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heliosthegriffin · 2 years

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Odd Jobs Jaune; Irrelevant Snippets

Jaune putting away books at the library, when a Mistrali teen comes up and taps him on the shoulder, causing the blonde to freeze in place briefly, before taking off his head phones.

“Yes, may I help you?” Jaune said a polite neutrality, giving a brief look over to the teen, a black haired, pinked eyed slender young man, wearing Beacon’s Uniform.

“My apologies, for bothering you, but something is bothering me. Don’t you work at the bakery on South Main?”

Jaune nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Yes, that's the thing, I thought I saw you working as a ground’s keeper at Beacon, was that you, or do you have a brother?”

“That was also me, I don’t have a brother, only seven sisters!” Jaune smiled seeing the look of awe of the other teens face.

“Ok, that’s interesting, but I also saw you unloading crates at the dock this morning, and now you’re here...”

“Yes.” Jaune responded, his hands moving to put away books as he talked.

Ren watching as the other teens hands moved at a preternatural rate, putting books in the appropriate order without even needing to look. It was somewhat hypnotizing to see.

“So, you work all those jobs?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you tired? Even a Huntsman would be run ragged by that amount of work.”

“You offering to help?” Jaune said with a smile, moving down the row of shelve, causing Ren to realize that he had been following the busy blonde.

“Uh, ah, I’m a student, maybe-”

Jaune chuckled lightly. “I’m kidding, don’t worry your head.”

Ren blushed slightly, embarrassed. “That’s a relief, still, you have impressive endurance to deal with that work load, why not train to be a huntsman.”

Jaune stopped for a moment, putting his hand under his chin, humming. “That’s a good question... There was a time where I wanted to be one, but after some time in the work force, I rethought my options, I work a lot, but that’s because I’m a workaholic. I like learning new skills, expending my experiences, and most of all,” He paused, beckoned Ren over. “The real reason? You want to know?”

Ren leaned in and nodded.

“I like money, chase a bag kid, never chase a Grimm, is my life-style.” Jaune said completely straight face.

And Ren could not help but laugh, covering his mouth as he started wheezing, before he regained control over himself.

“Of course, it’s quite obvious.” Ren admitted, smiling. “By the way, I’m Lie Ren, what is your name?”

Jaune took his hand, and Ren was surprising by the level of causal strength in his grip. “Jaune Arc, busy bee and worker. Well, I’m done with my job here, catch you later.”

Then he walked out.

Only for Ren to walk out to see him mopping the hallway, in a janitor’s uniform, Ren waved and went back to studying.

-----

Yang was riding her bike down in Vale, it was busy day on the streets, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

She came to a stop at a crosswalk, where a blonde stood with a stop sign, and Yang sighed. She hated waiting, but eventually she was back to riding. At least till her stomach growled an hour later.

Then she passed into the parking lot of a diner, and walked in, only to be greeted by the same blonde. She squinted, lining up the two people in her head. “Weren’t you working the crosswalk?”

The blonde thought for a second. “Today? Maybe, yeah, I think I was?”

“You don’t remember directing traffic, you got a robot twin or something?”

“Ma’am, I wish, I just have a regular robot.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope, anyway, sit where you’d like, someone we’ll be around to take your order in a moment.”

Yang shrugged, putting it to the back of her mind, taking a seat in a corner booth.

After a couple minutes her server came to her. “Alright, I’d like the double cheese burger, add bacon, with a side of fries and a strawberry milkshake.”

“Can do. Need anything else?” Came a familiar voice, Yang looking up to see the greeter.

It was the blonde. “Yeah, I need to know why you’re waiting tables now?”

“Short on staff.”

“Oh. My bad, never mind.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ll go take this to the kitchen now.”

“Thanks.” Yang then watched him go to the back, only to sigh as she watched him entered the kitchen and put on a chef hat and apron.

She groaned into the table.

At least the food was good, but she refused to tip him for three peoples worth of work.

-----

“And I’m telling you guys, that there some sort of blonde cloning conspiracy going around!” Nora pounded fist on the table, cracking it.

“Yeah, I keep seeing some guy wiping window, and then seeing him selling fruit the next street over!” Ruby agreed.

Blake looked up from her book. ‘That sounds familiar, there was a guy back in the White Fang who did a bunch of odd jobs like that... must be imagining that.’

Yang nodded. “Yeah, he was the waiter, greeter, and chef a dinner in town... and a crosswalk guard, I’d be impressed by him, if I wasn’t so confused as to how he was in so many places at once.”

Pyrrha looked at them confused. “Do you mean the blonde janitor? I just assumed he had several brothers.”

“No, he only has seven sisters.” Came from Ren... and Weiss.

The tables eyes splitting between the two of them. “What?” Nora asked.

“I just met him in the library, and asked him some questions,” He turned his eyes to Weiss. “I assume you did the same?”

Weiss shook her head. “Ah, no, he was my bodyguard during my tour here in Vale.”

“Really? Him? He looks as threatening as a wet puppy, sure he’s tall and got some muscles, but he doesn’t really strike me as the type.”

Weiss frowned. “Don’t underestimate him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nora asked.

“It means, looks can be deceiving, if he has the work ethic to keep up with however many jobs he’s doing, what makes you think he won’t apply himself to be the best can be? Just because he doesn’t look like a bodyguard, doesn’t mean he can’t be one.” Weiss responded. “I should know, I had no room to complain after the tour, and I regret making a bad impression on him, as he no longer will take job offers from me.”

“Indeed, you were a terrible boss during that month.” Came Jaune as he was fixing the cracks the table, Nora caused.

Everyone froze, as no one, not Pyrrha, Blake, or Ren had the sense to notice he had been there.

“Wow, he more ninja than you, Ren!” Nora said

“If I need to be,” Jaune replied.

“How long have you been there?” Blake asked.

“Thirty seconds, please don’t touch the cracked part of the table for five minutes, and don’t breath in the fumes.” Then he walked away.

“Because he does stuff like that.” Weiss sighed “He also made the best hot coco.”

Ozpin then walked passed the table. “Indeed, it’s quite delicious.” Sipping from his mug, while Weiss looked on in envy.

#Jaune Arc

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dameronology · 3 years

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the one with all the yelling {obi-wan x reader}

summary: after making a stupid decision in battle and having an argument with your best friend, a confession slips out that surprises both of you (or maybe it doesn’t)

this is a reupload bc i took it down for editing. as usual, this has lots of swearing in, just a pre-warning. enjoy!!

- jazz

They say that time slows down when you’re about to die - that your life flashes before your very eyes. You’re supposed to see the thing you love most, the people you value most. It was meant to be a final moment filled with a lifetime of emotions, of memories; regrets and mistakes; unfulfilled wishes and incomplete to do lists. The way it was described was hauntingly poetic, the sort of thing almost made you want to to experience it just so that you could understand what it felt like.

And, having witnessed a near-death experience in recent hours, you could safely conclude that everything in the aforementioned paragraph was a steaming pile of horse shit.

There was nothing graceful or cinematic about the way you had yeeted yourself across the battle-field, mud unceremoniously flying up around your ass as you kicked Obi-Wan Kenobi out of the line of fire. The blaster fire was inches away from your face - mere inches - and that, of all things, was when you figured the final moments might have come.

Instead, all you got was a hit to the shoulder and a mouth full of dirt. You were very much alive - but after coughing up an unflattering amount of earth and clambering back to your feet with all the grace of a beached whale, the same could not be said for your dignity.

At the forefront of things, you’d been trying to save your best friend’s life. That was all you could think about when you’d launched yourself discourteously towards Obi-Wan; he couldn’t die. Too many people - yourself included - needed him. And, you were certain that if you hadn’t been killed saving his ass, the sudden lack of reason from his presence in your life would have killed you anyways. The man stopped you from walking into traffic on the daily.

You weren’t entirely sure what to say to Obi-Wan. You were sitting on the end of his bed, fresh out of the shower and bundled up in an oversized tunic that belonged to the man pacing in front of you. For a man of many words, he was disturbingly quiet as he stitched you up and even more so when he helped you undress and get into the shower.

What sort of thing were you supposed to say in this situation? Sorry that I booted you up the arse and sent you flying six foot through the air? I had your best interests at heart, I promise.

‘Personally, I am rather pleased with the fact I am still alive.’ You broke the icy silence that had befallen you. Obi-Wan immediately stopped in his pacing tracks, head turning to face you with a bewildered look. Maybe that wasn’t the best conversation opener.

‘How could you…’ Obi-Wan went to say something but his words were lost. He’d witnessed you do a lot of stupid things but this one took the cake. This was stupid thing to end all stupid things. ‘Why would you - actually, I don’t even know what to say.’

‘I mean a thank you would probably suffice.’ You muttered. ‘I did just take a bullet for you.’

‘How could you have been so stupid?!’ He snapped. ‘You could have died!’

‘I was trying to save you!’ You reminded him.

Right. There was that - the alarmingly obvious thing that he’d been trying not to think about.

Obi-Wan couldn’t deny his feelings for you; you’d always been his slightly kooky best friend but maker, he adored you. Life as a Jedi could be dark but you were his nightlight - a soft glow to guide him to brighter things, to remind him that not all was lost.

He’d spent hours convincing himself that you didn’t feel the same. You were too busy running around with what Obi-Wan was certain was a singular brain cell, getting yourself into trouble and making questionable decisions. But, now that you’d quite literally thrown yourself into the line of fire for him? It was certainly a compelling piece of evidence to the contrary.

(Of course, you loved him too. You’d been in love with him since the day you’d met. That was a minor detail you’d chosen not to mention to him - avoiding the truth wasn’t the same as lying, right?)

‘I don’t need saving.’ Obi-Wan said.

‘Oh, please.’ You snorted. ‘You might be Jedi Master Kenobi of the High Jedi Council, Best Jedi To Ever Jedi and Regular Shagger of the Jedi Code-’

‘- you used the word Jedi a few too many times there-’

‘- but you are not bulletproof!’

‘Neither are you!’

‘But I’m alive, aren’t I?’ Your tone was suddenly soft. ‘I’m in one piece.’

‘Barely.’ He murmured. ‘You can’t do things like that.’

‘Well, I did.’ You would have raised your voice louder had your shoulder not been screaming in pain. ‘And stomping around like a pissy toddler isn’t going to change it.’

The most terrifying part - for both of you, truthfully speaking - was how quickly you had done it. You hadn’t even thought about it; you saw red and you launched yourself into the blaster’s path without even considering the consequences. The most important thing to you in that moment had been that Obi-Wan’s life was at risk and it had led to a sudden disregard for your own.

‘I’ll get better.’ You continued. ‘I’m only signed off for a few weeks and as soon as I’m on the mend I will be back in the field. It’ll be like nothing ever happened-’

‘- but it did happen.’ Obi-Wan cut you off. ‘I’m always going to remember that you risked your life for me without even having to think about it.’

Grabbing onto the poster of his bed, you pulled yourself up and slowly approached him. Obi-Wan almost backed away when his robe inched off your shoulders, revealing the nasty red gash just by your collarbone. The idea quickly slipped away, however, when you rested your hands on his forearms, hands slipping under his sleeves and intertwining your fingers.

‘What else would I do?’ You softly laughed. ‘It’s you, Obi.’

‘Would you have done the same for someone else?’ He asked. ‘For Anakin? Or for Ahsoka?’

You faltered slightly, grip on him loosening a tiny bit. ‘Of course.’

‘Y/N.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t lie.’ He suddenly jerked his hands away from you, spinning around on his heel so that you were suddenly facing his back.

‘Fine.’ You grumbled. ‘I would only do it for you. I would only blindly throw myself in front of a bullet for you. Not anyone else. Not a single soul. Does that make you happy? Does that inflate your ego enough, Kenobi-’

‘- that’s not what this is about.’

‘Then tell me!’ You let out a small groan of pain as you grabbed him by the material of his shirt, using every last ounce of energy to make him look at you again. ‘Tell me what it’s about because you are not making sense and I am the world’s leading expert in that field.’

‘It’s not about anything.’

‘Oh, bullshit!’ You whacked his arm, adrenaline worming its way into your tired body and finally allowing you to raise your voice. ‘I just saved your fucking life and you’re acting like a moody son of a bitch and accusing me of lying!’

‘It’s because I love you!’

‘Well, I love you too!’

‘Great!’

‘Fine!’

‘Wonderful!’

‘Brilliant!’

‘Well I’m glad we cleared that up!’

‘Me too!’

‘We should probably stop shouting!’

‘Good idea!’

You unballed your fists just in time to catch the material of Obi-Wan’s shirt as he stepped towards you, taking you by the waist and pulling you towards him. He crashed his lips into yours, knocking the air from your lungs as he did. You’d thought about kissing him many times - more than you were willing to admit, actually - but now that you were actually here, with a handle tangled in his soft hair and his warm lips moving against yours?

Nothing could have prepared you for this moment - for the declaration of love or the kiss or the way he was holding onto you, hands desperately gripping to your waist as though you were about to slip away into the darkness of the galaxy and leave him alone forever. Just a few hours ago, that had been a very real possibility.

You’d admitted to yourself earlier that you probably couldn’t have survived in a world without Obi-Wan Kenobi. Little did you know that he’d admitted to himself years before that he couldn’t have survived without you.

‘I love you.’ His words were softer now, barely a whisper against your lips as pressed his forehead to yours.

‘If I’d known that almost dying was all it took to make you tell me, I would have done it years-’

‘-Y/N.’ He groaned.

‘Sorry.’ You smiled softly. ‘I love you too.’

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi wan x reader #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagines

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blogevaawrites · 3 years

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BIG DEAL

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: smut, cheating, angst

Summary: After being away of you boyfriend for three weeks, you come to Chris’s house after he had thrown a party where you met a girl you haven’t see ever. The beginning of the relationship was unconventional so you couldn’t do anything else but suspect.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

There’s something I do when I don’t know how to deal with a situation.

I clean my closet.

I organize it; I try everything on, throw out pieces I don’t wear anymore, or I don’t like. I like to spend time doing this just because I don’t have to think in anything else.

“He’s calling again, you’re not picking up, are you?” Linda asked from the other side of the room. I was surrounded by my clothes and shoes and things, and she was working in her laptop.

“No.” I answered simply and kept doing my thing.

“Isn’t better if you pick up and tell him to stop? This is his tenth call today, and I don’t want to know about texts. This is not right.”

“I’m not ready to think about this.” I muttered. I didn’t realize she got up from the bed and walked to me.

“It’s fine, everything is going to be fine” she said hugging me. Her touch brought tears out of my eyes, but her kindness made me feel safe.

Linda moved to NY a few months before I did, and I could be more blessed because she moved to the next door’s apartment. She has been there since then; our friendship was the kind of you find just a couple times in a lifetime.

“Don’t worry I will be right here. We can clean your closet as many times as you need.”

It’s been three days since I left his house, and my phone has been ringing since then.

I spent my first day watching true-crime documentaries, eating ice cream and drinking wine. The second day I started donating the clothes I wasn’t wearing anymore. And today, I have cleaned the closet three times. Linda enjoyed the first two days, but she hated to organize anything, so she killed time working from my bed.

“That one is pretty sexy. Why don’t we go out to dinner and have a few drinks tonight? Lucy and Vanessa have been calling too.” She spoke.

I thought about it for a few minutes, and I was actually feeling sick of being here.

“Yeah! Why not? I need more alcohol” I joked.

The night went pretty fun, and I kind of felt better and ready to face everything, his apologies, his face and his voice. Around three a.m I was ready to go back home and sleep my hangover. “Are you sure you don’t need me there? Linda asked when I told her I was leaving, she was having a good time and I didn’t want to spoil her fun. “Yeah! Don’t worry, I’m sick of being depressed, I’m ready to be me again.” She smiled at me and hugged me before I left.

The uber ride was fast, no traffic nor people in the street this made my way home calm, and the driver was quite funny. He waited for me to get in the building and left, leaving alone again. The lobby’s lights were automatic, but they weren’t working very well, I knew the way to my door, so I didn’t bother turning my phone’s flashlight on. Going up stairs, I tried to take off my high heels, but something made me get alarmed. A dark big shadow at the top of the stairs. My heart stopped for a second.

“Holy crap! What are you doing here? Why are you sitting there? You scared the shit out of me, asshole!” I yelled when the light of the hallway turned on and all of the sudden the silhouette of a big man appeared at the top the stairs. My heart started to beat in this normal pace when I recognized his face.

“I’m sorry that wasn’t my intention. You weren’t picking the phone. I was worry about you.” His hands went up in a signal of inoffensive. His voice was hoarse and his eyes a little bit swollen and red. I could say he had been crying.

“I’m fine, you can go.” I said, walking straightly to my apartment’s door. I looked for my keys in my bag as faster as I could.

“Can we talk?” he moved to stay behind me while I opened the door. He didn’t get too close to me and I felt grateful for that.

“I don’t want to hear anything, and right now the only thing I want is to sleep.” I got in the apartment and closed the door rapidly. With my forehead rested against the closed door and my hands still on the handle, I listened to him to beg. I missed him, his voice, his smell, his fucking presence made me shake my legs.

“Please, just give me five minutes. I love you and I can’t let you think I don’t. I know I fucked everything up but…” I opened the door before he could finish it. He looked quite surprised when a move away to let him pass.

He didn’t say anything, walked in and moved around awkwardly. I told him to sit with my head. He took a sit on the couch and I didn’t move from the door, with my back resting it in. His eyes stared me few a few minutes, making me feel uncomfortable, defenseless.

“You look beautiful.” He said quietly.

“You have five minutes.” The alcohol in my body brought rudeness out of my mouth. I was tired, kind of drunk and still hurt by him so couldn’t let him get any closer in any dimension.

“I’m sorry.” He said before his hands rubbed his face roughly. “I went to NY to tell you everything. I really did, I felt horrible, and I didn’t want to hurt you, but I knew I had to tell you. Carly thought it too. You know them, there’s no place for any secrete between them. When I arrived in here, saw your face and I felt your arms around me I chickened out. I realize that I couldn’t live without you; for the first time in my life, I was really scared to lose somebody. And that was a feeling I wasn’t used to.” His statements made my heart ache. I wished anything of this had happened.

“So, you lied? Because you loved me.” I knew he wasn’t a perfect boyfriend in the past but that was a shitty excuse.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. When Carly called that night, she heard you in the back then she assumed that you forgave me, and I didn’t deny it. I felt awful but I got into that lie so quickly, I didn’t know what to do.” I sat on ankles, sliding down the wall. I hid my face with my hands trying to avoid him to see me cry.

“I wasn’t joking, honey. You are the love of my life and I didn’t want to lose you. That scare got so real that I couldn’t face it. I’m sorry, I really am. With you everything is different, and I didn’t realize it until that. The fear of losing you got in my skin and it never left.” I didn’t feel him to come closer to me until I felt his hands in mine. As soon as I felt it, I got up and moved away from him. I knew I could fall for him quickly.

“If you have done, you should leave.” I could say walking to the fridge to pour water in glass. My throat was dry.

He looked at me for a while, then took a deep and loud breath and moved to the door.

I saw him walk to the door, to leave the apartment, to leave me. I did understand the scare of losing someone, I had lost a few people in my life, but seeing him leaving it was different, I was losing him, and everything was his fault. That didn’t feel fair.

“Why you did this to me?” The words left my mouth before I could think about it. He turned around to look at me, but I hadn’t finished “Why didn’t you break up with me if you wanted to fuck somebody else? Why were you seeing Ashley? Why did you play along with her game after the kiss?” my voice got louder at every question. I wasn’t a person who yelled easily but I couldn’t help it.

“Baby, I’m a dickhead, I screw up every relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t know why. I promised I went out with her with any side intention, when she kissed me, I felt that fear again. And at the party, I swear I didn’t invite her, I wanted to keep her away from you, I wanted to keep everything what I did away from us.”

“Yeah! That’s why you took her panties.” I said ironically. “What did you want me to do? Kicked her out of the house, making a scene?” He saw my face burning in anger and he continued. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I hate myself enough for both of us.” Said that he took his way again. I didn’t hate him. I loved him. I was needed for him.

I moved quickly to get him; I could reach him by the arm.

As soon as he turned around to look at me, I jumped on his mouth. He didn’t take any longer to embrace his arms around me, pushing my face more against his, as if that was even possible.

We walked clumsily to the nearest wall; he squeezed my butt before holding me up. His hands flew through my tights, caressing them and reached my wet panties. I moaned when I felt his fingers rubbing me. “I need you.” He whispered in my ear. His fingers went to undo his pants and I could get out of his arms.

I saw panic in his face for a couple of seconds. But it disappeared when he saw me got into my knees. I took his hard member in my hands to stroke it a few times before get it into my mouth. He rested his forehead in the wall, and shut his eyes, leaving me caged by his body.

His breathing changed when he opened his eyes and watched my mouth around the head of his sensitive cock. Clenched jaw and hands making fist, he moaned loudly as he was being relieved of great amount of pressure.

My lips wrapped around his cock, taking as much as my throat could, and my hand gripped the rest. I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t want to think. I was tired and sick of the anxiety that this situation was giving me.

I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t proud but I wanted it.

“I love your fucking mouth.” his voice brought my back from my thoughts. I started to suck a little bit harder as he was getting bigger. His hips also started to thrust him into my mouth, making me gag at one particularly push. “Shit! Sorry!” he said, taking my face in his hands and making me get up from my knees. “I don’t want to cum in your mouth.” he responded to my unanswered question. We kissed as his hands tried to get rid of my dress, and mine were fighting with his shirt.

Just in my panties, he pickup me up and put me on the hall’s table. Sucking my nipples and rubbing my breast and ass, he ripped my panties and his dick stormed in me.

I yelled in surprise; I was actually more than ready to take him.

“I loved that ones.” I murmured pretending to be sadly for my lingerie.

“I will make it worth.” He said with smile on his face before taking my calves over his shoulders. His thrusts were deep, rough, and needed, I tired to hold on to the table, but his movements got fiercely, and I could feel my orgasm coming.

The table wasn’t meant to this kind of activities. We realized it very late.

“Holy crap!” he said when he saw the table fall, holding me better in his arms. Everything I could do was laugh. He intended to let me go but crossed my arms behind his neck.

“No! Take me to bed!” I whispered in his ear. He smiled before kissing me.

He laid down on the bed with me over him. “Ride me, baby.” he said holding me from my hips.

I started to move up and down on his cock, rolling my hips. I saw he shut his eyes, a signal he was close, so I started to ride hard on him. His fingers were marking my hips as he pushed me up and down savagely. I groaned at the almost painful pleasure.

I felt his body getting tense as he filled me up with his cum.

“God! I love you!” he yelled.

Something woke up inside me, suddenly I felt dirty and ashamed. I hid my breast with my arms as I stood up from bed. His cum dripping on my inner thigh, made me just feel worst.

He didn’t realize, he was still dazed. He took my arm when he realized that I wasn’t coming back to bed. “Come back, I’m still hard.” He muttered with his eyes closed. I let him to guide my body, he made me lay down next to him and cuddle.

“These couple days have been awful; I’ve never felt that bad.” His lips were right next to neck and made me get goosebumps.” I was so scared of not seeing you again.” He said pecking my neck. He turned my hips a little, just enough to let himself into me one more time. I was feeling guilty, I was using him. I wasn’t forgiving him, but he thought I was.

I didn’t want a confrontation; I couldn’t handle one.

His hand held my face to keep kissing my mouth, and his other one at my hip, holding me steady. “Your so good for me.” he said between kisses. His hand went from my hip to my clit. He worked himself in deeper and rubbed me just in the right way.

My body was so tensed and my brain so away from the reality that I didn’t noticed he fell sleep.

I wanted to have sex with him, I enjoyed. I shouldn’t feel bad for him, he cheated on me and lied, but I wasn’t like that.

I woke up with his snoring in my ear. I got out of his embrace needy for water, the hangover was taking my body. I saw my clothes and his’s all over the floor and the broken table. I didn’t get to do the walk of shame, it was my apartment, I was living in the shame.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” His voice resounded throughout the entire place.

“Okay! You are really thirsty” he said when I drank the water quickly. I didn’t answer, I didn’t look at him. The situation was awkward, and he noticed it.

“What’s going on?” he asked from behind. I ignored him again. “Hey! Are you okay?” he shouted and turned me over to face me.

“Yes, I’m just still drunk.” I said softly. I tired my best to look unbothered.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Not right now. I have things to do.” I started to pick everything up. “I think you should leave; I really have things to do.” I avoided his eyes. I get repetitive when I feel nervous. He knew it.

“Well, I think you’re acting like a child. What happened last night?” his voice wasn’t loud, but it was hard.

I just could shrug, I felt ashamed, and he was mad.

“Talk to me! Damn! Don’t shut up. You always do that. I fucked everything up, I know. But you kissed me last night, you started everything so, right now please talk! Tell me what is happening!” now he was yelling, he looked mad and kind of sad, the guilt just spread across my body.

“What you want me to say, Chris? I wasn’t thinking properly.” I said, looking how he was getting dress himself.

“So, wasn’t mean a shit for you?” I felt like our roles were reversed. Now he was angry, and I was the one giving the explanations.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” I could say.

“Yes, you do, and to be honest, I understand. I deserved it, but I don’t…” he was wrong, I knew I hurt him but that wasn’t my intention, I loved him, and he knew it.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not like you.” My voice wasn’t soft anymore. We were in the same level, he wanted me to feel guilty, so I was doing the same. I continued “Sorry, but I’m not going to apologize, I didn’t want to hurt you. I felt bad and I wanted to have sex with you, you could have said no, and you didn’t do it. But I didn’t say anything to make you think that I forgave you.” His eyes goy darker with my words. he stared me for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t have said no, you could have given me a glass full of worms and I would have taken it.” I felt he was playing the victim; I could stand it.

“I give you a relationship and you pissed on it.” I said crudely.

The room got in a deep silence and filled with tension and resentment.

“You were right, we shouldn’t talk right now.” He spoke after a couple minutes, he took his jacket and got ready to leave. The scare of losing him went back to my head, but I knew it was the best and this time I stood up to it.

“I don’t want to see you again.” I said when he got closer the door. He looked at me incredulous, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m still mad and hurt, so I’m not forgiving you soon. But that doesn’t matter because we can’t be together, I don’t trust you and my insecurity in our relationship will freak you out at some point and it will be worst, for both of us.” I didn’t want to cry but I failed, at least he was weepy too.

I thought he was going to response, but he didn’t, he left my apartment without hesitation, slamming the door.

Tag list: @breezykpop @calwitch @firoozehmoon

#Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #Smut #fluff #chris evans fluff #CHRIS EVANS ANGST #angst #big deal #fiction #fanfic #FIC #imagine #chris evans and reader

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Hey!

I was wondering if I could request a Rambo x reader set in the first movie, if that’s alright, where the reader sees him walking through town and knows that Sheriff Teasle will try to bully him out of town so she pulls over and lies about them being old friends and then they go to eat or something? And the reader actually treats Rambo like a human being and thanks him for his service to his country when she finds out he is a veteran. Oh and could the reader be female please? Thank you very much! If not then that’s totally fine 😊

And I also wanted to say that your writing is amazing!!! And the reason I ended up watching Rambo in the first place 😆

Hope you have a great night/day!

Nfhfhhhf thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my stuff! And I got you into Rambo? Hell yeah!😂 I liked this request a lot, so I hope I've done it justice!

Respect Me.

John Rambo (First Blood) x reader

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions if death

Masterlist

For once, the truck sound system seems to be playing the tape flawlessly, lacking the usual stuttering and skipping it generally likes to include in the soft flow of music. Idly, I tap my fingers along with the gentle beat, the steering wheel moving easily in my grip as I guide the beaten pick-up truck out onto the main road, falling in line with the other traffic around me. The vehicle shudders a little as I change the gears, the old truck having never liked to do anything it should do, slowly moving into a more sustainable pace as I lean back in my seat, keeping my eyes trained on the road, with a half-eye kept on the sidewalk and nearby shops. A few Christmas decorations adorn the homely stores, though it's mostly left dull and bleak, as this town always has been. Once again, I find myself wishing I could just move away from here, start a new life somewhere else.

Ahead of me, the traffic slows, allowing someone to turn into the main flow, giving me the time to glance out of the window, scanning the sidewalk a little way away. Oddly, a familiar police vehicle has pulled up just past a nearby junction, the driver leaning out of the window to talk to someone on the pavement, who I have yet to be able to see. The car is Sheriff Teasle's, the knowledge of which does not sit well with me - If he's pulled someone over, it's not for a good reason.

Checking my mirrors, I indicate off towards the sheriff, leaving the main flow as I follow the curb round, finally able to see who Teasle is talking to. Just as I feared, it looks as if he's pulled up a random person for yet another unfair interrogation. Frowning, I regard the solemn-looking man with interest, trying to ignore the part of me that finds his somewhat crooked features incredibly attractive, taking note of his obvious vagrancy: his hair is long and shaggy, clearly being left uncut for months on end, his dust-strewn parka and faded jeans showing signs of constant wear. From what I can see, Teasle is questioning him, most likely about the guy's purpose in Hope, though he doesn't seem particularly open to this encounter. Making up my mind, I cross my fingers and hope my plan now works.

Pulling up beside the two, I stop the car and climb out, plastering on a convincing grin as I go towards the dark-haired man, greeting him as I go.

"John! I didn't realise you were in town! You should've said something!" I exclaim, pleading the man with my eyes that he'll play along, though it's somewhat unlikely.

He gives me a shocked look, head snapping round at the sound of the name, hard eyes fixing on me with suspicion and hostility, the severity of the expression sending a shudder down my spine. Teasle also looks to me, frowning.

"And to think you were left to walk along here in the cold! Jeez, you really should have called or something, I could've picked you up!" I carry on, praying that he picks up the cue, "Oh, hello there, Sheriff, how are you?"

"Not bad, thanks." Teasle replies tightly, glancing between the man and I, "You know this guy?"

"Oh, yeah. John is a family friend." I lie, smiling brightly at the man in question.

"Yeah, it's been a long while, but I thought it was time to visit again." The man finally chips in, his husky voice stirring up butterflies in my stomach, "Wanted to keep my visit a surprise, though."

"Ah, well! You're here now, at least I can give you a lift back to mine." I offer him, ignoring Teasle's sceptical look.

Giving me a taut smile, which looks more like a grimace, the man steps towards me, shooting the Sheriff a glance as he goes. Doing the same, I smile pleasantly at Teasle, and say my goodbyes, climbing back into my car as my new passenger joins me, sliding cautiously into the seat beside me. Quickly, I pull back out into the traffic, heading away from Teasle as swiftly as possible.

"Thank you for doing that." The dark-haired man murmurs after a moment, his hands clenching around his knees as he forces himself to look out of the windscreen.

"No problem. Teasle's an ass at the best of times, best just to stay away from him." I muse, "Do you want something to eat? There's a good place just down the road from here."

Turning to face me, the man frowns and watches my face, as if for signs of deceit, his quiet nature giving me the impression that he's probably quite acclimatised to being treated as such.

"How do you know my name?" He eventually asks, voice quiet.

Now it's my turn to frown as I glance across at him.

"I don't."

"You called me John earlier. How did you know that's my name?"

Surprised, I double take, now realising how sketchy that must look.

"Your name is John? I had no idea! That's a lucky coincidence, clears up confusion later." I chuckle dryly, "Honestly, I picked the first name that came to mind. I had no idea that it's your actual name."

He watches me for a second longer, eventually appearing happy with my response, looking away again.

"What's your name?" He asks me after a further minute.

"Me? I'm (Y/n). (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

"John Rambo." John nods, flicking some hair from his face, "And if you're still offering, I'd like to get something to eat, please."

"Of course."

Pulling up to the diner, I park the car, climbing out as I check the cash I have on me, deeming it enough for two decent meals and some drinks, hoping that it won't be too busy at this time of the day. John follows me, leaving his bedroll in the car as we walk into the small restaurant, finding a seat at one of the window booths, sitting opposite each other. He's quiet, scanning the room as soon as he's sat down, body stiff as he unzips his parka, revealing a red woolen jumper underneath. What strikes me most, however, (apart from the obvious planes of rippling muscle) are the silver dog tags hanging around his neck, jingling every so often as he moves.

A waiter comes over to us, handing us menus with a false smile, leaving us alone together again until we've ordered drinks, at which point he returns with the beverages. Stepping away again, John and I are left with some privacy. At this moment, I take a breath and ask him the one question on my mind.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you a soldier?"

John visibly stiffens, eyes hardening a little.

"I was." Is all he says, tone flat.

"Did you serve in Vietnam?" I ask, unable to stop myself as my curiosity gets the better of me.

Once again, John seems reluctant to answer, and instantly starts to glance around, clearly watching for an escape route.

"Yeah." He affirms, gaze returning to me.

Shock fills me at this: I'd heard horrible things about the Vietnam War, about how the soldiers (on both sides) faced terrifying situations that I'd never dream of, my heart stuttering at this admonition.

"Really? That's...wow, that's…" I go to say something, finding myself speechless as I stare at the man before me, admiring him now in a totally new light, "God, you must be a strong person."

He blinks.

"Huh?"

"Well, you've done what I'd never be able to do, you've faced deadly situations, you've probably been in harrowing conditions and fights, I'd never have the strength to do what you did. Very few people do, so you must be a very strong person, mentally." I tell him, still in shock, "You definitely did the country proud, and I respect you for everything you've done. Thank you for that."

He stares at me in shock, eyes wide, lips parted.

"You...What?" Is all he manages, voice hitching.

"I respect you, and admire your bravery. You're a better person than any of the rest of us ever could be." I repeat, smiling gently at him.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, his expression remaining as it is, his body tense as he processes what I've said, clearly not quite believing me.

"You...respect me?" He stammers, quietly.

"I do." I nod, taking a sip of my soda.

"Thank you." John murmurs, pulling a face as he looks away, "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what kinda things I've done."

"What you did isn't relevant to me, only that you served the country, and you did it with bravery, so for that, you have my respect." I reassure him, telling him the truth.

John stays silent this time, apparently too overcome for words.

"Do you...do you need somewhere to stay?" I finally break the silence that has descended on us, tapping a rhythm out onto the table.

"No, but I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have, so don't worry about it. I'll figure something out." The veteran shrugs, still a little taken aback.

"You're not inconveniencing me, I wouldn't ask if you were. I have space in my house if you want to take it." I offer him, once again smiling across at him.

For the first time, John smiles at me, his features loosening as the expression crosses his face.

"I'll take it."

#sylvester stallone #rambo #sly stallone #john rambo #john rambo x reader #rambo imagine #rambo x reader

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Night Changes [Epilogue]

Summary: The end.

Warnings: Language, smut, excessive fluff.

Poe always woke to the sound of ocean waves. Many times mixed with the noises Charlie made waking up, her soft cries pulling him from his sleep, or otherwise the sound of you soothing her. He tried to wake before you so that you could sleep in—he still felt he owed you so much time and rest for having to raise her on your own for so long.

Most days, he did naturally awaken before both of his girls. He would spend a few moments admiring you in the golden light of dawn that filtered through the soft linen curtains, enjoying the feel of your body warm against his, before slowly raising to creep from the room and go to Charlie in her nursery.

Today, however, he didn’t need to leave. Charlie was currently asleep in the guest room of their bungalow, a happy home on Yavin-4 that sat right along a sleepy beach. She was spending quality time with her visiting Aunt and Uncle—Rey and Finn. They’d insisted on the sleepover, claiming they wanted practice caring for a baby for when they were ready to have their own. You had hurriedly handed Charlie over, laughing, and wished them luck.

The house had been designed long to ensure most rooms could take advantage of the view of the water; Poe and you were on the opposite side from the guest room. Far enough that they couldn’t hear any crying if Charlie was awake. But Poe trusted his hapless friends, he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

And it meant he got extra alone time with you, uninterrupted.

Settling on Yavin-4 had been a desire you and Poe shared, the decision coming quickly when he first found you on Sorgan and the discussion of next steps came up. Dad was glad to move back, though he did sell his place and had a room next to the guest room, preferring to stay close to Charlie. Combined, the money you inherited from your parents, your brother, the family house you’d sold, and Poe’s money, the Dameron family was more than comfortable to retire and live peacefully on their home planet.

Poe built you a beach house, in a quiet corner of the jungle that was close enough by speeder to a mid-sized town, with a school for Charlie and markets, shops, a cantina. Aside from the occasional distant air traffic, his home was filled only with the sounds of the ocean, the giggles of his little girl and you, his dads' booming laugh. Charlie was nearly three now, and she was the happiest kid, full of attitude and drama but somehow it was so easy to make her smile, and Poe was the best at it. She was a daddy’s girl, you had said, not realizing how much that meant to him to hear.

As he stretched, you gave a soft snore next to Poe and an idea struck him. It had been a while since he’d last eaten you out while you slept, and his cock began to harden at the thought. With careful movements, he shimmied down the bed and ducked his head under the bedsheet, moving between your legs gently. Neither of you ever wore clothing to bed, so it made it easy for Poe to begin kissing your inner thigh as his hands spread your thighs.

When he had you bared, pretty and glistening, he resisted the urge to dive in and instead very slowly began to lap at your folds. Fuck, you always tasted delicious, he really could eat you out for hours happily, drinking you down like a fine wine. He licked at you for a while, his cock pressing into the mattress, only growing harder the wetter you got for him. When he finally pressed one finger into you, he felt you stir and smiled, keeping his movements slow as he gently sucked your clit.

“Shit,” You whimpered, your hips rolling at the same time your hands ripped back the covers, revealing Poe where he lay between your thighs. He grinned up at you, pressing his face harder against your core and licking, his tongue sliding over the sensitive nub as he worked a second finger inside of you. “Poe, I’m so close...”

He growled in response to your words, curling his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars, and he felt the wet convulsions of your orgasm hit, listened to the sounds of your moans. He kept his eyes on your face, delighting in the way your pleasure contorted your expression, your brows furrowed and your lower lip between your teeth. He worked you through the high, swallowing everything you gave him until you collapsed back into the cushions.

“Wow,” You breathed heavily, and Poe crawled up next to you on the bed with a smirk. “Haven’t had a wake-up call like that in a while. Do you think Finn and Rey would stay a few days more?”

Poe laughed, “Actually, I do. They’re obsessed with Bug,” He leaned down and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Now, sweet girl, you think you can take my cock, now that I’ve warmed you up?” He whispered low in your ear, and you moaned in response.

Poe rolled you on top of him, then pushed himself up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard and you were straddling his lap. Your hands automatically traced along the muscles of his chest, tickling slightly when you lowered them to his abs. Once he was settled, you reached down further and took hold of him, grinning when he groaned aloud at the feel of you squeeze his cock, then raised your hips, beginning to sink yourself onto him.

“Fuck, Poe,” Your head lolled back as you worked to take him, while Poe watched you, his hands now gripping your hips. He dropped his gaze to your soft stomach, his mind suddenly moving toward a thought he’d been holding back from you, not sure if it was the right time to bring it up. Things were so perfect, now, that he didn’t want to upset the balance.

But if Poe was being honest, he had been imagining Charlie having a sibling. The idea of making another baby with you, seeing you swell and getting to be there for the entire pregnancy, the birth, had been on his mind a lot lately. Now, as you sat in his lap, his cock fully splitting you, the thought of getting you pregnant made him pulse with desire. He leaned forward and took your nipple into his mouth, groaning as you began to roll your hips.

“Sweet girl,” He sighed, kissing a trail up your chest and neck, “So perfect, always so perfect for me.” He raised one hand to your head, pushing into your hair and gripping you, angling your head to capture your lips against his as he snapped his hips up to meet you.

You whimpered with each thrust, the sounds swallowed by Poe as he kissed you hard, trying to hold back his thoughts, distracting himself. He should have known it would never work on you—you could read him like a book.

“P-Poe, baby,” You pulled back a little, hips slowing, “What’s going on? You’re far away.” Your pupils were blown wide, skin flushed deliciously.

“It’s nothing,” He felt you drop your weight, settling into his lap but stilling your movements entirely. Your hands reached up from his chest to cup his cheeks, and you frowned at him. “Honestly, sweetheart.”

“It’s not like you to lie to me, Poe Dameron,” Your eyes searched his for a moment, then your frown brightened and you gave him a soft smile. “Would you just say it, flyboy?”

He stared at you, “Say...say what?”

You giggled, both of you gasping slightly at the way your cunt squeezed him in response. “I’ve caught you staring at me, a few times recently. Noticed that you get lost in thought, but then just smile and hide it away. I’m your wife,” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “You can say anything to me.”

Poe nodded, dropping his hands to your waist, “I know, it’s just, things are so fucking perfect,” He replied, his eyes locked on yours, “I don’t want to say something that makes you feel like I don’t think it is.”

“You won’t, I promise.”

He bit his lip, gazing at you in all of your beautiful glory; the sun streaming through the open window bathed you in the golden morning light, your eyes bright and every stunning curve bared to him. Why the two of you always found yourselves having serious discussions amid sex, he’d never understood.

“I want another baby—I’ve been thinking it for a while, but I just haven’t been sure how to mention it.” He broke off, glancing away from you to look out at the ocean, the waves fairly calm this morning. You leaned your head down, catching his eyes again, and smiled widely at Poe. His heart stuttered nervously in his chest.

“Oh, my love,” You cooed, brushing one hand through his hair, “Even when we don't realize it, we’re always on the same page. I’d love to have another baby.”

Poe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, “Are-are you sure, sweet girl?”

Your smile never faltered, the warmth in your eyes so intense he swore he could feel the heat of it—of you. “I’ll go this week to see the Healers, have them remove my implant.” And before he could reply, your lips were on his and you started to roll your hips, clenching tight around him perfectly, deliciously.

Your movements were filled with intent, sending Poe the message that you were serious, that you felt the same. His heart swelled, the happiness flowing through him almost overwhelming—how had he gotten so lucky, with you? He didn’t understand, still to this day, how he deserved you. And yet every day you continued to show him how strong your love was, right down to understanding his thoughts before he did.

“Fuck,” He hissed against you, pressing his forehead into yours as you rode him, “Going to keep you full of my cum, sweet girl, fuck you every chance we get.”

Your whimper was enough to drag Poe towards the edge, that feeling of falling upward in your arms so close he had to quickly lower one hand to rub circles over your clit—he never left you wanting. He punched his hips up, groaning, picturing how you’d look carrying another baby, remembering how horny you had been when you were pregnant with Charlie—

“Poe, I’m cumming—oh,” your legs gave out as you came, the rush of wetness spilling over his lap and Poe came hard, grunting before he slammed your hips down and held you still. You had fallen against Poe, your head in the crook of his neck as you convulsed around him and he filled you deeply, pulsing in your tight heat. His body melted into yours and for just one moment it was like you and he were one, every breath of air from his lungs going into yours until he collapsed back against the headboard.

You stayed curled into his chest, gasping for air. Poe held you, even as he began to soften within, and stroked your hair gently. The breeze off the ocean cooled your sweat-coated skin, but since Charlie was with Rey and Finn, he figured he could coax you into the large ensuite bath for a long, relaxing shower.

“I love you, Poe,” You whispered, your head turning slightly so that you were looking up at him, your head still resting against his shoulder. “I didn’t know life could be like this.”

Poe met your gaze and smiled softly at you, brushing his hand across your face, “Sweet girl, I’m going to grow old with you.” He murmured, pulling you in for another kiss, languid and slow before he would start another day in paradise with his little family.

—

When life had finally settled on Yavin-4 for you and Poe—the house finished, Kes all moved in and Charlie adjusted to the new planet, your husband began to have nightmares.

At first, he never said anything to you about them. He acted as if they didn’t happen, but you were a light sleeper because of Charlie, so you always woke up. He didn’t speak, but he would toss around, whimper, his eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids. You knew he saw Temmin die, other friends too—and Leia, she hadn’t made it either. So many had been lost, and he told you how close it had been, how he almost hadn’t made it himself. He’d been through so much after you had gone to Sorgan, you weren’t surprised he had trouble easing into a life where the biggest decisions were about dinner or who was going to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby.

You let it happen for a week, hoping that once he settled in more and realized this was life now, they would fade. But you think his pretending they didn’t exist only made it worse, so eventually, you brought it up—and he’d been upset that he had been keeping you up at night. The war was won; but it didn’t take away any of the pain of losses suffered, the hardships he’d had to endure, and yet he’d offered to sleep in the guest room for a while, so you could get some sleep.

You had dismissed that idea immediately and told Poe that if he couldn’t get a good night’s rest then you didn’t need to either. And that was how it ended up that most nights, he’d wake up in a cold sweat and you would roll over and pull him in your arms and he would talk to you.

Poe would tell you everything that happened.

As the nights wore on, the stories became shorter, funnier, some just small memories from passing moments. But the nightmares became less intense, and within three months, they had stopped altogether. And you knew the details of every single moment of his life while you had been on Sorgan, every fight and sacrifice and close call. His mistakes, his triumphs, his fear—and the love he felt for Finn and Rey, for their friendship and loyalty.

It only managed to bring you closer to Poe, who by day showed only a happy, brave face for Charlie, becoming vulnerable in the dark of night, bare in your arms, whispering his story. The thing was, the amount of honesty meant that it was tough to keep things from one another—you could always read each other; now you could have silent conversations from across a room.

You loved how well you and Poe understood each other, but it was really damn inconvenient right now.

It had been a few months since Poe had told you he wanted another baby. It hadn’t come as a shock to you; you’d been thinking the same, wondering when it would feel like the right time, and then he had started acting strange and you managed to get him to confess, suspecting he was picturing another baby in the mix. Poe was true to his promise of having you all the time—every spare moment he could get, he was on you.

Charlie had been a beautiful surprise. This time, you could have fun with the process, which ended up including some fun dates. He’d fucked you behind the cantina in town during a rare night out for drinks. He brought you on beach picnics and you’d ride him on the sandy shore. You’d excuse yourself to go to the fresher and he’d appear out of nowhere and bend you over the counter, fuck you deep and quick before filling you, smacking your ass before he’d slip back out of the room with his cocky smirk.

It was very sexy. You kept letting it happen even though for a while now it wasn’t exactly necessary. You were twelve weeks along, and so far you’d managed to keep it a secret from Poe. You wanted to surprise him, trusting your curves to hide any physical evidence of the pregnancy. Because he was such a good dad, you were able to sneak away when he was preoccupied with Charlie to hurl or splash cool water on your face to quell a hot flash. You were lucky not to suffer too much from morning sickness, though you know you’d pay for that in the final trimester—when you were pregnant with Charlie, you felt like an oversized womp rat for weeks, barely able to stand, wobbling around, sweating constantly.

Today was special and so you’d saved the news to share. It was Poe’s birthday, something he wasn’t ever big on celebrating making it the perfect occasion to share the surprise. You were sat at the large outdoor table with Poe, Kes and Charlie, feet bare on the warm sand, the sky slowly turning indigo as the sun set below the horizon. Dinner was finished, and Charlie was starting to get sleepy, though she was in the toddler stage where fighting off sleep like it was a wild loth cat was the only way to survive.

“Well, sweetheart, thank you for a perfect birthday dinner,” Poe reached his hand across the table to take yours, squeezing slightly as he gazed at you and Charlie, who was in your lap playing with your hair. “Low key, no presents, just good food and family.”

Kes nodded next to his son, clapping Poe on the back, “Good food and family is what life is all about, that was what your mother believed.”

When Poe turned to his dad to reply, you glanced down at Charlie and grinned, lowering your voice, “Bug, can you do something for mummy please?”

Your clever girl smiled, her eyes lighting up immediately at the idea of helping her mother—she was a sweet kid, “Yep yep yep!” She chirped, her little fists coming up to clap against either side of your face gently.

You leaned your head next to hers and pitched your voice to a whisper, giving her the simple instructions. You repeated yourself to make sure she understood and watched as she began to nod aggressively, her brows pinching together in serious focus. You’re not sure she fully grasped what she was saying, which made it funnier when she climbed off your lap and ambled around the table to tug on Poe’s arm.

Poe glanced around at her, his smile breaking wide, “Hi bug, want some cuddle time with daddy?” He picked her up and settled her on his lap as you watched, trying to hold back your smirk. Kes was watching with a faraway, content expression—you think he had an idea of what was coming.

“No daddy,” Charlie replied, her face still scrunched up and serious, “You listen! Listen.” She repeated, dragging the word out as she glared up at Poe, who chuckled, his eyes seeking yours.

He gave you a questioning look and you shrugged innocently. Charlie reached for Poe’s face, patting his jaw so that he would focus on her, “Okay, Bug, what is it?”

“I am a big sitter.”

Poe arched a brow down at her while you clapped a hand over your mouth to hide your giggle, “A big sitter, Bug?”

Charlie bounced up and down excitedly, “Daddy, big sitter—I’mma big sitter!”

Still frowning, Poe glanced up at you again, this time his expression entirely mystified, “Do you understand her?” His voice was slightly strained with the effort of holding back a laugh at her silliness.

You nodded, grinning broadly across at him before looking at Charlie, “Bug, remember how mummy said the word? Sister—“

Charlie’s eyes widened in understanding, “Sister! Daddy, I’m a big SISTER!” She yelled the last word in triumph, her lips forming the word as Poe brushed some of her hair back from her face fondly. You watched as he froze, his mouth opening in surprise, and then slowly looked back at you.

You gave yourself away because a few tears had slipped out watching the exchange, so when Poe’s eyes met yours understanding flashed across his expression. Kes was the first to speak, his hands clapping together in glee, “That’s wonderful news, Bug! A big sister? Wow!” He swooped out of his seat, plucking Charlie from Poe’s arms, “I think you are nearly ready for bed, and mummy and daddy need some grown-up time—say goodnight!”

“NIGHT!” Charlie yelled, waving frantically while grinning up at Kes. He winked at you before turning to make his way up the beach and into the house, leaving you alone with your stunned husband, who was sitting perfectly still.

“You still with me, flyboy?” You took a sip of water, watching as he stood up from the table, a hand swiping through his curls. He was by your side in a flash, dropping to his knees next to your seat and turning you to face him.

“Sweetheart,” He breathed, his eyes shining with tears, “Are you—really, you’re pregnant?”

You cupped Poe’s face, his stubble tickling your hands, “Happy birthday, Poe. I know you said no gifts—“

Poe cut you off, raising slightly on his hunches to press his lips to yours. When he pulled back, his cheeks were wet, “How far along?” His eyes fell down your body, gazing questioningly, lovingly, at your stomach.

“Twelve weeks.”

“Wow,” He murmured, dropping his hands to run over the curves of your torso, “Sweet girl, this is the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.” His eyes were soft, the honey of them still visible in the light from the candles on your dinner table.

You tilted your head, “Even better than the year Charlie snuck you that vat of Corellian wine?”

Poe barked out a laugh at the memory, “Shit, he and I were drunk for a week straight,” He leaned into you, kissing gently along your jaw as you giggled, “That comes in a close second to this, I think.”

Still laughing, you wrapped your arms fully around Poe and kissed him again. He tugged you off your chair and into his lap, sitting back onto the sand as the inky blue sky shined above with stars and the ocean played its soft melody.

“I love you, Poe.” You whispered, sighing in blissful content.

He held you in his arms and kissed you like it was the first time again, full of passion and emotion. You rolled your hips to indicate you were happy to stay out on the beach for a little while, a soft moan on your lips.

Poe chuckled warm and low, his hands falling to the waist of his pants. “Oh, sweet girl, I love you too.”

A/N: *Sobbing* Thank you so much for reading this series, I hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for the reblogs and kind comments, you guys are the best!

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ninzied · 3 years

Photo

that which we call a rose

based on the prompt: a hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

happy valentine’s day, kastle fam!

On the second Thursday of every month, Karen can’t help the extra spring in her step. There’s no point in trying to hide it—she does have an office adjacent to Matt’s, after all—but until she knows what it even is, she’ll let her friends draw their own conclusions.

This month is no exception.

“So…hot date tonight?” asks Foggy, precisely ten minutes after Matt’s said goodbye. Though Foggy’s doing his best to sound nonchalant, he’s clearly been waiting all day to spring the question on her. “You haven’t stopped smiling since you walked in this morning. And that was before we even had coffee. What gives?”

“Not a date,” says Karen lightly. “But a something.”

“Wait.” Foggy looks up from his briefcase, dropping every pretense now. “Yeah? That’s great! I’m so happy for you, Karen.”

She looks a little bemusedly at him. “Thanks, Foggy, but it’s not a big deal. Just takeout and whatever’s on TV tonight, probably.”

“Hey,” says Foggy. “Not gonna lie, but that sounds pretty appealing right now.”

Karen lets out a laugh. “Why? What’s stopping you and Marci?”

“You know how she gets about this kind of thing.” Foggy glances at his watch, and groans. “Shoot. I still have to pick up flowers. I can’t afford to be late—literally. This place had like a five-month wait list for tonight, and I think there’s a surcharge if we hold up one of their tables.” He throws her a rueful smile. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” says Karen, in a tone that she hopes will come across as commiserating rather than slightly confused. Was there some memo about today that she missed?

“And you have a good ‘not a date but a something,’” says Foggy, practically beaming at her. “You can”—he gives a comical wag of his eyebrow—”not tell me all about it tomorrow, sound good?”

“Sure,” says Karen, smiling distractedly. She waits until Foggy has gone, the door closed securely behind him. And then she picks up her tiny desk calendar, which she’d forgotten to flip over to February, and looks down at today’s date.

Oh. God.

…

The signs are everywhere, on her walk home from the subway.

For the life of her, Karen doesn’t know how she could’ve missed them before. Paper hearts plastered on storefront windows. Floral shops spilling out onto the sidewalks. Restaurants boasting their two-for-one specials. And the couples. All the couples, wherever she turns.

By the time she’s at her apartment, Karen is nearing levels of genuine panic.

She hangs up her work clothes as if on autopilot. She pulls on a worn pair of leggings and a soft, oversized sweater before pausing to reconsider, and then she changes out of that too. This isn’t just any second Thursday of the month anymore.

She checks her phone, in case Frank has canceled.

She does have a text from him, but all it says is that he’s running about a half hour late—his latest demolition site is all the way up in the Bronx, and traffic is a bitch right now—but how does she feel about Vietnamese for dinner?

There’s no doubt in her mind that the day has not occurred to him either.

Perfect. I’ll be ready with the wine, she sends back, and immediately wonders what has come over her. Beer would’ve been the more appropriate choice for this very much not-a-date, and besides that, they never drink wine together. Whiskey, sometimes, but they’d finished off her last bottle of Maker’s the last time he was here.

Wine is different. Wine means something. Right?

What was she thinking?

And what on earth is she supposed to wear?

…

Karen answers the door an hour later, back in her sweater and leggings. She breathes a small sigh of relief to find Frank there in his typical attire—jeans, with a faded black henley, and a crooked half-grin as he steps over the threshold into her apartment.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he says back, like it’s just another day. Like this is just another dinner for them to catch up. He holds up a bag and says, “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She reaches for the food so he can get out of his coat, but he waves her gently off.

“’S’okay, I got it.” He looks at her, his gaze going warm. “Think you said there’d be wine?”

And just like that, the rest of her anxiety melts away. There’s still a light flutter of nerves in her stomach, but that’s something else.

Something that she’s always going to feel whenever she’s around him, whether it’s Valentine’s Day or not.

…

Despite how casually Frank is dressed, there’s always a sense of formality to the way he moves around in her place. Like he’s not quite sure whether he’s intruding or not.

He carefully folds his jacket over the back of her couch before taking the food to her kitchen, unpacking each dish as she pulls out the wine.

She tells him about work—minus Foggy’s theories on how she planned to spend her evening—and Frank doesn’t say much, but she knows that he’s listening, attentive to her as ever.

Somewhere between the first and second glass of wine is when he starts to loosen a little, leaning his elbows onto the counter, swiping the last bite of spring roll from her plate.

He tells her small stories about how work has been going for him, and each time she laughs he ducks his head down, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

They end up eating half the food before realizing they’re still standing in her kitchen.

Frank takes their wine to the couch, and she turns the TV on at low volume, flipping aimlessly through the channels.

They settle on a cooking show, which would’ve surprised her one year ago, before these Thursday night dinners. Before he teased her for the one frying pan that she owned and resigned himself to eating takeout from then on. Before they learned to laugh about things like what Matt said at work that day, or the fact that Frank hasn’t had to kill anyone with a sledgehammer. Not recently, anyway.

“All right,” he says, pointing at the pasta on her TV screen. “Next month, we’re doing this at my place for a change, and I’m making you that.”

She doesn’t know why she does it.

Maybe it’s his casual reference to next times. Maybe it’s how closely they’ve wound up sitting together, with her thigh snug against his, the arm he’s draped warmly over the back of the couch right behind her.

Maybe it’s the way this not-so-random Thursday in February feels as though it could become something like every day, for them.

“Deal.” She puts a hand on his knee without even thinking about it, smiling as she tells him, “All right, I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick.”

“Okay,” says Frank, turning to smile back at her.

It happens so fast, so instinctively that before she knows what she’s doing, she’s leaning in, and pressing her mouth briefly to his as she stands from the couch.

Like this is an everyday kind of thing for them too, kissing each other before one of them’s about to leave the room.

Karen makes it down the hall without any memory of how her legs have carried her there. Oh God. Oh God.

Her cheeks are flaming when she shuts the bathroom door behind her.

…

After splashing water on her face, and dabbing it dry with shaky hands, she looks in the mirror and wills every last part of her being to get a freaking grip. This is Frank, and she can be honest with him. Even if it means being honest with herself.

She knows what this is. She knows what she wants it to be. And she’s done letting either of them think that anything less is going to be enough for her.

Karen takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom.

…

She hadn’t been gone long, but apparently it was long enough.

The TV’s shut off, their wine glasses cleared from the coffee table. He’s not on the couch.

He’s not—anywhere in her living room.

But as she moves closer, she sees his coat still folded there, and then she hears the sound of movement in the kitchen. She doesn’t know whether she’s more relieved or apprehensive at the prospect of facing him right now, but she supposes she’s grateful she even has the option to decide between the two.

Frank’s clearing the counter, so she can’t get a good read on his face. He’s quiet, though, brows creased together even more somberly than usual, and the fact that he won’t meet her eye should tell her everything he’s not saying out loud.

Their leftovers are stacked neatly next to the takeout bag. He slides the bag out of her way as she picks up the food containers, storing them in her fridge. There’s a six-pack of beer on one of the lower shelves, the bottles clinking together as she closes the door.

“Frank,” she says, careful not to look over at him, “I think we should talk about what we’re doing here.”

He swallows audibly. And then he says, “Yeah. I know.”

She glances at him, wishing she weren’t as surprised as she feels. She’d expected more resistance from him, if not outright denial. It’s unfair of her, she knows; Frank’s abysmal track record notwithstanding, he’s still here, despite the fact that she’d just snuck a kiss out of him without his permission. That has to mean something.

Right?

God love him, though, but he can’t seem to keep his hands still. He grips the edge of the counter, and then reaches into the takeout bag, a rustle of paper and plastic that echoes overloudly in the silence between them.

Karen presses her lips together, biting back a refrain about how now is probably not the time for dessert.

Instead, Frank pulls out a small bouquet of white roses.

She stares as he sets them down on the counter. When he looks up at her, it’s with an intensity that nearly knocks her off her feet, and she grips the counter edge too in order to steady herself.

His gaze is unwavering on hers. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a while.”

She blinks at him, a part of her still wondering if it’s wrong of her to hope. “You have?”

“More than anything.” He shifts closer, and now she can see the last of the fear in him too, how he’s finally reached past it for something—for more. The edge of her own fear starts to soften, giving way to that fluttering lightness only Frank can make her feel.

Karen steps forward, marveling at the shared heat between them without their bodies actually touching. “And what, exactly, have you been thinking?”

Frank brings his hand up to the back of her neck, and she closes her eyes as he pulls her in.

He kisses her, and it’s everything Karen has wanted, everything she could only pretend that she hadn’t been waiting for all this time. He kisses her, and she knows how long he’s been wanting, and how hard he’s been waiting for this too.

He draws in a hoarse breath when they part. “I wanted to get this right,” he murmurs.

“Well,” says Karen, trying—failing—not to smile, “you want to know what I think?”

He tightens his arms around her. “What?”

“I think this is a good place to start,” she says, and leans in to kiss him again.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork

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bxebxee · 4 years

Text

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write.

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school.

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things)

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion.

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-”

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...”

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest.

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.”

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft.

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son.

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him.

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say.

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns.

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs.

“And you like it,” he counters.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.”

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave.

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.”

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it.

“Not today, no.”

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy.

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator.

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically.

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne.

“Oh come on-”

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click.

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet.

It feels like a dare.

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him.

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway.

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble.

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.”

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words.

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question.

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“So why’d you call?”

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs.

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked.

“Where do you live?”

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.”

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered-

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.)

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips.

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you.

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-”

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred.

“Stop with the tongue,” you order.

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-”

“Put it in now,” you demand.

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips.

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?”

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi.

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment.

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all.

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability.

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing.

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much.

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.”

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you.

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup.

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash.

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly.

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you.

#bxebxee comeback season #lol jk #drafts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yes its vague #yes it can be about anyone #but i just have a lot of thoughts and feelings and maybe i'll have another part

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mio-parasite · 3 years

Text

Lovely - M!Robot (Zach) X GN!Human Render

Warning: mention of physical and emotional abuse.

I'm sorry for the bad spelling and bad English

◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦

The great technological breakthrough had brought great things to make people's lives simpler, including a robot known as l1f3 that would allow you to be a beloved of the house flawless. Trouble finding a good babysitter? No problem, l1f3 can take care of your children without worry. Is your husband or wife cheating on you with the housekeeper? Say no more, l1f3 is the perfect machine for making household things. Don't worry about your partner, l1f3 just obeying a single word that you, our great buyer, will have the privilege to program before turning it on. Take it now!! It will change your life forever.

More than 10 years have passed since the day this announcement was published; L1f3 was already in its latest version. It was the most sought-after robot since it went on the market, its main characteristics had evolved to make it a total slave of the human being. On the other hand, you didn't have an l1f3 in your possession, not precisely because you didn't have enough money to buy one, but because you preferred to do things at home the traditional way, with your own hands. Many of your co-workers knew about this and on more than one occasion they came to offer you their l1f3 at a very low price, since several of them were going to buy the new version that would come out.

Come on friends is the best offer nor will black Friday give you an offer as it is. - said his co-worker.

Tom I already told you I like to do things on my own, when I'm an old man of 89 years I'll think about getting one - you answered although deep down it was just a lie - maybe you'll only get some old people's home - well, until tomorrow Tom.

Until tomorrow. - I answer his companion almost reluctantly.

You left your work building to go to the corner parking lot. It was kind of sad that your work building didn't have a parking lot of its own but you couldn't ask much of a building that's more than 70 years old.

When you got to the parking lot you passed by the guard who as always was sleeping, you took a slight sigh to go under the fence and finally get to your car but something caught your attention a young man who was lying on the driver's door of your car.

Hey, are you okay? - you approached quickly, he seemed to be sleeping maybe he jumped glasses and was going to get into his car that was next to yours but his body can't stand the amount of alcohol was a good theory not the first time you run into a drunk in the parking lot - friend wake up I must go home.

When you put your hand on his shoulder, a strange sensation of something wet made you jump out of fright. When you turned on the light you realized that that liquid in your hand was blue but the sensation was not like paint much less it had smell it was strange that thing that was blue in your hand didn't seem you had seen it before.

You pointed your flashlight at the young man who was sitting with his back against the door of your car. Poor robot maybe they assaulted him or he was also one of those extremist groups that are finding that robots are living with humans. Well whatever the case you could not leave it thrown there is also so far do not think that there is a mechanic available also its owner may be looking for it would be good to look for the owner, but one of your friends explained that if you enter the official site of the company l1f3 and put the first four digits of the barcode that is in the back of the neck of the robot you can find its owner with his contact number in case you lost the robot.

That was quite timely but that time with your friend they put Numbers up out of sheer boredom finding the large number of people who owned one in their home even if it was low resources is surprising that much of society is dependent on these robots but there is no more time to digress you have to act the robot is in a bad situation. You approached her slowly to move her neck very carefully but when you gave her a little push to separate her head from the door your wrist was grabbed very tightly.

What do you think you're doing!? - said the robot with anger in his eyes.

"I just want to help," you answer somewhat scared. "it was all so sudden."

Lie - exclaimed the robot- you just want to disarm me and sell my parts as scrap.

It's not true - you answered somewhat altered it seemed that his grip was stronger, it was hurting you. - my pity, let me go. please

The robot gave you a last look at Stan before releasing you definitely, you weighed your wrist and then turned your gaze to the robot that was still sitting seemed so upset but also hurt not only in appearance but also emotionally.

You can really believe me or not but I won't hurt you, I just want to help you - you told the robot as you raised your hands in a signal that you had nothing planned to attack it.

Why? - answered the robot.

What? - you looked at him confused.

Because you want to help me, not since I am just an old-fashioned tin because not selling my parts or sending me to the nearest dump is not easier that I say - I bitterly laugh - there are thousands as I am easy to replace get a new one.

Hey don't say that - the robot looks at you mockingly - I know it sounds stupid but I don't think it's replaceable - sure your owner misses you.

So my owner - he laughed again with bitterness - he was the one who did this to me you know - he said pointing to his wound on his face - he already has two other new models I was only adorning for the bizarre wishes of his eldest daughter where I was his feet, a parparry table and... And... - the robot made a big pause while he clenched his fist - then I got tired of that deal and wanted to run away but my owner wouldn't let me shoot myself so I wouldn't run away but didn't let me not this time so despite that I just ran, ran and ran without looking back until I couldn't stand it anymore I came to hide here after you appeared.

Oh wow - you were really surprised poor robot deserves to be free - thank you for sharing this with me.

Yes - a little laugh of tiredness came out of the lips of that robot - honestly it was rare for me to think that only the information came out. - the robot replied.

Let me take you to my house tomorrow we'll go with a mechanic and you'll go do whatever you want outside - you tell the robot you think it really deserves something better.

Wait what!? - the robot was really surprised by your proposal - because you would do that for me we hardly know each other.

"That's true," you replied, "but it's not good to leave you here either."

I smiled at him, the robot didn't have many options to go with you even if it's quite a lie what you say doesn't matter anymore after all the robot already knows that its fate will be destruction so shit matters.

"Okay, I'll go with you," says the robot as he gets out of the ground.

You couldn't help but give that machine a slight smile.

By the way, what's your name? - you ask him while driving your vehicle.

There was no immediate response just when you left the parking lot to reach a traffic light.

"I have no name," he says as he looks out the window, "it's not something we're made to carry names.

But what do you say!? - surprised - well if you're thinking of leaving your life behind it would be good to give yourself a name.

The robot takes his eyes out of the window to stare with confused faces.

You deserve a name - not just calling yourself for who you are - you are entitled to a name - you answer.

Right you say - the robot seems to look away again at the sale - you're ridiculous you knew.

What about William or jack? , alex is also a good name, there's also brendon, Cody, tayler, josh - you say random name hoping your companion will say something.

Are you serious? - I ask the robot in confusion.

Oh you prefer more foreign names you could be Francisco, akira, Bruno - you keep suggesting names the rest of the way.

Enough is enough... Zacharie - I answer zacharie while you smile.

Zacharie if it suits you I could also tell you zach for short - you answer him with joy.

At last they reach their destination their beautiful home, look at zach a little worried about his condition.

Zach I hope to help you and that you can be free, maybe can not promise me that everything will go well 100% but I will. - zach will just seem more confused but deep down his metallic self wants to have some confidence in you.

#monster lover #monster x reader #robot x reader #robot boyfriend #exophilia #monster fucker #monster boyfriend

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 3 years

Text

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Just based on “Baby It’s Cold Outside”

Warnings: Written quickly and with little editing so I’m sorry if it’s not up to normal standards! No actual bad warnings!

Word Count: 1700

_______________________

You curled into Tom’s warm body while you sipped what remained of the hot chocolate that you had been enjoying throughout the Christmas movie you and Tom had been watching. It didn’t take much convincing to get him to give into watching your favorite holiday movie.

Tom was a sap when it came to the holidays. Holiday movies, Christmas music, baking cookies, excessive amounts of hot chocolate, driving around just to look at Christmas lights, and building snowmen were just a part of the holiday season with him and you loved it. How could you not? Especially when it meant you were snuggled into your boyfriend’s body with his arms wrapped around you and a ridiculously fluffy blanket cocooning the both of you.

The credits had begun to roll though and you sighed, enjoying where you found yourself on this wonderful night. Tom clicked off the movie and tightened his arms around you, taking a big inhale of your scent that he wished he could be shrouded in for forever. He glanced down at your wrist, which now bore the beautiful bracelet he’d given you just earlier that night, a simple thin silver chain with small pieces of your favorite gemstone. Your eyes lit up when you opened the long box and you had thanked him repeatedly before he saw the panic flash in your eyes when you made a comment about how much it must have cost him. Tom had reassured you that it really hadn’t set him back much at all, which wasn’t a lie. He wouldn’t have cared if it did, though, because there was nothing that he could give you that would show you how much he loved you.

“I don’t want to go home.” You groaned, burying yourself impossibly further into his hold.

He chuckled, pulling you tighter to him, “Then stay.”

You began to run your fingers over the top of his hand, tracing each knuckle gently, “I wish I could. I promised my parents I’d stay the night at their house tonight. Besides, I don’t want to drive in the snow this late.” It was Christmas Eve and your mother wanted to open presents first thing in the morning, just like how it was when you were little. She had been emotional and nostalgic this holiday season, the reality that her babies had grown up getting to her, and had made plans to make Christmas as close to how it was when you were children as possible. You really didn’t mind much, though. You only wished it didn’t mean you had to leave Tom’s loving embrace.

Tom sighed and shifted as you stood up heavily. He took out his phone and tapped the screen a few times and the beginning notes to “Baby It’s Cold Outside” began to play from the small device. You rolled your eyes and laughed, “Are you serious?”

He stood up beside you and captured your body in his arms, as if he was going to begin a waltz with you. One hand rested on your waist and the other held your hand gently, “Very.” He smiled, looking down at you as he began to sway your bodies side to side.

“You’re ridiculous.” You giggled in disbelief that he was pulling this card. “I really can’t stay.” You sang along with the music when the lines came up.

“But baby it’s cold outside.” Tom sang back in response.

With a chuckle, you pulled away, Tom’s grip on your hand tightening as you tried to walk away. The music continued serendipitously in the background as you laughed at the cheesiness that was your boyfriend. With a small tug at your arm, you spun into his body where your hand came to his chest, enjoying every bump and dip under his shirt.

My mother will start to worry

Beautiful, what's your hurry?

My father will be pacing the floor

Listen to the fireplace roar

So really I'd better scurry

Beautiful please don't hurry

Well maybe just a half a drink more

I'll put some records on while I pour

“I love you but I really have to go.” You pouted, leaning your head against his chest as you let him hold you just a little longer, “My mom is going to think I’m dead or something and then my dad is gonna kill me for making her worry.”

Tom kept his grip on your body, using his large hands to sway your bodies in time with the music. “Can’t you tell them you got stuck in traffic? Or maybe you just drank a little too much and didn’t feel safe to drive!” He wiggled his eyebrows, hoping you’d take his offer.

“I can’t lie to them on Christmas!” You laughed, side stepping in time with Tom.

He let go of you only long enough to sprint to his kitchen, “You don’t have to lie! I’ll make you something right now! I got beer, gin, vodka...”

“Tom!” You chased after him and stood off to the side with your hands on your hips while you watched him mix a drink together, “You’re going to end up on Santa’s naughty list for trying to get me drunk.”

Tom only shrugged, “I already have what I want for Christmas.” He put the finishing touch on the mystery drink he’d mixed up for you and handed it to you proudly.

You raised an eyebrow at him, looking down at the drink that appeared to be a mixture of a clear alcohol you hadn’t paid attention to and cranberry juice. He nodded his head a little, silently insisting that you take the drink. “You think you’re so charming.” You chimed, teasing being the only weapon you had against his powerful spell on you. With an eye roll, you took the drink from his hands and swirled the liquid around.

The neighbors might think

Baby it's bad out there

Say what's in this drink?

No cabs to be had out there

I wish I knew how

Your eyes are like starlight now

To break this spell

I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell

Why thank you

I ought to say no, no, no sir

Mind if move in closer?

At least I'm gonna say that I tried

What's the sense of hurting my pride?

I really can't stay

Baby don't hold out

Baby it's cold outside

Keeping eye contact with him, you sipped the cocktail and sputtered when the fiery liquid went down your throat, much stronger than you’d expected, “What the hell is in this?” You asked through a mixture of laughs and coughs. Usually you were alright when it came to strong drinks but this one just took you off guard.

“Nothing you don’t like!” Tom defended, knowing how you liked your drinks mixed. He had been in a rush though and had accidentally been heavier handed with the liquor than intended.

“I have to drive. I’m not going to finish this.” You insisted, setting the glass on the counter, “Though your persistence is charming.”

“Is it working?” He asked, hope in his voice.

You feigned a look of ponderance before taking off in a playful run back into the living room. Your keys were on the table and just when you bent down to pick them up, Tom grabbed you by the waist and pulled you down to the couch on top of him. “Mind if I move in closer?”

You laughed as your body gave into Tom’s every touch. You didn’t even try to escape his clutches this time, only held onto his strong arms that were wrapped around your torso so you could touch him in some way. Your head rolled back onto his shoulder, eyes sliding shut, “You know my weaknesses.”

“Of course, I do, darliing.” He gave you a cheeky smirk.

The two of you snuggled into each other’s embrace. Tom was so comforting, even when he was being a pain in the ass like right now. The way his scent enveloped you - clean but warm - made you never want to leave this spot for as long as you lived. “At least I’m gonna say that I tried.”

You gave into Tom’s efforts for a while and laid there with him, the music playing in the background and the fireplace roaring. Your eyes opened again and you watched the snow fall outside, Tom’s breathing, the flames, and the music creating a perfect ambience for your moment of weakness.

Your phone buzzed on the table and groaned, reaching out blindly to grab it. It was your mom, of course. “Who is it?” Tom questioned.

“My mom. She’s asking if I’m okay.” You read over the message before glancing at the time, “Shit, it’s already almost midnight. I really do need to get home.”

This time, Tom reluctantly let you sit up to type your reply. “Fine.” He whined, though not actually trying to make you feel bad. He totally understood why you needed to go home. He was just having fun messing with you tonight.

You stood up, grabbed your keys, and made your way to the front door where you slipped your boots on. Tom came up to stand beside you while you were bent over and you came face to face with him when you stood up. He had a mischievous smile on his face that took you a moment to process until you realized his arm was outstretched above your heads. In his hand was a small sprig of mistletoe. With a little laugh, you leaned up onto your toes and pecked him on the lips, “You know you didn’t need the mistletoe for that, right?”

Tom tilted his head back down again for another kiss, “Yeah, I know, but I figured it would add a nice touch.”

“Merry Christmas.” You wrapped your arms around him one last time and looking up into those beautiful brown eyes that you got lost in.

Tom’s lips turned upwards, almost like elfishly so, “Merry Christmas, love. You’re still coming over to my parents’ for Christmas dinner tomorrow?”

You nodded, “Yes, I will be there tomorrow night with pumpkin pie.” You pecked him on the lips just one last time for good measure, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland christmas #christmas imagines #christmas fics #baby it's cold outside #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot

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wyn-n-tonic · 3 years

Text

Finding You -- Part IV

Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: Soft!Dave. Mentions of past abuse. Author's Note: A bit shamelessly self indulgent throwing my soccer obsession into the fold here. Also soft Dave. SOFT DAVID YORK. He literally lives in my fucking head rent free.

MASTERLIST | PART I | PART II | PART III | Pink Magnolias

He lets himself in near ten.

His movements were caught by the security cameras outside, a video alert popping across both of their phones. He turned his off, not worried about himself. But she?

She was lost in deep green velvet of her wingback chair, nose stuck firmly in a book. Her preference in the quiet. She didn’t even bother to look at her phone, there’s only one other person has the key to the house

His footsteps are soft as he brings himself to stand above her but she won’t look up at him, she only has one paragraph left and he can wait for her attention.

Leaning down, he presses his lips to her forehead and straightens again as a shiver runs down her spine, “did you eat?”

She hums in affirmation, “did you?”

One sentence to go but she looks up into his eyes, no longer being able to keep concentration under the intensity of his gaze. So soft and dark, made darker under the shadows cast by the small glow of her lamp.

Eyes that say I love you. She hopes her shout it back.

“I had dinner with the girls, took them out for pizza and then put them to bed.”

“You're early though.”

“Yeah, baby,” he pushes a tendril of hair away, “traffic wasn’t so bad and they both had a soccer game today so they fell asleep fairly early.”

She lights up, “they play soccer?”

“Yeah,” he pulls his phone out and opens the pictures to show her, “Molly just runs around and does whatever but Alice actually takes it serious, says she wants to be like,” he laughs, “Emily Sonnett? I don’t know who that is but I’ll tell you this, she’s mean on that field. Even calls it a pitch.”

“As she should,” she look at him like he’s crazy, “that's the proper terminology for the sport.”

He chuckles low in his throat and presses a kiss to her lips, “next you’re going to tell me you call it football.”

“I do.”

“Mmhmm,” he stands again and turns, his hand trailing out of reach of hers as he moves to the kitchen behind her, “don't let that Spanish passport go to your head, baby. We’re still in America, it’s soccer.”

“My uncle died,” she says quietly over her shoulder, book falling to lay in her lap.

He says nothing, letting the words die in the space between them as he prepares the coffee maker for the next morning.

“David?”

He grunts an acknowledgement.

“Where were you again this weekend?”

It’s the stuttering response, “the girls had a cheerleading competition,” that alerts her to the truth.

“David,” her voice is harsh, “where were you really?”

The fridge opens, the sound of clinking on the shelves as he cards through the contents for a beer and she’s impatient.

“David Thomas York,” she throws the book towards the table to her front, “I will leave if you lie to me again.”

“You can’t leave, baby, this is your house.”

A laugh meets him then and he knows that she’s serious, “you gave me a European passport, I can go wherever I please.”

He’s kneeling in front of her now, one hand wrapped around her ankle while one holds the bottle just as gingerly, his eyes are soft but not sad as he looks up at her, “it was a fire or, at least, that’s how I made it look.”

She lays her hand on his where it rests on her leg, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t need your praise, I just needed your peace of mind.”

Lips press to her soft hand now and he’s amazed, for some reason, when she doesn’t flinch back so he continues, “he'll never hurt anybody, especially you, again.”

“David,” she grips his jaw in her small hand, “don't you ever lie to me again.”

A slow nod is all that meets her gaze and a held breath releases, “when I fucked you in the gardens, my chest seized up. I wanted to hurt anybody who’d ever hurt you.”

“You’re getting soft on me, old man.”

Another nod, because it’s true.

“Would you like to meet the girls?”

The air shifts, her face lights up again, “would you like me to meet the girls?”

She lifts the beer from his hands and takes a drink as his eyes go a bit dopey, “I would, Carol and I have been discussing it and she would like that as well, if you would.”

The silence between them stretches on for just a little too long and he panics, “if you don’t want to, I understan—“

She holds a hand to his lips to silence him and takes another drink of the beer, “I would love to and we should take them to a Washington Spirit game.”

“Who the fuck are the Washington Spirit, baby?”

Her eyebrows raises in a question, the way his does at her, and he knows he’s stepped in something when she simply responds, “Emily Sonnett plays for the Washington Spirit, they’re the local women’s soccer team.”

He takes the bottle from her once more, bringing the now cold hand to his lips and places a kiss to the palm before laying it flat against his cheek, “Alice is going to love you so much.” —————

“Ahhhh, she’s so powerful!” Alice is screeching through the team store, picking up everything that glows under the bright fluorescent lights.

There’s a small tug on her right hand and she looks down, believing it’s Dave’s hand she’d find but it’s not. Tiny, cold fingers tuck into her hand in the space he no longer occupies, having gone running after Alice.

Molly holds a teddybear up, one wearing a small jersey, and asks, “can I have this? Do you think daddy would buy it for me?”

“I do,” she nods, “but if he doesn’t, then I will.”

She smiles wide and runs off to meet up with her sister, shouting, “look what I’m getting!”

“Is that so,” comes David’s voice, “and who said daddy was gonna buy that for you?”

The matter-of-fact way in which she answers the question is lost to her ears as another voice finds hers.

“They love you,” it’s Carol, another guest of today’s outing, “all of them, especially David.”

She turns to the other woman and Carol laughs at the surprise on Lucy's face. She likes her, she doe, gotten along this whole time but she wonders if she’s telling the truth.

“Trust me,” she says, almost as if she can read Lucy's mind, “I know all three of them, especially the way that one’s—“ she points at Dave, “—head works. Or, rather, how it doesn’t. That’s why we never worked. He’s a good man, Lucy, but he hasn’t been like this in a really long time.”

“But,” he continues,” looping arms as they walk forward, “if he never says it, don’t take it personally. He’s never been that type of man, you just—“

“Know,” Lucy agrees, “it’s in his eyes.”

Alice is running back, showing off the Sonnett jersey she’s picked out with a smile on her face, “look!”

“We need to get out of here,” Dave follows behind with Molly in his arms now, “before she bankrupts me.”

And there’s something primal that warms low in her belly, tugs at her being as she watches him with his children. —————

“Hey,” he’s sliding into bed next to her, Carol having taken the girls home and Dave having taken Lucy, “thank you for being so good with my girls.”

That low lying warmth fills her again as she looks into his eyes, this soft and hard man who shows her every part of him.

“Alice scares the shit out of me.”

He laughs, nodding into the kiss he’s pressing into her lips, “me too. Remember how I said if you decided to leave, nobody would come after you?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs again, “break her old man’s heart and I cannot guarantee that Alice York won’t hunt you down.”

“Is this you trying to grab a commitment out of me?”

“Grab one?” His brows knit in confusion, “I said I would marry you and bought a house with you and introduce you to my family, I think I already got one.”

She hums against his lips, pulling him down for another kiss, “guess I’m the one going soft on you, old man.”

“I love it,” he trails kisses down her jaw, “I wish I didn’t have to work, you either.”

“So we have a job soon then?”

“Yeah,” he says between the kisses to her neck, “are you ready for that?”

She doesn’t let the panic rise in her, doesn’t want him to know that she doesn’t think she is but he knows. Reads it in the way her heart beats against his lips now and he stops, bringing himself back up eye level to her.

“You don’t have to, you know, you can sit these jobs out. You know that right?”

She bites her lip, praying the tears that sting her eyes will dry up without having to be pushed aside, and nods her head.

“Just think about it,” he kisses her again, “I love you.”

TAG LIST: @a-bang-for-your-bucky @anu-simps @apascalrascal @bdavishiddlesbatch @casualpalacebagelrascal @darnitdraco @dobbyjen @empress-palpat1ne @evelynseventyr @gracie7209 @green-socks @greeneyedblondie44 @hnt-escape @icanbeyourjedi @justanotherblonde23 @klaine-92 @knivesareout @lachicapequena @leonieb @lexi-b-writes @mouthymandalorianalso @notcookiebelle @omlwhatamidoinghere @pascalslittlebrat @phoenixpascal @phrog-seeds @pilothusband @princess76179 @purplepascal042 @rosiefridayrogersunday @sarahjkl82-blog @sleep-tight1 @soyelfuegoquearde @starlightmornings @talesfromtheguild @the-feckless-wonder @wheresarizona @wille-zarr

#dave york #dave york fanfiction #equalizer 2 #equalizer 2 fanfiction #original female character #ofc #original character #oc #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N Know what this fic needs? More Geillis. No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this. Just bear with me. Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue. Thanks for coming on the journey with me! With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed. I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic. When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months. When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen! I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire. Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me. The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list. Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app. As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche... who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested. “The first three are for Frank. The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him? Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard. Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire? And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent. My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas. But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him. Or it had. I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts. “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list. And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment. She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here. House of Fraser. See? Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling. The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights. The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section. Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing. “I don’t need a new outfit. And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this. Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night. I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms. Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these. And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size.

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight. She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant. The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings. Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely. I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie. We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore.

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze. It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing. Everything. Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass. I only want tae see ye happy. Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber. Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith. It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern.

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef. Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams. The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter. Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid. Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks. And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached. I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse. Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef. He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim. A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him. He looked dangerous. It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef. With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me. I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin. The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.” His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.” He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging. I swallowed and looked frantically around. Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go. I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table. An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued. I tried to convince myself I needed to leave. It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment. Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song. The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door. Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant. Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port. A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up. Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone. The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist. I couldna hear myself think in there. Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.” Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming. I told him everything. My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability. Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home. And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined. I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket. He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face. I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted. I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name. “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me. But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.” At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do. But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.” Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words. “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist. Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?” The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them. His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning. Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things. Regular, ordinary things, mostly. My family’s health and happiness. A faster bike. My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him. But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune. Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands. Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother. We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining. Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned. “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment. “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.” His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist. Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast. It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about. We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed. My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine. As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket. I laughed, although no-one could hear me. I yelled, and only the wind yelled back. I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat. My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember. I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls. He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist. Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow. I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home. Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him. He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried? Do you have any idea what time it is? My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days. You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing. “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace. Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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cactusnymph · 3 years

Text

Prompt fill #5 for @dimension20alphabet:

Escape

[part two to this]

Usually it goes like this:

The Bad Kids eat lunch together in the cafeteria and otherwise Fabian doesn’t talk much to any of them over the course of his day. It’s not like he’s actively ignoring them, but he’s more on the side of the popular kids. The cool guys. The jocks.

Meanwhile, the others—well, maybe except for Fig—don’t exactly fit the bill.

Sure, Fabian would die for any of them, but somehow the social structures at school still feel restrictive in a way that gives him a hard time moving against them.

Now though, now the unthinkable has happened.

The Ball is ignoring him.

Well, not as much as ignoring Fabian as he’s actively fleeing from him the second Fabian comes into view. At first Fabian thought that The Ball had just forgotten something in his locker when he turned around and ran—ran—in the opposite direction of Fabian.

But it happens again during the first break and Riz is not at their usual table when Fabian joins the others for lunch.

Everyone is looking at him.

“What?”, he asks.

His mood was bad all weekend. After the ridiculous dare he received on Theo’s party The Ball was nowhere to be seen. Both Adaine and Theo—Theo of all people, as if he was The Ball’s friend—followed him out of the room while everyone continued to stare at Fabian accusingly.

Even Gorgug looked somewhat perturbed, like it was Fabian’s fault that a room full of people had chanted about him kissing The Ball. That hadn’t been his idea!

“Hey man, you know, you could’ve said ‘no’ without making it sound like, you know, Riz was like, a slimy ghoul or whatever”, Ragh had said to him quietly.

As far as Fabian knows, Theo and The Ball had ended up making out in one of the empty rooms or behind the house. Those pictures in his head didn’t lead to his weekend getting any better either.

He trained way too much with his mother. He ate so many kippers that Cathilda asked him if he was feeling alright—which he wasn’t, but he couldn’t exactly explain why. He went for a run three times on Sunday and was still feeling on edge about everything that had happened.

In the end he crashed on his bed with sore muscles and a scene of The Ball and Theo kissing playing on repeat in his mind that followed him into his dreams.

And now his friends were looking at him as if he had personally murderer The Ball. With his bare hands. For fun.

“Did you talk to Riz?”, Adaine wants to know.

“No.”

Silence answers him and he looks around the table.

“What? He saw me in the hallway, turned around and ran away!”, Fabian exclaims angrily. His face is getting hot. He hates all this emotional bullshit and almost wishes he could just go back to being his father’s darling boy instead of his own man, because somehow that seemed way easier.

“Oh no. Poor Riz”, Kristen says and Fabian almost loses his shit right there.

Why is it ‘poor Riz’? Why is no one acknowledging what a shit weekend he had? And how fucking dumb that dare was? And how it’s offensive to consider that Riz and Theo made out behind the house while Fabian was being stared at like someone who strangles puppies? And also, he fucking hates it to be ignored.

He is Fabian Aramais Seacaster.

He refuses to be ignored!

“Did you try to text him to apologize?”, Gorgug asks.

Fabian stares at him.

“For what?”

“I mean. You know, because. He looked pretty hurt and like. Isn’t he your best friend?”, Gorgug says quietly and Fabian feels like someone has dropped an iron weight into his stomach.

“I mean, I guess we’re friends, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, you know—best friends is maybe a little—“

A voice in his head whispers “Why would you say that, isn’t that a lie?” but Fabian doesn’t get to listen to it as Fig lowers her fork and looks past Fabian at someone right behind him.

“Oh, no”, Gorgug says very quietly and Kristen gets up halfway from her chair which leads Fabian to turn around just to be faced with The Ball’s very pale and very unhappy face. For a split second Fabian has the opportunity to notice that Riz looks as if he hasn’t slept or eaten for the past two days, but then he notices Fabian looking at him and escapes immediately.

“Okay, Fabian, I know talking about your feelings is super fucking hard and everything, but get a grip, man”, Fig snaps at him.

“My feelings are perfectly fine, thank you”, Fabian grits through his teeth but he doesn’t touch the rest of his food and instead spends the rest of his lunch break cursing the universe for having The Ball turn up right at that moment when Fabian announced that them being best friends might be a bit of a stretch.

Fabian never really had a best friend before.

Fuck if he knows what that’s even supposed to mean.

Riz always just went ahead and announced it to the whole world after they’d barely known each other for a week and back then it had been completely ludicrous.

Now, though.

Fabian doesn’t know.

He might have announced that toxic masculinity is dead, but the truth is that it’s still hard dealing with all this emotional bullshit when no one ever really taught him how it works. And he’ll rather be shot than admit that. At least for now.

It was hard enough to deal with the fact that he never really did anything on his own and was nothing but a pale shadow of his father, but now that he managed to work through that, everything else was still as difficult as before.

And who the fuck are you supposed to talk to about these things?

His father is a madman flying a dead dragon through hell.

His mother heats up whole cantaloupes in hot pans, because she doesn’t even know how to cook some fucking scrambled eggs.

Cathilda would probably know a thing or two about this stuff, but Fabian has yet to fully grow into the whole Cathilda-is-basically-his-surrogate-mother-and-not-just-his-maid-thing.

And how is he going to explain this whole mess anyway?

“Hey Cathilda, I went to this party and someone told me to kiss The Ball and I was like ‘No, that’s ridiculous’ and now everyone is acting like I’m a complete asshole and The Ball doesn’t talk to me anymore, which is quite frankly offensive, because he always says that I’m his fucking best friend.”

Even to Fabian that sounds ridiculous. And it doesn’t take into account his obsessive thoughts about Theo and Riz kissing or how The Ball might have overheard Fabian saying that they’re not best friends. And his bloodshot eyes with dark shadows under them. And his pale green face with all those freckles.

And...

Fabian decides that school can suck his dick on this terrible Monday and he leaves the Aguefort Academy directly after lunch break instead of going to his fighter class.

It’s not like he needs it, anyway.

He could probably wipe the floor with his teacher at this point.

On his way home he receives multiple text messages from his friends.

“Hey Fabian, where are you? Are you okay?”, from Gorgug.

“Just text him”, from Adaine.

“Maybe Jawbone can help you out, he’s really good at this relationship stuff”, from Kristen.

Relationship stuff?

What relationship stuff?

The Ball is not his boyfriend.

Fabian laughs as he passes a mother with her two kids and she looks slightly concerned about his well being and tugs her children further down the sidewalk.

What if The Ball wants Theo to be his boyfriend?

Fabian stops in the middle of the road and stares at his phone. He doesn’t want to talk to Jawbone. Sure, Jawbone is cool and everything. But talking to Jawbone feels too much like admitting that he might have a serious problem, more so than if he maybe just talks to one of his friends.

For a split second Fabian thinks that wants to talk to Riz until he remembers that that’s not possible right now.

Because Riz doesn’t talk to him. And also Riz wouldn’t want to talk about anything related to kissing or—or—

Fabian stuffs his crystal back into his pocket and turns a corner that leads him towards Mordred Manor instead of home.

Ragh is outside in the vast garden of the manor, wearing a straw hat and some shorts and nothing else while he waters some plants.

“Hey, what’s up, bro?”, he calls over to Fabian, turns the hose and hits Fabian square in the chest with a jet of cold water. It only takes a few seconds until he’s completely drenched.

Ragh laughs loudly while he turns off the water and throws the hose down into the grass.

“You good, man?”, Ragh asks as he walks over to him. Fabian feels like on any other day he might have simply punched Ragh in the face for getting his expensive sneakers wet, but today it just seems like maybe he deserved a shower of cold water.

“Um—yeah. No. I don’t really know”, he says and his voice reminds him of the time when the whole Leviathan debacle went down. He clears his throat and wipes some water out of his face. “Do you—uh. Have some time to talk?”

“Sure, dude. Let’s find a spot with a little more shade.”

Fabian hates the feeling of water in his shoes, so he takes them off and follows Ragh through the garden and into the shade under a big maple tree.

“What’s up, dude?”, Ragh asks and throws himself down into the ground, pulls the straw hat off his head and leans against the thick trunk of the tree. Fabian sits down cross-legged and puts his sneakers to the side.

“So—uh”, he starts and then closes his mouth immediately because he hasn’t actually thought this through at all. Ragh looks at him curiously and Fabian wonders if there is a good and nonchalant way to ask the things he wants to ask. Instead of acting cool and composed how he wants to, what comes out of his mouth is:

“Do you think The Ball and Theo made out?”

There is a beat of silence in which Fabian considers just getting up and running out of the garden and into traffic. This was not what he is supposed to ask.

This is not—

“Dude”, Ragh says and he leans forward to look at Fabian. “You look like you’re about to puke, man.”

Fabian doesn’t feel great. His chest feels like someone installed iron clasps around it and is pulling his ribs tight and his stomach is doing some acrobatics that it’s absolutely not supposed to do.

Why did he ask this?

And what if Ragh says yes?

Why the fuck does it even bother him?

The Ball can kiss whoever the fuck he wants!

“I’m—sure. Fine. Yeah. It’s all—uh. Fine.”

“Yeah, dude, no offense, but like, it doesn’t look particularly fine to me. So—what you’re asking me is. If Riz and Theo got it going after that whole Truth or Dare thing?”

Fabian takes a deep breath, which seems particular hard for some reason. This is ridiculous.

He’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster. He knows how to fucking breathe.

“I—guess?”

“Hm”, Ragh says and leans back again. “Not sure if that’s my story to tell, bro. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry you feel like shit, but, like. Isn’t that something you should talk to Riz about?”

Fabian thinks that, if one other person tells him to talk to The Ball, he might actually commit cold blooded murder.

“Great suggestion, seeing as to how he keeps running away from me like he’s afraid I’m going to breathe fire at him any second”, he growls and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Ragh sighs and cocks his head from side to the other.

“Would it like, bother you if they actually had made out?”

Fabian wants to snort and say “No”. What comes out instead is a garbled noise as his brain is bombarded with pictures about Riz and Theo kissing.

“Woah, dude, okay”, Ragh says and he looks alarmed. “Breathe, man.”

Fabian can do that. Breathing is really easy, except that it’s not.

“Okay, dude, Imma just say it now, okay? It’s like ripping a band-aid off!”, Ragh says loudly, grips Fabian’s shoulders and stares at him very intently. “I think you’re totally into Riz.”

Fabian’s brain feels like it’s suffering from a bad case of frostbite. His thoughts turn sluggish as he tries to process what Ragh just said, but it doesn’t make any sense. Fabian is not into The Ball. He’s not in love with Riz. That is insane.

“Okay, so, hear me out, bro. Remember how I was totally in love with Dayne? And it took me like a million years to like, get that? Feels pretty similar to what’s happening with you right now, right? Because we’re like, these manly dudes and we’re supposed to be into hot girls and all that stuff, right? So it doesn’t really fit the picture, but it’s totally fine, dude. It’s all good. You can be in love with Riz.”

Fabian blinks at him. He can hear the words and he can feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards as if to try to form into a grin.

“Don’t be insane, Ragh. I’m not—That’s—“

“It bothers you when he’s with other people because you’re fucking jealous, dude. I’ve been there, okay? And it’s like this weird thing of—you’re not allowed to be jealous because that’s fucking weird, right? Because that’s like, your best bro and everything. But then you keep obsessing about him making out with other people and then it’s like, okay, but what if he kissed me and then you feel really fucking bad, right? Because you’re brain shouldn’t go there?”

For the very first time Fabian imagines what would have happened if he, instead of saying “No, that’s ridiculous”, had actually kissed The Ball.

He thinks about Riz’ sharp teeth and how he keeps chewing on his bottom lip when he’s nervous and the second Fabian’s brain arrives at Riz’ bottom lip it feels like there is a dam inside his brain breaking.

He imagines grabbing Riz and pulling him into his lap, pressing his lips against his and hearing Riz make a choked noise against his lips—

“What the actual fuck.”

Ragh lets go of his shoulders and nods.

“Yeah, dude. Intense, right?”

“But—why?”

Ragh shrugs and rubs the back of his head with one of his hands. Somehow the cold water drenching Fabian’s clothing feels like a blessing now because his skin seems to be on fire.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

“Because, dude.”

“But like—what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“I mean. Sounds to me like you should totally kiss your Ball, bro.”

Fabian’s stomach does multiple somersaults.

“But he’s not—into that kind of stuff.”

Ragh chuckles.

“Dude, I love Riz, I really do, but I feel like now that you figured this part of the whole deal out I can just tell you, that like. Riz doesn’t want to make out with Theo or pretty much anyone, right? Which is totally fine, bro, don’t get me wrong. But also, like. I’m a hundred percent certain that he would totally kiss you, man.”

Fabian’s first response is “Of course he does, why shouldn’t he” but then his brain catches up and his skin starts to tingle.

Maybe this is why kissing Aelwyn for the second time wasn’t really working out. Maybe this is what Aelwyn meant when she said “Well, I suppose we’re not a good match after all”.

“Riz... wants to kiss me?”

Ragh nods and grins.

“Yeah, dude.”

“Okay. Well—uh. I have to go.”

“Don’t forget your shoes!”, Ragh shouts after him but Fabian doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his shoes as he takes off.

Maybe he can unpack all of this shit later. Maybe he should actually talk to Jawbone. Maybe this is going to be yet another thing that makes him different from his father and as soon as he has some time to think it through he can maybe arrive at the conclusion that that isn’t a bad thing.

At some point he stops running because he actually has no idea where Riz is. Is he still at school? At home? At his damn office? Fabian pulls out his crystal and hastily types a message to Riz.

“Where are you???? We need to kiss!”

He deletes the last word and types “talk” instead. Fabian watches with his breath held as three dots appear on his screen very shortly before they disappear again. He waits in the middle of the street, no shoes on, dripping wet. People passing him by look as though they’re concerned for his mental state but Fabian couldn’t care less.

Maybe now is not the time to be manly about his feelings if he actually wants to fucking kiss his damn best friend.

“I need to talk to my best friend”, he types.

The dots reappear immediately.

“at the office”

Fabian stuffs the crystal back into his pocket, considers calling the Hangman to drive him over there but then decides that he doesn’t want to wait for him to arrive.

The last time Fabian was in Riz’ office there was a terribly creepy doppelganger of Riz trying to kill him, but he pushes the thought to the side as he rushes into the building, dripping water everywhere as he heads up the stairs.

Fabian doesn’t think he can manage another emotional talk today because the last one left him completely drained and exhausted, but the second that he spots Riz behind his desk ripping some papers in a nervous craze his heart leaps into his throat and goes into overdrive immediately.

Fuck.

He rips open the door and Riz flinches so hard that he sends all the papers flying. Then he stares at Fabian with his huge, yellow eyes.

“Why are you wet? And where are your shoes?”, he wants to know, looking completely confused.

“Doesn’t matter”, Fabian says, rounds the desk and grabs Riz by the shoulders. “We need to talk about Saturday.”

Riz turns his face away and there is a dark green blush on his cheeks and the back of his nose. Now that Fabian knows what his damn problem is he realizes how fucking badly he actually wants to kiss Riz.

“Oh—well. Yeah. Haha, weird, right? Don’t worry about it, it was totally ridicu—“

“I should have done it”, Fabian interjects. Riz’ eyes grow impossibly wider.

“Wh—what?”

“I should have done it. Kiss you, I mean. We should have kissed.”

Who would have thought that the son of the famous Bill Seacaster would die of a heart attack at the age of eighteen while wearing no shoes and dripping wet clothes.

“Wh—why?”

“Because I—“

Fabian didn’t actually get that far in his head. He grabs Riz’ shoulders tighter and fuck, he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“Because I don’t want you to kiss anyone else”, is what he manages in the end and he watches closely as Riz’ swallows and the dark shade of green on his face grows impossibly darker still.

“Did you mean it?”, he asks quietly, his voice raspy and hoarse.

“Mean what?”

“That—in your text message. About—you know. Being best friends or whatever.”

Fabian takes a deep breath.

“Yeah.”

Riz makes a very small “Oh” sound and then, all of a sudden, Fabian stumbles backwards with his arms full of Goblin. It occurs to him that this is the first time they actually hugged.

“So—uh. Can I? Um—kiss you?”, he asks and his voice sounds like he swallowed a bunch of sand.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

It turns out that kissing someone you’re actually into is better than winning a Bloodrush game, better than dancing, better than pretty much everything he’s ever done before. Riz holds onto him as if his life depended on it and Fabian feels like he won’t let his best friend down anytime soon or he might just fall over and die.

It occurs to him that this must be Riz’ first kiss and something inside him purrs contently at the thought of that as he lets himself sink down into Riz’ chair so Riz is sitting in his lap.

“Thought you were into that Theo dude”, he mumbles against Riz’ lips.

“’m not.”

“Yeah, I get that now.”

“I’m uh—pretty much only into you. So...”

Fabian’s heart is doing a very silly little dance in his chest but all he can bring himself to say is “Yeah”. All the other words that he probably should say get stuck somewhere half the way up his throat because his heart is beating too fast.

“So... no more Truth or Dare”, Riz says sheepishly.

“No, definitely not.”

“Cool.”

Very cool indeed, Fabian thinks, as he kisses Riz again.

#fabriz #d20alphabet21 #fantasy high #fanfiction #mi writes #fabian seacaster #fabian aramais seacaster #riz gukgak #dimension 20

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astronautikals · 4 years

Text

empires fall

Request: where spencer has a hard case so the reader reminds him the world can still be kind?? 🥰 (@spenceneedsahug)

A/N: Alrighty takin’ the dive for CM fanfic haha--hope I’ve fulfilled at least some of what you’re looking for! requests are open

Category: Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Angst; Fluff

CW: implied depression, emotional distance, work-related traumas

Word Count: 1.75K

________

I wake up just as the secondhand ticks past 4:36.

Someone’s moving around in the living room, letting their keys clatter together and dropping down what I know is a heavy, well-worn satchel.

I relinquish some of my grip on the comforter and roll back to my side of the bed, settling in only moments before the bedroom door is pushed open. He’s trying to be quiet for my sake, so I close my eyes and pretend he actually is. I’ll let him have his peace for tonight—from the way he lifelessly pulls off his clothes, I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk. Not yet, at least.

The creak of the bathroom door cuts past the white noise of the quavering fan overhead, and moments later, when the shower turns on, I start to drift off again.

And then I’m awake once more, startled by the sound of something—someone—gasping. When it happens a second time, I don’t miss it.

I swing my feet out of bed, nearly stumbling on the covers as I try and get to the bathroom door. My heart’s jumped into my throat and I can hardly see through my panic. But just as I make a move to burst inside and save this boy from some unknown enemy, I hear him choke on a sputtering of sobs.

I knock gently instead.

“Spencer?” I call, softly pushing the door open. The steam that rushes out is uncomfortably warm for this cool July night, so when I step inside, I pull off my sweatpants.

“Spencer?” I say again. On the other side of the curtain, I hear him struggle to even out his breathing.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he replies, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Go back to bed. I’ll just be a minute.”

His voice is steady and practiced. But I know him—and I know that he’s spent too much time with professional profilers, learning exactly how to lie.

I peel back the plastic drape quietly.

His back is red from the heat and marked by old scars cutting back and forth, but he doesn’t move out from under the shower head.

“I’ll be okay,” Spencer croaks, his head still turned down. “Go back to bed. It’ll be okay.”

“Let me just be here with you,” I try. I don’t want to force him into anything—of course not—but leaving him alone to argue with his own mind is more dangerous than any potential outburst he might have at me. So when he doesn’t respond, I quickly tug off my shirt and step over the lip of the tub.

He doesn’t turn to me. The water steams off in waves just as it splashes onto his shoulders, and I ease my hand into the stream so he can sense my approach.

Still, when the pads of my fingers meet his upper arm, he shatters—choking on air, dipping his body over, and falling into my chest as a strangled sob breaks through. His lungs are tripping over themselves, struggling to grab oxygen for the rest of his body as he gasps and cries into my collarbone. I stumble under the unexpected weight and the wild swing of emotion, but I never let him go.

“Spence, breathe,” I plead, wrapping him in my arms. My hand runs up the nape of his neck and into his hair, scratching the backside of his scalp. The bridge of Spencer’s nose presses into my throat.

It’s a parental kind of position—the sort you get when you curl up to your mother after an endless nightmare and beg for comfort. I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for in this moment, honestly, but I’ll be anyone he needs.

Regardless, as his breathing evens out and warms the skin pulled over my collarbone, Spencer untangles himself slightly in search of a stretch. Without meeting my eyes, he brings me into his chest before easing us towards the floor of the tub. My undergarments are soaked through entirely at this point, but I haven’t thought about it since I stepped into the water.

The water is still warm as it hits us down here on the ground.

Spencer rests his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around me from behind and scooting me over to sit on his upper thighs. I lean backwards slowly, laying myself along his torso and my head just below his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t press him to, either. His breathing isn’t nearly as erratic as it had been, but I know there are still tears slipping silently out of his eyes.

I turn slightly onto my side, reaching for his right arm and pulling it to my chest. For a while, it doesn’t even feel like he recognizes I’m there anymore. I steal a glance at his face, but Spencer’s not looking at me—his eyes train lifelessly on the tile around the faucet and his muscles grow limp. When I trace my finger along the inside of his forearm, he doesn’t even tense up the way he often does when I inadvertently inch too close to the scars tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Eventually, Spencer’s torso shifts as he turns to stare off into the shower curtain instead. He inhales deeply—a mark of some stability.

“I’m not—I’m not as good at compartmentalizing anymore,” he soon confesses, curling his shoulders in. “I just—just—I can’t leave it in the field anymore and I—”

“Hey,” I interject softly, rubbing my thumb against the inside of his wrist, “maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe you needed a reminder that you’re not just some machine for the Bureau to run into the ground. It’s okay if you need time off—it just means you’re still human, that your empathy is still strong.”

“No,” he disagrees grimly, “it means I’ve got a clock on me.”

I hesitate for a moment, pushing my hair off my neck. His heart thrums softly now against his ribcage—a mark of either acceptance or defeat. My hands grip the sides of the porcelain tub, pushing myself into a position where I can move his own hair out of his face.

“This doesn’t make you useless,” I finally say. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know where I go from here, Y/N.”

He meets my eyes for the first time since he’s come home. There are years and years of exhaustion caked behind those irises and under those bags, but I know that this isn’t the kind of tiredness you can sleep off—this is existential.

My stomach sinks as his lips twinge downwards.

What do they call it—the bystander effect? Yeah, that feels appropriate.

“I’ll never make you talk about anything you can’t bear to relive,” I begin, catching Spencer’s chin as he averts his gaze, “but whatever you’ve seen in the last few days is an anomaly in a world largely made up of good and loving individuals.

“You see the worst of us. I know you know it’s hard to forget the things that hurt the most, but there is so, so much good in even our little corner of the world. I watched a man stop traffic today for a raccoon. A girl in the grocery store ran through the aisles singing about beavers as her grandmother picked out cake mixes. The sun came up this morning during my run, and the whole park stopped to watch.”

A tear slips from his eyes, but I catch it before it can fall off his jaw.

“You’ve got me, Spencer. You’ve always got me. And I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve to have you in my life, but I’ll never win a better lottery.

“Your teammates would take a bullet for you without a second thought—you know that, right?” I ask rhetorically, encouraged when the corner of his lips twitch upwards. “You’ve saved the lives of more people than you could ever account for, Dr. Statistics, and I know from personal experience that the world is far better just because you’re in it.

“You don’t have to work for the Bureau anymore if you don’t want to—at some point, I know it’ll be too much, and I will never think any less of you if you ever decide to step away. Just, whatever you want to do—I know that your mom is so, so proud of you. And you don’t need my validation, but I am extremely proud of you, too. All the time.”

His tears come a little more freely now, slipping down his cheeks easily and leaving salt and red-rimmed eyelids in their wake. Spencer’s nostrils flare slightly as he swallows down the lump in his throat, and though I keep one hand under his jaw and rubbing the skin just before his ear, I don’t force him to look at me.

“You deserve the world, Spencer. And I will spend the rest of my life getting you to believe that, too.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I know he’s heard me from the way his brow slowly furrows in harsh acceptance. After a few heavy breaths, Spencer seems to tune back in, and when he tilts back towards my own gaze, the creases in his forehead soften. I watch as his lips quiver into the most delicate of smiles.

His hands drift from their place on my outer thighs and instead gently cup the back of my head, his thumbs on my tragi. It’s a long, closed-mouth kiss he gives me—the kind where I have the time and awareness to scratch over his scruff and remember just how rigged my life’s lottery must’ve been for me to be here.

After the blink of an eye and an eon pass simultaneously, Spencer pushes my head past his own and wraps his arms around me tightly until we’re one body. It’s kind of sticky for a moment, but I don’t dwell on it long. I’m never far from comfort with him around, and really, I’m never that far from him at all.

“I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.” — Brian Andreas

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Forty Two

Ron goes back to his room with a lot on his mind.

He hopes he doesn’t let it show because Hermione always has been and always will be inquisitive. The second she realizes something’s off she won’t be shy about asking him about it.

And he’s always been a shite liar and she’s always been persistent and both of those things are amplified given their current situation. He isn’t even sure he could lie to her again if he tried.

“She’s always just wanted you Ron.”

Harry’s word plays over and over with every step he climbs up to the attic.

Admittedly, Ron’s been nothing short of emotional as of late and he knows Harry wouldn’t play with his feelings or get his hopes up. Especially now.

When he faces his door he does his best to drop all the selfish thoughts he has about Hermione wanting him. About her admitting as much to him as the two of them live out the rest of their days not only as best friends, but as lovers.

Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath and wipes his sweaty palms on his jean clad legs.

Healer appointment. Focus on the healers appointment.

With that last thought, he turns the brass knob and pushes his creaking door open.

Thankfully, Hermione’s awake and looks better than she did when he left. He was afraid she was going to be sick last time he saw her. The look of disgust and the palness across her features after repeating Bellatrix’s words was an image pungent in his mind.

However, now she looks calmer. Her nose is in a book, the book he gifted her no less, as Narcissa sits behind her and gently strokes her hair which is now in a loose plait.

“Hey.” He says softly.

She peers up from the text and offers a shaky smile. Though it seems forced, the look in her brown eyes lets him know she’s grateful for his presence and that alone makes him feel like he can do anything.

Soon Harry appears from behind him, breaking whatever trance he and Hermione were locked into.

“Hello.” The Chosen One says a bit stiffly, no doubt because of the fourth person in the room. “Did Ron tell you the plan?” He asks aloud.

The ginger inwardly groaned at his abruptness, “I was getting to that, thank you.”

“What plan?” Narcissa asks as Hermione also perks up.

“Just that Harry will stay at The Burrow with Narcissa while you and I go to your appointment. This way he can keep Mum from poking around.” Ron says casually, knowing the subject of her going to St. Mungo was a bit sensitive ever since she found out about her magic. Or rather, lack thereof.

“Very well.” Narcissa says slipping out from behind Hermione and rising from the bed. “Do you mind if I use the loo before the lot of you leave? Two footsteps will be less suspicious when there are three of you up here.” She says.

Weasley flicks his eyes to an annoyed looking Harry before he sighs aloud.

“Alright, I’ll show you.” He agrees half heartedly as he walks out of the room.

Once they leave Ron shuts the door softly before stepping further into the room and sitting at the edge of his bed, by her sock covered feet.

“Your hair looks pretty.” He tells her.

At this, Hermione twinges pink as her uninjured nimble fingers softly caress the intricately woven hair.

He swallows, willing himself to ask what he needs to say, “Are you ready for the appointment?”

The blush immediately leaves her cheeks as her entire face turns a ghostly white.

“Mione.” He says sadly, placing his hand gently on her uncasted calf and giving it a small squeeze.

Suddenly her nose scrunches as a small sniffle sounds.

“No, come on, please don’t. It’ll be alright I swear.” She tips her head down, “Hey, you’re still as much of a witch as you ever were.”

Hermione’s eyes remained trained on the orange quilt. Gently, Ron reaches out and tips her chin up with two fingers.

“How many witches or wizards, for that matter, can say that they’ve gotten all O’s? Or how many underage wizards have apparated without a license, without so much as a lesson? Not even Dumbledore.”

At this she lets out a watery chuckle. It sounds strangled, but it’s something.

“There she is.” He smiles as her eyes finally meet his. His face turns serious, as he goes on, “No witch or wizard can say they’ve endured the Cruciatus Curse as much as you and still be alive, to still be brilliant. And besides Harry, not many can say they even survived You-Know-Who.” The voice grew quiet hoping his words wouldn't upset her, but help her realize how special she is.

A few tears leak out of her eyes but after a moment she bites her lip hard and slowly nods.

“Brightest Witch of Our Age.” He whispers softly as he leans in close to her.

At the feeling of his breath tickling the loose strands of her hair she allows her eyes to flutter shut as she revels in him.

The smell of him, the feel of him.

The feeling of the boy- no man she’s come to love.

It’s strange really, when did her brave Gryffindor keeper, once a little boy whose biggest fear was spiders and greatest desire was to be locked alone in Honeydukes, become a man?

Somehow it just makes her realize she loves him even more than she thought possible.

That’s why this appointment was so important.

It was the one thing giving her hope to one day talk again, so that she could talk so much he’d get tired of her. That she could work up the courage to share her experiences, but also tell him thank you.

Tell him “I love you’.

Sighing, so her breath mingles with his, she leans forward and presses her forehead gently against his. Letting him know she hears him, that she’s grateful for his words.

In turn, he presses against her, shifting one hand to her hair to hold her more firmly, but still gently against him.

One of her shaking hands works its way to his cheeks as she speaks, “R-ready.” She promises.

They wish they could stay in this moment forever.

...

Mr. Weasley had taken some time off of work to drive Hermione and Ron into London.

She felt terrible she drew him away from such important duties on her behalf, only growing her frustrations about not being able to travel more efficiently.

Of course Ron had sensed her guilt when his father mentioned as much. He was becoming rather inquisitive these days. So, he took Hermione’s hand in the back seat and whispered to her that she was the most important thing right now to him and his family.

Though the comment made her blush like mad and didn’t do a whole lot to ease the fact she felt like a burden, she just nodded.

It’s not like she could say much anyway.

However, what it did make her think of was something else. A terrible thought, if you ask her.

The fact of the matter is, it shouldn’t be Ron’s father driving her to St. Mungo’s, it should be hers.

And if they were alive right now, she’s sure that would be the case. Her father behind the wheel and her Mum in the passenger seat. She was never one for driving through London traffic.

God she missed them.

She missed them so much that they seemed to be everywhere.

When they pass a fabric shop on the way in, she’s reminded of how much her Mum loved to sew. Or when they were at a stop light and on the corner was a father buying his young daughter an ice cream cone, she’s reminded of when her father would do the same with her at the park by her house.

Her house. She misses that too.

She misses the memories there. She misses what she used to know she was coming home to.

Her parents.

Now it was just full of things.

Full of things that she wanted. Things that represented her parents and things that they loved.

Things that would help her feel closer to them.

If she even deserves to feel that way. Wherever they are, they’re probably ashamed to have her as a daughter.

She’s a liar. She got them killed. They died because she was caught up in the magical world and now she can’t even cast a bloody charm anymore.

None of this was worth it.

Hermione’s doing her best not to cry. Knowing if she does, Ron will surely comfort her, something she doesn’t deserve.

She doesn’t deserve to be told her parents loved her and that they’d be proud of her and everything she’s done. Because even if that were true, her parents shouldn’t think that of her.

Not after all she’s done.

Whether it's a good or bad thing, her thoughts come to a stand still, as does the car, as it pulls up to St. Mungo’s.

Arthur turns in the drivers seat to look at the teens, “Alright, Ronnie you help Hermione out, I’ll open the door.” He instructs his son.

Complying, Ron unbuckles his seat belt and goes to the boot to take out her chair. At first he struggles to unfold it, but soon he gets it as he wheels it to her now open door, thanks to his Dad.

Bending down and into the back seat he looks at her, noting the far off look in her eyes, but choosing not to comment. He’d fear this would happen.

“I’ll lift you alright? Only for a moment, just don’t want you to get hurt.” He tells her, knowing how much she must hate needing all this help, even though no part of him minds giving it to her.

She nods slowly, awaiting his embrace.

When it comes, she grips onto his jumper tightly during the transition before being placed down effortlessly on her new companion, which she loathed.

Hopefully this visit won’t be a total bust and they’ll give her crutches at the very least.

Ron grabbed the handles and began guiding her through the front doors as his father followed next to them. Once inside, Arthur stopped, turning to face the pair.

“Would it be alright if you guys headed up on your own? Kingsley told me earlier he’d be here to help work on an appeal for Hermione’s apparating underage and unlicensed fine. He needs some of your records to prove it was a necessity and I’ve got to sign off on it.” He told the pair.

Great, just another thing the Weasley’s and now Mr. Shacklebolt had to worry about.

Hermione just nodded. If the poor man was missing work to take her, at the very least she��d let him get some done here.

“Very well. Good luck. Remember, third floor Ronnie. I’ll come up when I’m done.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ron said, shooing him off as he made his way to the lift.

When they finally reach the Spell Damage ward, Ron looks as if he may be ill. Hermione supposes he spent a lot of time in this waiting room, worrying himself sick.

She contemplates reaching out and grabbing his hand to let him know it was okay, that this time she was here with him.

Just as she’s about to go through with it, she becomes distracted by two voices across from her.

A woman and a man. They look to be middle aged and the matching rings tell her what she needs to know. They’re clearly married.

“Your Mum’s signing some paperwork now, your Dad’s with her as well.” The man told her gently.

The shorter one, with glasses, nods, “I reckon we’ll need to start the arrangements won’t we?” She sniffles.

“Arrangements? What arrangements Delia?”

“The funeral for Gran. Mum will be a wreck, we should help…” The words fade as she stops listening.

Hermione’s eyes grow wide at the words as she peers up at Ron, gently tugging on his sleeve.

He looks down at her, she looks so small, so fragile, yet so gorgeous.

“W-want th-at.” She croaks with doe-like eyes.

Could this be it? Could this be the moment? She was just watching that couple snogging in the corner, after all.

“What do you want darling? Anything you need and I’ll give it to you.”

And he means it.

Weakly she points to where the two of them stood, now embracing, rather than engaged in a lip lock.

A hug? Does she want a hug?

Merlin, just ask! Don’t eff this up.

“I’m not sure I understand.” He tells her softly, definitely not the first time he’s said that to her.

“A-a,” he can tell she’s getting emotional as his stomach pulls in anticipation, “fu-funeral.” She whispers brokenly.

And shite, he wants to punch himself in the face for being such a prat and getting his hopes up in a hospital of all places, while she's grieving on top of that all!

“For your parents?” He asks knowingly.

She nods slowly, moving one hand to wipe at her eyes.

It breaks his heart.

“Alright, we can do that.” He promises her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. He would do anything she asked. “I’ll talk to Mum about it when we get back. We’ll prepare it just how you want. Something to honor your parents… and your grandmother.”

Okay, now he really wishes he punched himself in the face! That really was not at all how he intended to break that news to her, but it just sort of came out. The couple in the corner was whispering about their own grandmother and he just- ugh! He hates himself.

Her bottom lip quivers before the floodgates open.

Instantly, he crushes her best he can to his chest, quieting her cries with the front of his jumper.

“Sh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it- I-” He inhales a shaky breath, “I have the letter at home that your parents sent. They said it was peaceful, that she thought of you and that she’s with your grandfather now.”

At his words her glassy eyes grow wide again. The words offer a little comfort to her. To have something from her parents and something about her grandmother waiting for her.

Something she knows she can have.

“I’ll give it to you first thing when we get back to The Burrow.” He swears, unashamedly pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

Thankfully, he feels her nod into him, taking it as a good sign that she’s still receptive to his words.

“Hampstead.” It takes her a while to say as her voice shakes over every syllable.

“You wanna have it in Hampstead?” He tries.

She shakes her head.

“G-go.” She feels stupid, honestly. Babies can form fuller sentences then she can but she really is lacking the energy to have at it right now.

“You wanna see your house?” He whispers slowly into her ear.

Thank god Ron knows her as well as he does.

She nods.

Without a thought, he pulls her closer and responds. “Of course. I’ll talk to Dad about it. I’ll talk to my parents about everything you want, it’s the least I can do. And if they say no Mione, I promise I’ll bring you there myself darling.”

He supposes it really is a conversation he and his parents need to have, not only for travel purposes but also for Hermione’s own sake. Arthur saw her house after the attack, he needs to make sure nothing there will set her off in any way. And if there is something, he wants it gone.

Because Hermione wants to see her house and if he can give her anything, he was sure as hell going to.

And maybe because she’s exhausted both physically, from traveling, and emotionally from all she’s just found out, but she can’t bring herself to verbally thank Ron.

Instead she snakes one hand to rest on his cheek and gently places her lips there.

Her lips on his skin makes him feel warm and tingly inside. He’s briefly taken back to the first time she’s done this, before his fifth year quidditch match.

He remembers a time not too long ago where he thought that would be the closest he ever got to kissing Hermione.

Having her here like this again, he knows to never take advantage of that again.

Of her.

When she pulls back a pretty blush is on her cheeks, as he feels his own face burn red.

He offers her a grin, one that Hermione could only describe as purely Ron.

She has no choice but to offer a small, real, genuine smile in return.

“Hermione Granger!” A shrill voice calls out, ruining the moment.

He sighs, but stands up, maneuvering her chair to the mediwitch.

“Hello.” He tells the woman.

“You’re Hermione Granger?” She asks, not looking up from the clipboard, not bothering with a hello.

“Well no, she is.” He says, as if the wheelchair wasn’t a dead giveaway. Oh yeah and the fact he was a bloke.

“Will you be coming in with her?” She asks next, scrubbing something onto the parchment with her quill.

“Uh…”

“Well?” The woman finally looks at the pair, glasses pushed down to her nose as she taps her nails against the board impatiently.

Hermione nods for Ron, making him breathe a sigh in relief, he didn’t want to assume anything, but he hoped.

“Very well. This way please.” The witch says next as she walks along the corridor.

Soon enough the witch leads them to a room, which much to both Ron and Hermione’s relife, looks nothing like the one she was staying in for so long.

It’s more of a standard exam room. A high up table with a thin sheet pulled over it, a chair next to it, as well as a scale in the corner. It reminded Hermione a lot of her Muggle physician’s office.

Hermione sat idly in the chair, not even bothering with mounting the high table, waiting for the mediwitch to check her vitals, or something. After all, this was her first healing appointment.

Instead, the woman places the clipboard down and turns to them. “Healer Jamison just finished with another patient. He’ll be in soon.” With that, she leaves.

In her wake, Hermione can’t help but find the fact she didn’t examine her at all very odd. It soon dawns on her that if the unhealed bruises and cuts aren’t enough of a reminder, that her body can’t handle magic.

Before Ron can even speak to her, ask how she is, things like that, a knock sounds on the door.

After a moment, the door is pushed open. Hermione doesn’t remember him all that well, but she knows it's Healer Jamison. He’s a plump, older man, with a scruffy white beard and thin white hair to match.

“Hello Miss Granger.” He says before turning to Ron, “Mr. Weasley.” he nods.

“Hello sir.” Ron says, knowing Hermione probably felt rude for being unable to properly greet the man.

“Before we begin with anything else, I have to ask, have you been able to speak?”

Hermione gulps and shakes her head, almost in embarrassment.

“That’s alright.” The healer assures, “I’m just going to take a look at your throat. Better for us to be safe.”

In acknowledgment, Hermione nods, knowing what this entails. However, instead of pulling out a flashlight, the man lights a lumos on the tip of his wand.

“Open.” He tells her.

The brunette does as she’s asked, sticking her tongue out as far as it can go so he can get a good look. After a moment, he seems satisfied, because he pulls his wand away and she closes her mouth.

“There’s a bit of phlegm building up in there. Have you been having trouble breathing?” He asks her.

She shakes her head.

“Alright, if you notice, please come in immediately. Also, keep an eye out if you begin coughing every now and again, but there’s nothing to worry about right now.”

Yeah, except for the fact I can’t even string along a sentence.

Next, Jamison checked her cuts and bruises. He redressed a few wounds and put new bandages on the nastier ones. After, he asked her about her leg and arm, both in casts, asking her to hold up a number from one to five on how bad the pains were.

Ron’s chest tightens when she holds up a five.

“Now, for the next part of the exam, I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of a risk.”

“Risk?” Ron asks as Hermione goes stiff.

“Yes. I need to perform a scan to check on the remnants of dark magic in her system.” He says to Ron before directing his attention back to Hermione. “Our hope is that some of your cells killed it off, but we can’t be sure. The scan doesn’t require a lot of magic on my end, therefore a lot won’t be put into your body Miss Granger, but there is a possibility it could do a lot of damage. Do you consent to a scan?”

Ron turns to look at her, hoping she’ll refuse.

Of course she doesn’t.

“Y-yes.” She chokes out.

Jamison seems pleased with her words and the fact she spoke aloud.

“Very well. Give me a moment to page Healer Evangeline. We’ll need another professional in the room just in case.” With that, he exited.

“Mione.” Ron moaned painfully, not even being able to fathom the thought of her hurt or worse again.

She looks at him and frowns.

She had to say yes. He knows that. He knows how much her magic means to her, he just wishes things were different.

“I know. I know, I just- I don’t wanna see you hurt love, not again.” Never again.

Hermione reaches over and squeezes his hand. Trying to let him know she’ll be okay. Deep down he knows she will be too, she’s too strong to let a medical scan best her.

At least he hopes.

Not even a moment later another knock sounds as Jamison walks in with a younger looking woman with dark brown hair and glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looks vaguely familiar.

“Hello Miss Granger. I’m Healer Evangeline, we worked a bit together but you were pretty out of it.” She tells the girl.

Hermione likes her, she seems sweet.

“Hello Ron.” She adds after the fact.

Ron waves weakly, too stressed about what could happen to form coherent words.

“Now, we’ve discussed the risks, but one thing I can assure you is that you’re going to feel very tired after, alright?” Jamison informs, making Hermione nod weakly. “Mr. Weasley, would you mind laying Miss Granger down on the table?”

Ron complies, gently lifting her onto the scratchy sheet. Once he sets her down, he grabs her hand, and she accepts by weaving their fingers together and trying to offer a smile.

He sees it falter, he knows she’s as scared as he is.

“Alright, are you ready for me to begin?” The older man asks.

Reluctantly Hermione nods, as her grip on Ron’s hand tightens.

The edge of Jamison's wand lights a tealish color as the light stretches forward and works its way up Hermione’s body.

Upon the impact she jumps slightly as her eyes shut tightly and her face contorted in pain.

“Stop!” Ron roared.

Evangeline placed a hand on his shoulder, “it’s almost done. She’ll be fine. She’s strong.” The woman reminds him.

Trying to ground himself, Ron focuses on the feel of her hand as he begins whispering to her quietly, “Come on Mione. You’re okay, love. You got this.”

It’s eerily similar to when he’d talk to her whilst she was unctuous, when he was unsure she would ever wake again.

The thought makes him sick.

Thankfully, the light soon goes back into Jamison's wand as the room fades back to normal and Hermione’s body visibly relaxes.

“Very good.” He praises.

Meanwhile, Ron wipes some sweat from her forehead, placing a light kiss in his hands wake. “You’re brilliant.” He whispers.

Tiredly, she looks up at him.

“I’m going to go read the results.” Jamison interrupts. “It’ll just take me a few minutes. In the meantime Healer Evangeline has some of her own examinations to perform on Miss Granger, yes?”

The woman nods, “Yes. Ron, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

While he didn’t love the idea of leaving her alone he understood some things he shouldn’t see. Like if she was checking any cuts on her chest or ribs, knowing she had broken a few. Or maybe in more personal spots.

Though she surely didn’t have an injury down there. Right? Wait, what even was Healer Evangeline’s title anyway?

“Right yeah. I’ll be right outside.” He tells Hermione more than anyone else, as he follows Jamison out of the room.

In the waiting room, he can’t help but let his curiosity get the best of him as he walks over to the information desk.

“Excuse me.” He says to the little wizard behind it.

“How can I help you sir?” He asks politely, large improvement from the mediwitch.

“Hi, I was wondering what Healer Evangeline specialized in?” He gulped, wow he sounded like a right tosser.

“Evangeline is our leading gynecologist here at St. Mungo’s!” He praised.

Ron went pale.

“Is your girl pregnant? She’s the best with stuff like that.”

“Uh- uh.” He stutters unsure what to say.

“I won’t tell, don’t worry. Good luck kid.” The man smiles before returning to his paperwork.

Slowly, Ron sauntered back over to the door. He pressed his back against the wall next to it and hunched over. He placed his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths.

He wasn’t daft, he knew what women's healers did.

It was just standard, wasn't it? Relax Ron. Nothings wrong. You’re overthinking. Death Eaters aren’t that bad right?

Part of him knows he’s kidding himself.

Images and thoughts flash in his brain that make him think of nothing but pure murder. His fists clench at his sides as his jaw tightens.

Deep breaths Ron. Deep breaths. Just ask Mum when you go home if it's routine. Don’t freak out. Not here. Don’t do that to Hermione.

Over and over Ron told himself it was procedure until Jamison returned.

“Alright my boy?” He asked, noticing his heaving.

Taking a shaking breath Ron nodded.

Jamison furrows his brow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he knocks on the door and after hearing a ‘come in’ from Evangeline, the pair enter.

Upon seeing Hermione again Ron eases a bit knowing she’s okay. That she’s here. That whatever they did to her they will never be able to do again.

With a flick of his wand a large image is projected of what seems to be a white outline covered in black blobs.

“Here’s your scan.”

Ron tenses, now focused on an entirely new problem.

That’s a lot of dark magic.

“Not much has changed, just the magic moving throughout your body. There has been slight improvement and it’s good news that you were able to withstand the scan today. The hope now is that as your external cuts heal, your body will then be able to exert its energy on internal matters. So while it isn’t the best news, it’s not bad either. Keep taking it easy. It is crucial that you heal in order to do magic again, alright?”

The news upsets Hermione. Like Jamison said, it's not terrible, but it’s not great. She wants to cry at the imprint Bellatrix left on her.

At the fact that she’s essentially made her into the thing she always taunted heart as being, magicless.

But right now, she’s too exhausted to even think properly, her body so spent from undergoing magic.

“I can tell you’re exhausted. If any questions come up please floo me.” Jamison comments, signaling Ron to move her to the chair.

She’s so limp in his arms, clearly fighting off sleep. Once he places her down he squats and brushes some of her hair back. “Rest now, love. It’ll be okay.” He promises.

Weakly she nods as her eyes flutter shut as her head luls to the side.

“Thank you both so much, but I reckon we should get going. I know my Mum will want to floo you Jamison so you’ll hear from us soon. I know this one will have a lot of questions as well.” he says weakly.

“Of course son, let me get the door for you.”

With another exchange of thank you’s, Ron leaves. He finds his Dad in the lobby as they walk together to the car. On the way he fills him in best he can, biting his tongue about the questions he has about Healer Evangeline. The good news is, his father says the fine for Hermione apparating without a license should be dropped within the week.

Other than that they don’t speak.

Ron just enjoys Hermione’s sleeping form across his lap as he strokes her hair. Letting the feeling be a reminder that she’s here with him.

The whole way home his thoughts are plagued by the things Hermione probably underwent in that place. Unforgivables. Starvation. Physical torment. Torture. Maybe even worse things.

It makes him sick.

He supposes the thought of not knowing almost makes it worse, like he has no choice but to theorize the worse. This is certainly something he and Narcissa will need to discuss.

Then he thinks of her wish to have a funeral.

The promise he made her of going to visit Hampstead.

He knows he should do it before Hermione wakes up, hoping it’ll take one thing off her plate. Like Jamison said, she needs to rest. To heal.

Soon enough he sees the crooked shape of The Burrow come into view as his father pulls up onto the grass.

Ron opts for carrying her into the house, not bothering with the chair. It worries him a bit that she doesn’t even stir.

“Go put her upstairs, then come down. I’m sure your Mum will want to know about the appointment.” Arthur says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Ron nods and takes the steps two at a time.

He lays Hermione in his bed gently, tucking the quilt around her.

“I’ll be back soon, darling.” He promises before going back down the steps.

When he arrives back in the living room he finds his parents talking in hushed whispers and his Mum, for whatever reason, looks right pissed. She has her arms crossed against her chest and a scowl on her face.

“Mum, Dad I need to talk to you about something.” He says gently, hoping that her anger wasn’t directed at him.

“Conveniently, I need to discuss something with you as well. Shall we go to the kitchen.” She’s not asking as she’s already pushing her way there.

Ron isn't sure why she’s so angry. He was surprised and almost a little embarrassed that she didn’t even ask about Hermione’s appointment. Nevertheless, he follows, trying to recall whatever the hell he did to piss her off.

Just last night she was praising him, telling him how proud she was of him.

His eyes bulge at the sight he’s met by, as do his fathers.

“You wanted to talk to Ronald? Let’s talk.” She bites out.

Ron’s eyes flick over to where Harry is standing, looking uncomfortable and apologetic.

He mouths a quick ‘sorry’ to his best mate. Ron ignores it, eyes too focused on the fact that standing next to Harry is Ginny and next to Ginny, is Narcissa Malfoy.

#Ron and Hermione #Ron Weasley #rons-hermiones come find me #ron x hermione #romione #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year #Hermione Granger

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