise asked.

“Draco, idiot.” Theo rolled his eyes. “He’s … fine,” he then said.

“More or less,” Blaise mumbled and the two of you glared at him.

“We came to give you this.” Theo stretched out his arm, holding a piece of paper. You took it. An unfamiliar name and address was written in Theo’s sloppy handwriting. You looked at him, visibly confused.

“She can help you with your sister,” Theo said. You blinked.

“The trial,” Blaise explained. “My mother knows her and she helped in quite a few Death Eater trials so far.”

You read the name again, wondering how you had never heard of that woman. “Death Eaters belong in Azkaban,” you finally stated. “My sister is no exception.” The words burned in your throat.

The boys sighed. “A lifetime in Azkaban will not help her. People like your sister need a chance of rehabilitation,” Theo said.

“Do they?”, you asked with furrowed brows.

“After a considerable amount of time spent in Azkaban,” Blaise added. “Don’t get us wrong, she needs to be punished. Obviously. But prison alone will not help her change her world views.

For the first time, you realized how little you knew about the two Slytherins. You had heard of Blaise’s mother, a woman who was famous for her many marriages. And you remembered the day, Theo’s father escaped Azkaban. But you knew nothing beyond that. You wondered how much pain and heartbreak these two young men carried inside their hearts.

It felt right.

He felt right. His lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hands grabbing you roughly. There was nothing sweet about this kiss. Nothing loving or calm. You felt his desperation in the way his hands teared at your blouse, felt his pain when he guided you to the nearest door in the hallway.

It was an unlocked classroom and the two of you didn’t break the kiss when you stumbled inside of it. He closed the door with his foot before lifting you up on a table. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. His lips traveled down to your neck and you threw your head back as he began to suck on the skin. A whimper escaped you when his teeth scraped against your skin.

Draco’s hands moved quickly. As if he had whispered a spell, the buttons on your blouse sprung open. You moaned softly when his hands explored your body like he’d do so for the first time. Flashbacks from your first night flooded your mind and for a moment, you were back in the hotel room. The memories mixed together with your current reality and you could no longer differentiate between the two. You whimpered at the way, Draco caressed you, pulled you into hungry kisses and when his fingers sunk inside of you, you almost screamed.

Draco knew by now which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering, begging mess. You held on to him, your fingers clawing in his back, knowing you’d leave him with red streaks all over it. He pumped into you, while whispering in your ear. His thumb flickered over your clit and your breath grew more and more erratic.

An ache had begun to form in your stomach, growing stronger and stronger, and you begged for him not to stop. He chuckled and his hot breath against your cheek combined, made you moan his name.

“Come for me,” he growled. “Come for me, I want to hear you scream my name.”

You obeyed him.

You watched him during Potions. He sat next to Theo and the two boys worked quietly on their assignment. Draco’s fingers moved with precision and ease, cutting the ingredients, mixing them in. From time to time, he read over the instructions, his brows furrowing slightly. He showed no sign of uncertainty and when Slughorn walked past him, the professor nodded contently.

The scene reminded you of the beginning of this school year when you had to work together for the first time. After he rescued you from Ron’s insults. “I don’t ever need you to come to my rescue,” you had snarled at him and Draco’s response was to flirt with you during class. How confused you had been during those weeks. How utterly irritated when you had to admit to yourself that Draco Malfoy was not the one dimensional asshole you had always wanted him to be. Oh, how you wanted to go back in time to this exact moment.

“You’re staring at him again,” Hermione said.

Your eyes dropped down to the cauldron again as you kept stirring it. You felt the worried look of your friend but were too exhausted to say something back to her.

A few minutes later, you looked up again. Draco had stopped working. His hands still held a knife. A root remained untouched on the table. When your eyes met, his flickered with pain. You held your breath. What would happen if you just went over to him? Then Theo touched his arm and Draco turned to him, breaking the moment.

Draco didn’t give you a chance to calm down and catch your breath. You still rode out the last waves of your orgasm when you felt him pressed against your folds, hard and dripping. He pulled you into a hard kiss and entered you in one swift movement, stretching you in an almost painful way.

“Fuck,” he groaned and you bit down his lip. You moaned when he began to move, equally rough and desperate to the way he kissed you before.

“I love you,” you heard him mumble. “I love you so fucking much, I hate you for making me feel this way.” He thrusted into you relentlessly. You arched your back and his hands gripped you so tightly, you were scared it’d leave bruises in the morning.

You mumbled something against his lips but didn’t know whether it was a curse or a confession, all you felt was the way he pounded into you. Each thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge. You felt the sensation in your stomach growing stronger and stronger. Draco grabbed you by the neck and your eyes fluttered open. When they met his, you moaned at the lust in them and they darkened. Your legs started shaking; he knew you were close.

“You want to come again?”, he groaned.

“Yes, please,” you replied and he smirked; a smirk that sent shivers down your spine. Gods, how you had missed this expression on his face. You knew that in the years to come, you’d dream of the sight of him – like this, sweaty and wanting and desperate for your walls to clench around his cock.

“Then come for me,” he hissed. You let go and pleasure followed immediately. It washed over you and you were certain you blacked out there for a second. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably and you came with his name on your lips.

Draco followed shortly after. His hips stuttered and with a silent curse, he released himself inside of you.

***

It was quiet. Draco had his hands behind his head as you rested your head on his chest. Your cloaks protected the two of you against the coldness radiating from the stones. His eyes were open, his mind restless.

Your fingers traced over his side and he shuddered at the soft touch. “I’m sorry,” you said, disturbing the peace. “I’m sorry, I can’t give you the answers you deserve.”

Draco swallowed. A few days ago, you had shattered his heart in the blink of an eye. But now, the fleeting touch of your fingertips mended it back together. Deep down, he sensed that it was only a temporary fix however. A tiny bandage on an open wound that would never stop bleeding – but he’d bleed out willingly if it meant he could hold you in his arms a little while longer.

“I would burn down the world for you,” Draco whispered. “I would hunt down whoever hurt you, if you’d only allow me. You hold my heart in your hands.”

You raised your head. A single tear rolled down your cheek and Draco reached to wipe it away. “I love you.”

Draco let out a shuddering breath. He had imagined a thousand different scenarios in which you confessed to him. In none of them did they feel like a dagger plunged in your heart.

“What I said that night was a lie.”

“I know.” He smiled sadly. “Allow me to love you back. Please.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t.”

Draco sighed in frustration and stared back at the ceiling.

“Promise me to let this go.”

He scoffed. “I can’t let go of you.”

“Yes.” You sat up next to him. “Yes, you can. You must. Promise me.”

He looked at you. Merlin, how beautiful you were.

“If you truly love me, you will promise me and you will honor your promise.”

“You’re unfair,” he said softly.

“Slytherin blood runs through me.”

Draco chuckled. You leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. “Draco, please.”

He promised.

***

Draco stared at the ring in his hands. A golden band with an emerald, encircled by diamonds. A stunning, timeless piece that belonged to his grandmother and would look beautiful on Astoria’s petite fingers.

His eyes flickered to the nightstand. The bag of candy from the weekend in Hogsmeade was almost empty. Two pieces remained. He didn’t touch them, couldn’t bring himself to eat them. When he did, there would be nothing left of you. There would be no physical reminder that you ever shared a part of his life. No photos of the two of you together, no notes, no forgotten T-Shirt or hair pins in his dorm. You had come into and vanished from his life without a single trace.

Draco gritted his teeth when the familiar emptiness began to rise inside of him. He looked back at the ring. It’d suit you. Green was your colour, Draco was sure of it. The time you wore his scarf proved it.

“It’s not too late yet.” Theo sat on his bed, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched his friend. “You don’t have to do this. Contrary to your belief, you do have a choice.”

Draco closed his eyes. For a split second, he saw you and him, in the manor, laughing about something his mother had said. He saw you, barely covered by satin sheets, the morning sun hitting your face. He saw vacations, candlelight dinners, celebrations, your favorite flowers on the kitchen table, a shared closet, candy from Honeydukes. He saw happiness.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at Theo. “You know where Astoria is?”

***

CHAPTER 24

Choose Me Instead Masterlist Harry Potter Masterlist

The Tag list for this fic is closed!

Tag List (Part 1): @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind, @mina672, @renaissance-confiance, harpoon999, @doitforthevine67, @rinasrights, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee, @jungjxxhyun, @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @sophia-gwendolyn, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia, @s4dthrills, @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen, @marvelpeters, @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom, @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick, @h-annahayy, @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, @spideysmcu, @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @p0gue420, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @disgraceisonfire, @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks, @cherrylita, @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, @lifeasdreamgirl, @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @allaboutthatdrummer, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta, @noravirginia1994, @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything,

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfiction #astrids fics #choose me instead #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy

415 notes · View notes

frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

All Too Well

Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: A new year leads to a new argument.

Warnings: angst

A/N: this was supposed to be a super angsty breakup fic inspired by Taylor Swift’s All Too Well, but apparently idk how to write sad shit anymore so enjoy whatever this is 😔 (on the bright side, I found a nickname for Wanda to use in my upcoming series 👀)

“Those aren’t even the lyrics!” Wanda shouted over the radio, her laughter nearly covering her speech like a blanket.

“Of course it is!” You reached over to turn down the volume on the radio. “Take it from someone who sang this song every day for a year during every single shower.”

“Well, it’s a shame your shampoo bottles never told you that you were serenading them with the wrong words.”

A loud laugh escaped you as both of your heads turned in the same moment, yours to gaze out the passenger window and hers to watch you. The orange and brown leaves that dropped from the trees were only part of the lovely scene in front of you, and Wanda thought the colors provided a wonderful background for her own movie. She got lost in admiring your features, wishing to run her thumb along your lips as a smile formed there, or place a palm against your cheeks, warmed by the sun. Her attention turned back to the road just in time to stop herself from passing a red light, throwing an arm across your torso to keep you from lurching forward against the seatbelt.

“Sorry,” she apologized with flushed cheeks, and you couldn’t help but poke one as you assured her everything was fine. Turns out the sun can bring warmth to fingers, too.

As the two of you made your way to your shared apartment, Wanda wished for your heated touch now, instead of the cold glare you directed to the windshield. She was grateful it was pointed toward the street for now, and she was tempted to drive on forever with the heat blasting until you defrosted. Anything to avoid the confrontation she knew was coming.

“What the hell was that?”

“Baby, please,” she sighed. “The new year just started. Can’t we wait until the sun comes up again and we’ve had some sleep?”

“I’ve waited long enough, Wanda.”

Her shoulders tensed and a shiver ran down her spine because your stare was focused on her now, and the ice made its way to your vocal chords, leaving an especially thick layer around her name. You hadn’t called her anything aside from ‘honeydew’ since your first date, and she endured the teasing from her team because seeing the sparkle in your eyes was worth it. Hearing you say her name now felt like being cursed.

“Can we at least wait until we get home?” she pleaded as she faced you after stopping at the red light. “I want to be able to look you in the eye without putting you in danger.”

“Fine.”

You broke away first to turn the radio volume up, turning your head to avoid her watery eyes. Her vulnerable gaze nearly melted away your resolve entirely, and you refused to let this go on any longer. Wanda forced herself to keep her own eyes on the road and the drive went on silently aside from the song pouring in through the speakers, neither of you bothering to fight over the correct lyrics. You were back at your building within a few minutes, and while you rode the elevator up from the parking garage, Wanda took the stairs. She had no idea what she was walking into, and she just needed to pretend everything was okay for a little bit longer.

When she opened the apartment door, your coat was already hung by the door and she could hear your bare feet padding along the wooden floor to the bedroom. She took her time hanging her own coat and slipping off her shoes, following you down the hall and nearly dropping them out of her hand when she saw you staring at her from the edge of the bed.

“What the hell was that?” you repeated, watching Wanda walk past to place her shoes in the closet.

“I’m going to need more than that, detka.” Her accent became more prominent as her nerves grew, a deep crease forming between her brows as she faced you and leaned against the opposite wall. “What are you asking about?”

“That woman asked about your girlfriend and you told her it was ‘nothing serious’.”

“I was just...saving face.” She kept her arms folded as she shrugged. “She’s friends with Tony and they talk all the time. If I would’ve been all obnoxious about our relationship, he would’ve made a big deal about it later.”

“You’ve been getting teased for ten months by Earth’s mightiest heroes over a nickname and expressing your love for your girlfriend is where you draw the line?!”

“Okay, I’m sorry! It was a mistake and it won’t happen again.” She pushed off the wall and walked forward to grab your hand, but you jumped off the bed and headed toward the kitchen before she could get close. “What--”

“You’ve stopped talking to me, too.”

“We’re literally talking now! We talked on Christmas Day--”

“Oh yeah, I really enjoyed that 30 second talk we had over pancake batter before the whole team stormed in and took over,” you huffed into the refrigerator while searching for something to drink.

“If you have a problem with the Avengers, just say it.”

“I love your team!” you cried out as you closed the refrigerator door. “I probably see more of them than I do you. Three weeks ago, I went to the tower because I hadn’t heard from you all day and I had to find out from the fucking spider kid that you volunteered to join some last minute mission. And you know what? We had dinner together and I talked to him for two hours, which is probably longer than I’ve talked to you since then.”

“I can’t help it if missions come up,” Wanda challenged as she took the glass of water you offered. “This is my job, just like you have yours.”

“I know, but you had your phone with you. At least send a text, let me know you’re okay.”

“I will. Is that it?” She watched your eyes avert from hers, sighing when you headed toward the couch in the living room instead of the bedroom. “It’s not, is it?”

“I just want to know why you haven’t been happy.” You finally met her gaze again when she stopped a few feet away.

“What? I’m happy.”

“Nothing’s been the same since that day you were driving and nearly ran the red light. That was in October, and it’s the beginning of January now.”

“You’re wrong,” Wanda insisted as she inched closer. “I’m happy.”

“I drove myself crazy here while you were gone on all these lengthy trips, trying to think of why you wanted to be so far away all the time. Maybe you weren’t feeling this anymore, or you’d found someone that made you feel more alive--”

“I told you I’m happy!”

In a split second, red filled her eyes and surrounded her hand as she sent her glass flying against the wall. You stared at the droplets of water running down the eggshell colored surface to the wooden floor, flinching when Wanda placed her hand on your thigh as she knelt in front of you and relaxing when you were met with her usual eye color.

“I’m sorry.” She squeezed gently as she sighed, never breaking eye contact. “I’ve just been worried. When we’re together, I tend to lose myself in your existence, and it isn’t safe. A few seconds more, and that day could’ve ended a lot differently.”

“I had my seatbelt on,” you reminded her as you placed your palm over her knuckles, and she shook her head.

“There are a lot worse threats than a car accident, detka. I just fear that one day, I’ll be wrapped around you so tightly that I won’t have time to free myself and protect you from danger.”

“So your solution to protecting me more was to leave me totally alone with no warning?”

“Now that I’m hearing it with a clear head, it doesn’t sound like such a good plan,” she chuckled with a shake of her head.

“No, it doesn’t, honeydew.” You squeezed her hand with a smile that widened at the sight of Wanda’s. “What?”

“I just never thought I could miss a silly nickname so much.”

Tags: @littlegasps @peggycarter-steverogers @imnotasuperhero @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @creepingwolfberry @honeyvenable

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #avengers #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x fem!reader #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel

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azucanela · 3 years

Text

LITTLE WHITE LIES

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

summary: he hates lies, though tsukishima has a tendency to lie to himself just as much as y/n l/n lies to themself.

warnings: fluff.

word count: 1.1k

note: this is legitimately pure self indulgence lol

navigation

TSUKISHIMA KEI DOES NOT TOLERATE LIES. There are big lies that you tell to others to appease yourself, or maybe to please them. Then there are the little white lies you tell, unintentionally. And then there are the ones that just keep growing and growing until one day, they’re out of your control entirely.

His hatred for lies includes the little lies one tells themself on a daily basis. Though this principal of his did make him a bit of a hypocrite, seeing as up until recently he refused to acknowledge that he truly did enjoy Volleyball. But, Tsukishima decides that isn’t relevant right now.

Instead he focuses his frustration on the alleged selflessness that is Y/N L/N. It’s rather infuriating, because never in his life has Tsukishima met someone so annoyingly... kind and positive.

Because if there was one thing Tsukishima was good at— because at the end of the day, he didn’t have Kageyama’s genius or Hinata’s skill— it was reading people. And it had become abundantly clear to him that Y/N needed someone to stop them from being a god damned idiot.

Particularly in moments like this one.

“No.”

Hinata and Kageyama look from Y/N to Tsukishima, who towers over the pair with a glare, while Y/N simply gazes at him, brows furrowed as they watch the exchange. “What do you mean “no” we aren’t asking you Tsukishima.” Hinata cries out, hands gesturing wildly.

Okay, maybe Tsukishima also took pleasure in messing with Hinata and Kageyama, but he was also well aware that Y/N had a test the following week of their own to study for, and they would need time to themself this weekend. Meaning tutoring Hinata and Kageyama was not going to work with their schedule, seeing as that would mean helping the pair learn the entire year’s worth of coursework in a day or two.

It was moments like these that the lies started, Y/N would insist it was fine, that they had time, that they would be more than happy to help. Lies manifested in many ways, in a smile on your face even when tears brimmed your eyes. Tsukishima knew that much. He knew how easy it was to fall victim to your own thoughts, your own lies.

Tsukishima Kei hates lies. And he’ll be damned if he lets them destroy Y/N L/N.

They’d known each other since middle school, Tsukishima can vividly recall the day his mother made him swear to protect Y/N in front of them. It had been embarrassing to say the least, he’d completely disregarded her words of course, trying to brush them off.

But it was Y/N, his childhood friend. The one who had practically bullied him into continuing Volleyball, something he was begrudgingly grateful for. The one who hadn’t teased him when he finally asked for help with one of their shared classes, who simply sat down and explained. The one that reminded him to eat, whether that meant throwing a bag of chips or a protein bar at him, or nearly hitting his head with a bottle of water.

It was Y/N, and this was Tsukishima’s way of paying them back.

Though.. Y/N didn’t necessarily appreciate his interventions all the time, and it had become rather clear that this was one of those moments as they narrowed their eyes at him, “Tsukishima.”

He returns their gaze, adjusting his glasses as he replies, “Y/N.” Tone mimicking their own as he shrugs on his backpack, while Y/N does the same. Hinata and Kageyama had taken to sulking from afar, making attempts to stare down Tsukishima, as though that would get him to relent.

“I know you don’t like them,” Y/N frowns at this pausing, “I know you pretend you don’t like them, but they are members of your team, are they not?”

He shrugs, electing to disregard their comment and instead simply bringing a hand onto their head, “you’re just too kind for your own good.” The words are meant to be teasing, but something about them is soft, soft in a way Tsukishima had not intended.

Y/N swats his hand away, glaring at him once more, he has a feeling they’re about to head in the direction of the annoying duo, so he grabs their wrist. Tsukishima only offers Y/N a sarcastic smile when they glimpse back at him, before he’s dragging them away, class has ended. There was no reason for any of them to still be there.

Y/N doesn’t stop him, but it looks like they’re planning his demise as they allow him to drag them away and out of the classroom.

“You’re annoying.” Is all Y/N says, but it’s clear to him that the words are empty of their true meaning.

And if there was one thing Tsukishima had learnt over the years, it was that Y/N was annoyingly kind to a fault. Even if it meant giving up their own wants and needs. They would give and give and give, even when they had nothing left to give. Because there would always be people who took what people like Y/N had. They take everything those people have to give.

If Tsukishima was honest, he was probably one of those people. But not to Y/N.

Never to Y/N.

This is the first time Tsukishima Kei lies to himself in a while— despite his hatred for lies — as he decides he does not have any feelings beyond platonic for Y/N L/N.

“Why do you always insist on getting involved?” Y/N asks, bringing a hand to their temple, brows strung together in confusion, they’re frustrated— for a variety of reasons. Its bothersome when you can’t understand someone’s behavior, and that was the issue Y/N was having right now.

There have been few times in their life in which Y/N didn’t at least have an idea of what was on Tsukishima’s mind. It was only natural, they were close after having known each other so long, and Y/N knew him as well as they knew the back of their own hand.

But there was no real explanation for his actions, no logical reasoning for why he would do something that wasn’t benefitting him in any way. In fact, it pretty much goes against his nature entirely to do so.

“It’s fun to pester you.”

What it is, is annoying, because Y/N already knows he’s not going to be upfront about what’s going on in his mind, Tsukishima never is.

It is also the second time Tsukishima has lied to himself today. While he does enjoy pestering Y/N, that’s not the reason for his interventions. But they both know his answer was a lie.

Alas, Tsukishima isn’t going to admit that to himself, and Y/N had yet to even consider the actual reason behind his actions. To consider that it was because he cared.

Perhaps these little white lies wouldn’t be the death of Y/N L/N, but who knows, maybe they’ll lead to the demise of Tsukishima Kei.

Because at this rate, his lies are bound to unravel eventually.

#tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #kei x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #kei x you #kei tsukishima x you #tsukishima kei x you #hq x reader #hq x you

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Tempers and Temptation

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: Ron lets his feelings get the better of him when he finds you spending some time with his brother, and when his temper boils over, it leads to a long overdue confession.

— “Can you shut up for once in your life?”

— “I know you said you didn’t want to be late, but you look amazing, and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now.”

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: arguing, jealousy, insecurities, angst, mild swearing, fluff, requited love, kissing

A/N: This is my fic for @theweasleysredhair 9k writing challenge! The prompts I’ve chosen are listed above, and they will be bolded and italicized in the fic! (Also, Fred is alive in this one!) Congratulations again my darling Chloe, you deserve all the love and more!

(not my gif, credits to the maker)

It was the beginning of the summer season, just a week and a half before Charlie’s wedding. The Weasley’s had all flocked back to their beloved family home for the once in a lifetime occasion for their brother, the new and improved Burrow now bustling with jovial energy. Harry had come with Ginny, Ron had picked you up on his way, Bill and Fleur were there first with Percy, and Hermione would soon join the family in the next couple of days to come. The decision to host the wedding there was one that was made hesitantly with the way Bill and Fleur’s had ended so tragically. But, the tight-knit family had decided the past was going to be put behind them and they refused to let it tarnish another special day. Their home was remodeled and desperately ready for new and brighter memories.

It was supposed to be a fun trip, and it had been at first, but Ron’s rather bitter mood had begun to sour yours after a while. His irritation only seemed to be directed towards you, you’d noticed, barely speaking more than a few words to you and only when you addressed to him first. The reasoning for his change in behavior was something you weren’t privy to, but you tried your hardest to brush it off and hope it’d resolve soon so you could enjoy your time with your best friend. You were surprised he’d even sat with you at dinner that evening, though he hadn’t contributed very much to the conversation. He opted to push the food around on his plate instead.

George nudges your arm, effectively pulling your attention from Ron to look to your left. You raised a brow at his grin, Fred peering over his brothers shoulder at you with an identical smile. Surely they were up to something; they always were. “What have you done now?”

George leaned in close, speaking in a hushed whisper, wiggling his brows.

“We’ve got a little prank for the groom.” He looks to Charlie momentarily, turning back to you as you gaze up at him curiously when he holds up the smallest of potion bottles. “A couple drops of this and his hair will be as colorful as mum’s flowers!”

You couldn’t stifle your laughter, covering your mouth when you grabbed the attention of the older Weasley in question across the table. Ron sat a little straighter in his seat, his grip on his fork tightening as he exhaled a huff through his nose. The sound of your giggling made his stomach churn, the tips of his ears burning cherry red. You hadn’t paid him and his temper very much mind the whole dinner, hadn’t stolen any food from his plate, hadn’t made a point to embarrass him in front of his family like you usually had. Perhaps it was because you were too busy giving all your attention to his brother; it seemed as though you were always doing that. And he was absolutely not jealous of it.

“Are you okay, Ron?” You ask softly after a while, the sound of his huffing no longer a coincidence and your brows furrowed in concern at the redhead brooding next to you.

“I’m fine,” he dismisses, too quick for it to even be remotely truthful. He shrugs his shoulders as he looks anywhere but at you.

You frown at the sharpness of his tone, his answer once again just as short and vague as all the others. Your gaze lingered on him and he knew it, shifting around in his seat as his cheeks flush a pale pink. After a few moments you look away, only briefly. “Are you sure? You’re acting weird.”

“I said I’m fine, Y/n.”

The crease between your brows deepens, your frown remaining as your heart flips in your chest and it was quite obvious he was at odds with you. You brush it off and stuff down the hurt that bubbled in your stomach, repeating his actions as you shove the food around on your plate. His shoulders slumped a bit more at the look on your face, but the way George had whisked you away into conversation had him quickly swallowing down his apology.

He felt you hadn’t seemed too bothered anyway, but it very much bothered him. He wanted nothing more than to steal you just for one day, to have your undivided attention just for once this trip. Unbeknownst to him he could have it whenever he wanted it, but his stubborn attitude and his rash assumptions had pushed you away. The conclusions he’s jumped head first into had gotten him into a trouble only he could bail himself out of, whenever he’s ready to think rationally, that is.

He’d spent the whole dinner casting you longing glances that went unseen, exhaling sighs that hadn’t gone unheard. He managed to hold a half-conversation with Harry and he stuffed down the rest of his mashed potatoes that have since gone cold. Perhaps most noticeable to everyone was his lack of excitement for dessert considering it had been his absolute favorite. Instead he had a small sliver of the cake before excusing himself, setting his dirty dishes in the sink and sauntering off up the stairs wordlessly.

You followed after him to his old room after you’d had enough, hot on his tail as your fists clenched at your sides. “What is your problem?”

He turned around, brows knit together as he looked down at you quizzically. A bitter laugh left his lips at the question, and he pretended as if he didn’t have a clue as to what you were talking about. “I don’t believe I have one.”

“Oh really?” you begin, squinting up at him in disbelief. “This is the most you’ve said to me since we’ve gotten here, Ron. So I’m going to ask you again, what’s your problem?”

You were rapidly growing impatient at the fact that he’d been very obviously skirting around the question, more so at his lack of communication the entire week, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the blankets on his bed to distract himself from giving you an answer.

However, you didn’t miss the way his chest was beginning to rise and fall at a quicker pace than before as his jaw tenses. He finally turned to look at you directly as you stood there with an expectant look on your face. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask George?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words, head tilted as you squint up at him. “What?”

“Forget it,” he grumbles, shaking his head. He pushed in the chair seated at his desk, rearranging a few misplaced things that lay atop it.

“No, tell me again.”

He stands before you, clearly getting worked up the more time that had passed.

“Alright. I said, why don’t you go ask George? You’ve only spent every waking moment with him since we got off the bloody train!” He said, raising his voice at you as a pale scarlet began to flood his cheeks and burn down his neck.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You scoff, taking a step closer to him. You cross your arms over your chest, quickly unraveling them moments later as you fidget angrily.

“You don’t have to pretend, Y/n. Why don’t you just bring your stuff to his room instead?”

His tone was taunting now, immaturity weaving around his words the more he spoke his mind. It was beginning to remind you of the time he’d acted the very same way when you had gone to Hogsmeade with Cormac McLaggen. He hadn’t spoken to you for three days until he had finally gotten over it, claiming he was simply stressed over an upcoming quidditch match and nothing more. There was always something more.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you counter. You watched the color continue to stain his freckled cheeks the angrier he got. Then realization hit you in that very moment. “Ron, are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” He repeats, trying his best to sound as if he were utterly surprised and not at all knowledgeable of your accusation. Trying to act as if you’d just said the most absurd thing in the world. “I’m not jealous.”

He wholeheartedly was, that much was clear. Though he wasn’t about to let you know that. It lanced through him every time he saw you, every time you laughed at his brothers jokes, every time you chose to spend time with his brother over him. He loathed the feeling that settled deep within his chest and simmered there; he knew it was irrational and he knew he had been unfair the past week. He loved his brother, he loved his whole family deeply, but he couldn’t help but to feel as though he came in last place in more ways than one. He felt he had a lot to live up to being the youngest brother, and he was sure he wasn’t quite doing that. He always had to share everything, and there was one thing he wanted to himself. He wanted to be selfish and have it all to himself. And that one thing was you.

You could feel your cheeks flush a burning red at his ridiculous behavior, heart beginning to race and pound against your chest in frustration. “Yes you are! You’ve been ignoring me for the past week, Ron. He is my friend. Much like you even though you haven’t been acting like it.”

He didn’t want to be your friend, he wanted to be more than that. He wanted to cross his room and kiss you, not argue over his own jealousy.

He rolls his eyes and digs himself deeper instead, crossing his arms to mimic your stance. “Yeah, right, it won’t be long until you two are snogging. Maybe Aria will throw you the bloody bouquet next week.”

“Can you shut up for once in your life?”

You grit out the words as you attempt to conceal the falter in your voice from trying to suppress your tears, hastily grabbing your bag from the floor and slinging it over your shoulder. Your eyes stung by now as you turned to look at him briefly with your hardest stare, promptly spinning on your heel to walk out.

“Where are you going?” He asks, brows furrowed and his arms drop down to his sides.

“Anywhere to get away from you.”

“Fine.”

You rushed down the winding wooden staircase with a heavy ache in your heart, and in that moment you wished there hadn’t been so many floors because you desperately wanted to leave. As much distance from him as possible would be nice. The tears began to spill over your flushed cheeks, wiping them away with the back of your hand as your other held the strap that rested on your shoulder.

“Why the long face, Y/n/n?” Fred asked with a pout as you hurriedly passed by the living room.

“Your brother is an idiot,” you sniffle, though your tone was still angry as you brushed by him to get outside.

It was dark out now, the night breeze that swept over you giving you chills. You continued to walk towards the field surrounding the cozy home, nothing but anger in your stride and a headache forming from trying to keep your tears at bay. Despite that you kept on walking as they spilled freely down your cheeks now that you’d been alone, only stopping when you reached the familiar clearing. It wasn’t too far from the Burrow, but far enough to be left alone for a little while. Far enough from Ron and his absurd jealousy.

You sat down on the slightly overgrown grass, hugging your bag to your chest as you let your frustrated tears fall quietly one after another. The stars glimmered above you in the navy expanse, unable to be truly appreciated in your state of mind and the moon provided just enough light for you to not be quite so fearful to be alone out there at night. Frustration barely explained how you felt, how could he be so oblivious?

George was one of your closest friends, all of the Weasley’s were for that matter. You had grown up around the delightful family just a few years short of your whole life, so quite honestly his behavior was something unjust. It wasn’t unlike him to be distant, to let things bottle up and build before he bursts. But his words cut through you and you wondered just how long he’d been keeping it in.

Regardless, you continued to sniffle and wallow to yourself, the cuffs of your shirt now dampened by your tears. Being in love was a wonderful thing, but it was also something that could hurt you all the same. You felt ridiculous, really, to have pined for the same ginger boy since you were fifteen. It had been eight years of backing out of confessions, of being on the brink of kissing him. Eight years of taking turns being jealous but unaware of the other.

It was a viscous cycle that seemed to do more harm than good sometimes, but you suppose it could’ve been your own fault for keeping your feelings a secret. You didn’t know he broke up with Lavender because he’d missed you so much. All you knew was that seeing him with somebody else hurt. He hadn’t known you turned down Cormac’s several dates in favor of spending your free time with him instead. He just knew there was talk of the two of you, and the thought of pressing further for more information made him nauseous. You were so blind to one another it was starting to take its toll.

In his teen years not long ago, he would have kept his distance out of sheer stubbornness. He would have brooded to himself and sulked about until he was over it, but now he just felt ridiculous. He was twenty-three years old still acting like he was thirteen, and the regret pooled in his chest the moment the words left his mouth. The truth was, he couldn’t bear being apart from you for too long, especially when your absence hadn’t been on good terms. He could swallow his pride if it meant you wouldn’t leave.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out there, but it certainly felt like a considerable amount of time. You’d unknowingly sulked to yourself for the last two hours, the initial anger long gone. The lights of the first floor had since been turned off, mismatched windows beginning to lose their glow as well as your eyes raked up the home. All but the very top floor.

Your time alone was cut short at the familiar footfalls sounding behind you. You close your eyes and release an exasperated sigh. “Y/n?”

“Have you come to yell at me again?” You huff, standing to your feet and turning around. The urge to cry had immediately come back upon seeing him but you simply stared at him.

He stilled in front of you, brows furrowed as he swallowed thickly. His eyes bounced from the bag clutched tightly in your shaky hand, so much so your knuckles were an ivory white. Then they landed on your face, at the tears rimming your eyes and wetting your flushed cheeks. At your rosy nose and miserable frown on your lips. Your lip quivered in a mix of anger and tears you fought to suppress now that he stood before you again.

“No,” he said, much softer this time as he looks at the ground momentarily before coming up with a defense. “To be fair you yelled at me too.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in an unamused glare and purse your lips, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why exactly did you follow me out here then?”

He shrugged timidly, stuffing his hands in his pockets briefly before taking them back out again nervously. He was too flustered to lie. “Because you never go out at night by yourself.”

He remembered, of course he did. No matter how irrational, no matter how mad he may have been. But that wasn’t important, it shouldn’t have been because you were angry at him over the fact that he thought you were so madly in love with his brother. You were angry that he had been so blind to the fact that you were madly in love with him. You felt as though it couldn’t have been anymore obvious, but you suppose you were wrong.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you stared up at him with a softer gaze, biting the inside of your cheek. “Well, I’m fine. You can go inside now.”

With a few moments of a lingering stare, you turned away from him, unable to withstand the tension any longer but he hadn’t left you just yet. Instead, he stayed put, staring after you wordlessly as you took a few more steps away from him. His heart had been bounding mercilessly in his chest as if he’d just run halfway across the world to see you, his words on the very tip of his tongue.

“Don’t,” he said abruptly, cheeks flushing at the unintentional raise in his voice. You stand still then, your back to him as you wait. He gulped as he fought desperately to articulate his words in a way that didn’t make him look any more foolish before you could take another step away from him. “Don’t leave.”

You turn back around, clutching the strap resting on your shoulder as you look up at him. His mouth must have opened and closed at least a dozen times, looking like a fish out of water until eventually he gave up entirely as he met your gaze.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” you say softly, and his cheeks are quick to burn the scarlet red shade of embarrassment at his words. He simply nods in acceptance, though, looking away from you.

A silence settles over you, save for the crickets chirping and the occasional breeze sweeping through the warm summer air. It was tense and inescapable, neither one of you knowing just what to say or how to say it, though it was very clear that something was on both your minds. More than what had just transpired not long ago.

“I think I’m going to head to bed now. It’s late,” you finally say, brushing past him and back towards the misshapen home that stood tall in front of you. The tension was almost suffocating and you had to leave before it had gotten any worse.

“Y/n wait,” he calls out, hesitant as his hand reaches out for you, dropping back to his side as quickly as he held it out when he saw you’d been too far to grab onto.

You turn your head and look over your shoulder, the look on his face causing you to turn around fully. Your brow raises in curiosity though you stay quiet. A sigh leaves his lips in frustration with himself. The words were on the very tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken as they had been for quite a while. The reason for his behavior was right there.

“Goodnight.” It’s all he says, finding it impossible to speak his mind when you look at him like that.

You nod, glancing up at him with a half smile. “Night, Ron.”

—

A week had gone by since your argument, and things had been considerably less awkward between the two of you, though it was still very much there. Ron had stopped avoiding you, he stopped speaking to you in one word answers in favor of your usual banter. And he stopped his sulking and brooding, for the most part.

Hermione had arrived and has stolen you away once more but he expected as much, though you did notice him focus his gaze on you on more than one occasion. It left you jittery, as if you were in fourth year again and he’d just asked you to the Yule Ball. Hermione insisted that you admit your feelings, not without a friendly but firm threat that she’d tell him for you. You promised you would in time, just not yet. You weren’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to put your heart out on the line.

Ron had almost told you he loved you three times over that week, but he kept it to just an apology no matter how tempting it was to spill his most vulnerable feelings once and for all. He spent so long holding the words on the very tip of his tongue that he just wanted to say them a million times over.

He wanted to tell you when he watched you and Hermione help his mother with dinner. You looked like sunshine as you laughed in the cluttered kitchen joyously, too focused on conversation to notice him gawking. He wanted to swipe the flour off your cheek and press his lips to yours in a kiss, tell you just how much he adored you and all that you do.

He wanted to tell you when you helped him wash his dads car. You’d been teasing him about the infamous scratch that just couldn’t be repaired by Ron’s encounter with the Whomping Willow, the brightest smile on your face. He found you could pick on him all you wanted and he wouldn’t mind, even when you sprayed him with the garden hose. He was too distracted by the way your hair glimmered and sparkled in the afternoon sun to care about much else.

He wanted to tell you when you’d helped him set up the tent for the wedding the night before the ceremony. You found yourselves laying side by side on the ground, staring up at the striped ceiling of the enchanted structure in awe. You’d caught him staring and he looked away immediately, smiling to himself as his hand brushed against yours. Conversation had long since been quieted at that point, your presence alone being enough to keep him happy no matter what. He wanted to tell you of his all consuming love without pause.

Now, you were shuffling around his room in a hurried panic, time ticking by relentlessly as you search for the matching earring that was supposed to be adorning your right ear, but it had been nowhere to be seen. A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you root through your bag for the third time now, dumping its contents out completely in hopes for a better outcome. The commotion filtering in from outside certainly hadn’t helped flustered state.

“Do you really need to wear those earrings? I’m sure Ginny’s got some you could use, or maybe even Mione,” Ron reasons with a shrug as he tries to ease your frustration.

“Yes, Ron. These go with my dress, I need to find it,” you insist, frowning when your triple check yielded the same result. It was just your luck to have lost a key part to your attire only moments before an important event. You were beginning to think you hadn’t packed the complete set at all.

He shakes his head with a soft laugh at the way you’d been acting, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he watches you flitter around in a huff. He felt you didn’t even need the earrings, it wouldn’t have taken away from your radiance, nothing could. You looked absolutely beautiful in your dress, and he tried not to dwell on the fact that it’d matched his suit. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but he couldn’t help the feeling blooming in his chest.

Your groaning had pulled him from his lovestruck thoughts, your hand running through your hair. There were so many places the delicate piece of jewelry could’ve gotten lost in, and you were beginning to think you should give up entirely.

“This is unbelievable,” you grumble, taking a moment to think it over and retrace your steps. “I’m positive I brought both, I even double checked with you!”

He nods, going along with your words. “Y-Yeah. I’m quite sure you did,” he assures, scratching the back of his neck.

You rolled your eyes at his nonchalance, pursing your lips at him as you huff through your nose.

“Ron, it would be better for the both of us if you stop standing there and help me,” you say matter-of-factly, looking hopelessly in the drawers of his desk. When you look over your shoulder at him, it’s as if he hadn’t heard a single word you’d just spoken to him, his eyes fixed on you with a soft smile on his lips. “What?”

You turn around fully, raising a brow expectantly as you wait for his explanation of just why he’d been looking at you like that. He looked away momentarily, shifting his gaze to peer out of the window and collect himself before looking back at you, biting the inside of his cheek to fight his widening smile. “Nothing.”

You hadn’t bought his response, not even for a second, and he knew that. He wasn’t exactly being discreet by now, he’d stopped trying to do so a while ago. Partly because he knew you’d be too oblivious to put the pieces together, and partly because he was too smitten to mask it. It was rather tiring; to love someone for nearly a decade without certainty of it being reciprocated was taunting. Yet he didn’t have it in him to move on to someone else, because the truth was, no one in his lifetime could hold a candle to you.

“Could you please help me?” You ask again in a much less irritable tone this time. You spun on your heel quickly, hoping to mask the very obvious fact that a million butterflies had been set loose in your stomach, smiling softly as you scrambled to remember just what it was you had been looking for. With your back turned, you missed the way he stood there with hesitancy, the way you could practically see the gears turning in his head if you’d been looking at him. But he was grateful you couldn’t see it.

He’d spent the past week thinking of a hundred different ways to tell you this, all of them sounding hopelessly romantic in his head. It hadn’t gotten better with each day that passed either, switching between doubt and wanting to grab your face and kiss you. It became a looping cycle within those seven days, taunting him until he just couldn’t suppress it a moment longer. He refused. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I know you said you didn’t want to be late, but you look amazing, and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now.”

The words tumbled from his lips and he almost winced with how utterly direct it was, spilling out with much less grace and eloquence than he’d planned. There was no way you wouldn’t understand what he meant after that.

Your distracted actions stilled at his quiet words, turning your head as your mouth hung slightly agape. A soft crimson stains your cheeks as you become aware of just how fondly he’s staring at you now, and you have the pressing urge to look away from it’s sheer loving intensity, but you don’t. However, you did drop the hairbrush in your hand, the sound deafening as it clattered loudly to the floor in the otherwise quiet room. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a timid smile as he laughs nervously, the tips of his ears burning while he fumbles with the hem of his vest.

You hadn’t been entirely sure you’d heard him correctly, but you were too stunned and too caught up hoping you had been to ask for any clarification. A part of you was tempted to pinch yourself to see if you’d been dreaming, but you were quite sure you weren’t. Even though a few fleeting moments had passed, the seconds felt like hours to him and you knew you couldn’t stare forever.

A rush of confidence had coursed through you in that moment because he hadn’t appeared to be joking, a smile pulling at your lips. “Well go on then.”

His breath caught in his throat at your words, his heart nearly beating right out of his chest. So much so that he found it impossible for you to not hear it’s rhythmic pounding. Though he quickly breaks out of his daze, his hand enveloping yours as he tugs you closer. His lips press to yours with the force of a thousand kisses, his fingers quick to tangle in your hair as your hands settle on his cheeks. Years worth of longing had seemed to seep into every brush of his lips, in the very way he’d been holding you as if you’d slip right through his fingers. And every time the warmth of his breath swept over you, it sent a bout of shivers rushing over your skin and leaving you completely enchanted.

You couldn’t help the smile forming, a soft laugh leaving your mouth as your nose brushes against his lips lightly. The pause in your kiss hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds as he found himself completely drawn to you. The desire to skip the reception altogether in favor of staying right there with you had lanced through him, the thought all too enticing but he knew he’d never hear the end of it.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lets out an airy laugh, breathless and in awe. The quizzical look on your face is prompting enough for him to speak his mind. “I love you.”

The words were soft and they were true, mumbled without second thought in the close proximity. It had only taken him two years short of a decade to do so. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your quiet laughter on his lips, a sigh escaping him.

“I tell the girl I love my true feelings and she laughs at me. How wonderful,” he grumbles in faux offense, breaking away from you to shake his head as he looks to his right.

Your fingers brush over his jaw and turn him back to you immediately, leaning on your toes and kissing him once more. One that turned from a simple peck to a languid kiss that he found it next to impossible to break from. He hadn’t wanted to either. Your laughter has since disappeared, silenced against his lips as the certainty of his words truly began to sink in.

“I love you,” you whisper, and the smile on his face is immediate. His forehead rests on yours as his nose scrunches, his hair tickling your skin and a hum escaping him.

His hand squeezed your own gently, his lips continuing to ghost over yours in the softest of kisses. He had a lifetime to kiss you now, he had every day to come to do so, but he also had this current moment and he felt there was nothing more he wanted to do. It was apparent he was in a daze of requited love, it was obvious by the very way he looked at you as if you’d been the one person making the world go round.

You return his thoughtful look, something akin to mischief dancing in your eyes and he knew he was in for something. “Ron?”

He hums in response, his lips pressing to your cheek in hopes to distract you from the inevitable. His attempts were valiant but not enough to cloud your mind.

“So you were jealous?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he drops his head to your shoulder, desperate to hide the noticeable scarlet invading his freckled cheeks. A groan leaves his lips and vibrates against your skin, he knew you would bring it up. He also knew this wouldn’t be the last time you would either. His soft laughter answers your question, his arms tightening their hold around you.

“You’ll never let this go, will you?”

You respond with a shake of your head, brushing strands of red hair from his eyes before wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight embrace. His smile is adoring as he tucks his face in your neck once more. He’s got you now, he’s unknowingly had you all along but his blunders didn’t seem to matter in that moment. Nothing did except for you.

His grin turned to that of a mischievous smirk, tugging on the corner of his lips as he stifled his laugh.

“What is it?” You ask, brow raised as you push back and your hands rest on his chest.

After a moment he held up his free hand between the two of you, the glimmering silver of your missing earring dangling between his finger tips. Your eyes widen a fraction as you gasp, his laughter unable to be contained much longer as you swat his arm.

“How long have you had that, Ron Weasley?”

He simply shrugs as a blush coats his cheeks and you snatch the earring from his hand with a playful frown, slipping it in your ear with ease.

“To be fair, I needed some time to work up the nerve to kiss you,” he reasons, your frown fading as you roll your eyes.

An eruption of boisterous cheers sounding several floors below had been reminder enough of the plans you were currently absent for. Surely they must have been waiting on the two of you. “Now look what you’ve gotten us into. We’re officially late.”

His gaze gave way to just how enamored he’d been by you, his lips meeting yours once more in hopes to hold him over until he could kiss you again. He knew that effort would be futile. He doesn’t even know how he’d made it this long without doing so a thousand times over.

“I’m sure they won’t miss us for five more minutes.”

You look up at him momentarily, your squeal ringing out as he nearly swept you off your feet. Your words are whispered against his lips as he brushes the hair from your face.

“Five more minutes.”

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @loony-loopy-lupinn @theweasleysredhair @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

#twrh9kwritingchallenge #ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley angst #ron weasley fic #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley headcanon

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sharkboygirlish · 3 years

Text

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer: One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now. At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching.

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again.

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately.

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being.

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could.

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated.

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that.

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?”

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

* * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this.

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

#zona #zonami #zoro x nami #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #zonalove #zoro x nami fanfic

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

For the kiss prompt thing, could you do 34 and/or 66 with Jontim, please?

kiss prompt list!

34 - Returned from the dead kiss | 66 - Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In

i did both! set in an au where tim survives the unknowing. additionally, in this au jon and tim were together in research and season one but then broke it off in season two for canon-typical reasons

cw for mentions of injury and grief, mentions of death, suicidal ideation (mild), mentions of hospitalization, mentions of paranoia and stalking, and swearing

Ao3 link in source!

Jon’s been awake for two weeks and three days when Tim finally works up the nerve to see him.

(He’s not nervous, he tells himself. It’s not nerves twisting his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and making his hands shake ever so slightly where they grasp the doorknob on Jon’s office door. It might be guilt, but he dislikes the thought and discards it immediately. Hatred? That doesn’t feel right either. He’d shed that anger a few months prior, body still aching from being crushed underneath a building’s worth of brick and mortar and holding Martin while he cried at Jon’s bedside, hiccupping into the fabric of Tim’s shirt, He’s not waking up, Tim. He's never waking up.)

He opens the door and sees Jon sitting at his desk, hair pinned up in a haphazard topknot and a jumper that’s much too large swallowing his body whole. Jon looks up at him, his eyes widening a bit, and oh.

It’s relief.

Tim lets the door swing shut behind him and leans against the wall next to the doorframe, hands coming up to grip his elbows as he hugs his arms close to his chest. One arm is still mottled with angry red scars, spiraling patterns of shrapnel laced along his skin. He rubs a thumb over one of the larger scars near the crook of his elbow absently as he says, “Hey. I… I heard you’d woken up.”

Jon just stares at him for a moment, like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. Just as it’s bordering on the edge of annoying, Jon finally says, “Yes, I… I have. A- a few weeks ago.”

“Right.”

There’s another long moment of silence between them, this one tenser than the first. Jon’s avoiding Tim’s eyes, his face pinched and unhappy. His hands are fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper nervously, and something within Tim knocks loose at the sight. “I’m not here to yell at you, okay?”

Jon startles, his eyes finding Tim’s for a moment before darting away again. He’s never liked direct eye contact, Tim remembers, but this is something else. Tim gets the distinct feeling that it’s at least partially his fault. Maybe a bit more than partially. Then, quietly, Jon says, “Why not?”

Great. With a weary sigh, Tim steps away from the wall and drops himself into the ratty armchair that faces Jon’s desk. “Because it’s been six months, Jon. A lot has changed.” He makes a humorless noise. “I mean, it’s all the same shit—spooky monsters and fucked-up situations and a job I can’t get rid of. But, you know.” He rubs his thumb over the scar, shrugs his shoulders. “The Circus is gone. Thought I’d be gone with it, but I’m not. And you were gone, which made things easier for a while. Less complicated, because I didn’t have to look at you and feel—”

Tim makes a sharp, irritated noise. He doesn’t know how he felt. “But you were just… there. Dead or- or asleep or whatever, it didn’t really matter. You were there, and I was here, and we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

“Tim—” Jon starts, the pity in his voice palpable.

“No,” Tim says, giving Jon a firm look. “I don’t want an apology or- or pity or whatever. That’s not the point of this.” He sits back in the chair, takes a deep breath, and says, “I don’t remember when I stopped feeling angry. I didn’t visit you at first, in the hospital, but when I did, I… I don’t know.” Tim shrugs and looks at the floor. “I guess I just decided that you wouldn’t have chosen that. To- to be half-dead and dreaming while the rest of us lived.”

Jon’s quiet for a long moment. Then, he makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. “No,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “I didn’t. But I did choose to wake up. I made a choice, and I- I think it was the wrong one.”

“What,” Tim says, “because you chose to live rather than to die?”

Jon shakes his head, just once. “Because I chose to be this.” He gestures at the desk, at the room around him. “The… the Archivist.”

Tim takes a moment to consider. Then, he says bluntly, “Fine. Let’s say you did. You chose to go full monster, give up the mantle of humanity entirely, and then—what?”

Jon blinks at him. “What?”

“What are you going to do now?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally saying, “I- I suppose I’ll just… work?”

Tim can’t help letting out a short, clipped laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Jon makes an indignant noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just—” Tim pauses, looks at his hands. There’s a worm scar between his middle and ring finger on his left hand that never healed quite right, that’s now a twisted knot of scar tissue. He focuses on it as he says, “You’re still you, you know? Even before, with all the shit you pulled—the stalking and the murder accusations and the questions—it was… it was still just you. And whether or not you’re still human, you’re still Jon.”

“Oh,” Jon says, the word empty and hollow. “Is… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Tim doesn’t know yet, not really. The relationship between them is still flayed open and raw, ripped apart by months of poor choices and hurtful words. But he meets Jon’s eyes, sees that familiar brown that he used to wake up to in the mornings, takes note of the small cluster of circular scars just beneath Jon’s temple, and decides that if it’s not good, it’s certainly on the way there. The thought leaves him feeling a bit weightless, and he realizes with an aching in his chest that he’s missed Jon. Not in the physical sense, because Jon’s always been here, conscious or not, and his presence has been burned into the back of Tim’s mind like a brand, an itch he can’t quite scratch. But still, there had been an empty space within him that he hadn’t been able to cover or fill, shaped like warm sunlit mornings and shared bottles of wine and kisses on foreheads and noses and lips. And it had ached, as much as Tim wished it hadn’t. That that Jon was gone and this Jon had taken his place. The resentment Tim felt at the fact was bitter and heavy and painful.

It’s still not the same Jon, sitting in front of him now and worrying his ring between his fingers in a familiar nervous tic. But he’s not the same Tim either. Affection doesn’t come easy for him anymore and everything hurts and there are so, so many things he can’t forgive Jon for. That he doesn’t know how to. But at some point, the blanket of revenge-fueled anger had melted away and he’d just been tired.

“I don’t know,” Tim says, because it’s true. But it’s also true when he continues, “But I want it to be good. It might take some time, and I- I can’t just forget about what’s happened between us, but…” Tim’s chest tightens, and his next words come out choked and a bit forced. “I missed you. And I’m glad you’re not dead, okay? I don’t know if you’ve convinced yourself that I wouldn’t be, but I am.” Quieter: “God knows I’ve already lost enough.”

“Oh,” Jon says again, barely more than a whisper. Then, hesitantly: “I… thank you, Tim. I’m also glad that you… that you’re still here. For what it’s worth.”

“You don’t have to…” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “Never mind.”

“I know,” Jon says, something terribly vulnerable in his voice. When Tim opens his eyes, Jon’s looking at him, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips. Tim can’t stop looking at it. “But I want to. I… I still care about you, Tim. I always have, even if I- I didn’t always show it.”

The Tim of six months ago would probably have laughed at that. Would have said that it didn’t matter if he cared or not, or that if he really cared he wouldn’t have spent half a year tracking his every move and thinking that Tim was even remotely capable of killing him. (That bit had hit particularly hard. Tim had gone home afterward and scrubbed every reminder of Jon from his house, every picture and favorite mug and lingering jumper and that one souvenir from his trip to Spain that Jon had once rambled about for two hours. It had hurt, and when he was done, he’d felt hollowed out and empty. Enough room for the anger to begin to creep in, he supposes.)

Instead, Tim sighs and says, “You know, that was the worst part. The fact that after everything, even when I hated you, I still couldn’t stop myself from caring.” He digs his fingernails into the soft skin of the inside of his wrist. “It hurt to care, so I pretended like I didn’t. But all the shit that happened to you—Christ, Jon, I’m not so much of an asshole to think that you deserved to be tortured and kidnapped every other week. I don’t know if anyone ever told you that you didn’t deserve it, so there it is.”

Jon’s looking at him with wide eyes and lips slightly parted, and Tim feels something in his chest ache at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like- like what?”

“Like I’ve—” Like I’ve hung the fucking moon. “Look, that’s just basic human decency, okay?”

“Okay,” Jon echoes quietly. He’s still looking at Tim and his lips are still slightly parted and the ache in Tim’s chest amplifies until he can barely stand it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s reminded of the first time he asked Jon, standing halfway inside the doorframe of his house after their third date, if he could kiss him. How Jon had looked startled, all wide eyes and parted lips, and after a moment had nodded wordlessly. How Jon’s hair had been soft beneath his fingers as he’d cupped Jon’s cheek and how Jon’s lips had been warm against his and how Jon had inhaled slightly at the contact, like even though Tim had asked, he was still surprised that he’d followed through.

Tim looks at Jon, at the still-familiar shape of his lips save for a small circular scar near the left corner, and tries to convince himself, just for a moment, that he doesn’t want to kiss him.

He’s never been very good at self-control.

So he stands, braces one hand on Jon’s desk, and reaches forward with the other, stopping just shy of Jon’s face. When Jon doesn’t move away, he rests his palm lightly against Jon’s cheek, his thumb coming to rest just underneath Jon’s eye. “This doesn’t fix things,” Tim says quietly. “But I’d still like to kiss you. If you’re okay with that.”

Jon hesitates. Then, barely more than a whisper, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Tim pauses a moment more before tilting Jon’s head slightly up, leaning forward, and kissing him.

It’s still as easy as breathing.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #my writing #my fic

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