#so considerate so tender i almost wanted to say how i miss seeing her face everyday and talking shit until we're both panting with all the | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monstersqueen · 2 years

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Rudyard Funn and the bloodthirsty mob

alternatively : Antigone Funn and the hoodlums

(aka, wooden overcoats, s1e7, "The Cliffhanger")

Well, Chapman in the opening scene would go along very well with some of TMA monsters and avatars. Like, i swear he was stealing nikola's vibe.

RUDYARD: “For Georgie, with fondest wishes... Chapman!” Siding with the enemy are we? Et tu, Georgie? GEORGIE: Don't be stupid, sir! He makes my skin crawl. RUDYARD: So why's he sending you flowers? Riddle me that, Georgie! GEORGIE: Because he won’t take apathy for an answer. He thought “rescuing” me from drowning was a tender moment. RUDYARD: But you elbowed him in the face. GEORGIE: He thought all seven times were accidents. RUDYARD: That does it. It’s high time we sorted out the Chapman conundrum once and for all.

Before anyone starts thinking of Rudyard too highly, 1) sorting out the Chapman conundrum is something he tries to do every episode and 2) what's actually breaking the camel's back, here, is not Chapman's inability to take a hint or seven and borderline harrassment of his employee/almost friend; not, it's the flower invasion. if the flowers had been sent at georgie's home, he wouldn't care. (ah, he might. might.)

Still, endearing.

GEORGIE: You mean kill him? RUDYARD: The next best thing! We get a rhinoceros, a really hungry one, and set it loose at his next funeral. Masterful! GEORGIE: No! That won’t work. RUDYARD: Why not? You can nab us a rhino from somewhere. GEORGIE: Well yes – I’m great at acquiring rhinos – but that’s not the point.

I'd like to point out last time antigone suggested cyanure (though who should ingest it was unclear). Here, georgie is the one suggesting murder. Like, i want to be real clear than no matter how unpleasant and petty (and outright ridiculous ? rhino ?) Rudyard is, murder is. simply not in his considerations.

anyway the next scene with antigone is amazing :

chapman will train the rhino to give rides to children. georgie's right

they keep ignoring antigone.

rudyard somehow already forgot anitgoen's weekly movie night

"yes, but none of it helped" because rudyard is. somewhat single-track minded.

GEORGIE: And we won a trunk full of raunchy books. RUDYARD: That man doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Hmm. Later seasons rudyard give such a strong aro vibe that i dont think he would say that.

RUDYARD: Never mind; I do! He'll be run out of the village- FRONT DOOR OPENS, BELL TINKLES. STILL RAINING. MAYOR: We’re very nearly a town! RUDYARD: Yes, your worship. MAYOR: Carry on! FRONT DOOR CLOSES. BELL TINKLES

lol

Antigone! Have you seen the camera? Antigone? Where does that woman get to when you actually want her?

i want it known, as much as i love rudyard, were he MY twin brother i would have commited fratricide long before. antigone is stronger than i am. (not that anyone doubted that)

ANTIGONE: Knowing you'll never see me again. ERIC: Oh, well, I'm very encouraging of people wanting to seek their fortunes in the cruel, wide world. Bring me that horizon – that's what I say!

....if i was in the mood i'd look for how he say goodbye to her in the last episode

ERIC: By the way, is, er... is Georgie in? ANTIGONE: Oh keep it in your pants, Eric, she's not interested. ERIC: Sorry?

ah eric, eric. it's nearly the end of the first season! how do you not know that already? how have you not yet grown enough to understand that no, not everyone will like you?

ANTIGONE: (SIGHS) Farewell, Eric Chapman - farewell forever!

Poor Antigone. No one's appreciating her drama. Or her. (well, i've listened to the episode, and the hoodlums are a delight)

AGATHA: Good Lord no, Mr Chapman! We couldn't suspect you! Why I'd be run out of the village before- MAYOR: (OFF) We’re very nearly a town, Constable!

all this talk of running someone out of the village (nearly a town ! ), do you wonder who is truly at risk here ? (if you've listened to the show, you already know)

BAZ: Yeah, but like, if you think about it, the very meaning of art as we know it, like, changed throughout the twentieth century, conceptually I mean. WEZ: That's just it though innit: concept art, yeah? Art that has a purpose beyond being aesthetically or, like, technically significant, innit? ROZ: Yeah but that's why we need to lose the semantic ambiguity, cause it's crap, yeah, just saying 'art' like it means something, you know, when you should say, like, concept art or platform art or performance art or- BAZ: Oi, shut it. Someone's coming.

a delight, i told you.

ANTIGONE: Come to think of it, I've never really seen anything ever. Just corpses. Jars of formaldehyde. More corpses. Jars of ashes. Truffaut films. Some more corpses. Jars of cavity fluid. Cocteau films- WEZ: Oh he's well good! ROZ: Shh, what is wrong with you?! ANTIGONE: I agree. Cocteau is overrated in my opinion. Too fanciful. I’m more partial to the Nouvelle Vague. ROZ: Oo. Tell on.

And Antigone has found her people !

I didn’t know you were writing a book.

Rudyard it's at least the second time she mentioned it to you since the start of the series !

Which is filled with fish. SQUEAK? So the cat doesn’t mind.

obviously. (btw rudyard is. not such a terrible person actually. he can get TWO gold stars 'not as big a jerk as you could have been'. and about twenty 'you tried')

AGATHA: Why is that bin full of fish? RUDYARD: Well. Where else would they be? AGATHA: In the sea. RUDYARD: (BEAT) Hardly! Haven't you heard of over-fishing? The ocean's populations are in crisis! We've fished all the fish so instead of being in the sea they're now all in bins. AGATHA: Really? RUDYARD: In fact, look! Here's your evidence! This bin is full of fish!

....stellar logic example. btw i love rudyard. (i'd like to point out that in the beginning sequence rudyard is perfectly fine being buried alive, and only wishes madeleine was with him. because she's his best friend ! of course, more selfless people would more be like 'oh i'm glad she's not in this terrible situation with me :(( but i miss her :((('. rudyard, not being such a good person, just wish she was here. Heartwarming.

GEORGIE: Here kitty kitty, here kitty kitty kitty - eurgh I hate my job - here kitty, that's right, you just stay there, right in my laser-sharp cat-napping telescopic sights...

Georgie : great at acquiring rhino, not so much at cats.

GEORGIE: Cats are like lobsters. You have to boil them alive. ERIC: Well, never mind that now, Georgie. There's something I've got to tell you.

On one hand : georgie could not have been more clear she's not interested. on the other : if he's still interested after she's told him she boils cats alive to eat them, well... he's probably not listening to her.

ERIC: I read in a magazine that this is every woman's favourite proposal.

He's reading Darcy's proposal. The first one. Where he keeps insulting her family. Sure it's very romantic - 'i've chosen you against my better judgment' at least you can't doubt his feelings - but. the reason why it's a favorite. is because she shoots that down.

oh, eric. unable to express a feeling with taking a role.

ANTIGONE: Ever since I can remember, even from childhood, I'd see all the happiness around me and have a sense of myself as a separated being, standing alone in the dark, looking at – but unable to reach – the light that others seemed to experience as their due.

Antigone : most relatable character ever.

ANTIGONE: I waited at the sidelines, trembling with naive anticipation. Young men and women brushed past.

psst : bi antigone.

MADELEINE: (V.O.) Whilst in Conveniently Deserted Street, Rudyard was awaiting Georgie and the cat with his signature calm and equanimity... RUDYARD: GEORGE-IEE!

i love him.

ANTIGONE: No, it's time to move on. My life has been a closed book, and now nothing remains but to head off into the cruel, wide world and, well, open it. And read it. And make notes in the margins. And then maybe lend it to someone and be embarrassed about the notes in the margins. And then never get it back and learn the lesson of not lending people books.

god i love her

she got all of rudyard's share of creativity and imagination didn't she ? neither of them have any sense though no matter what she thinks

I mean, didn’t he cry for a whole week from birth when, despite being twins, my own worldly entrance was delayed due to my in-utero depression?

i have zero doubt about that. rudyard does love her ! it's just that, been rudyard, that doesn't mean he can remember even basic facts about her, such as her weekly movie night. no, she's his sister, in the basement, embalming corpses, and being her when he needs her. rudyard doesn't really get that whole concept of 'people having a life outside of him'.

ANTIGONE: And, damn it, am I not the single most talented mortician and embalmer in a one-mile radius? BAZ: I hear Chapman’s good-

no he isn't.

ANTIGONE: Thank you, Local Village Hoodlums! Should you ever need anything embalmed, I am at your disposal! BAZ: Wicked! ROZ: We found that dead rhino in the wheelie bin...

finally someone appreciates her.

We've been here for hours. It's a miracle Conveniently Deserted Street has managed to live up to its name for so long. Thank God the farmers’ market got cancelled.

...are you telling me in piffling vale, the farmer's market take place in Conveniently Deserted Street ???

MADELEINE: (V.O.) As Rudyard posed this very question, a cat, drawn by the scent of fish, made its approach, sensed me tucked away in Rudyard's breast pocket, and made a dramatic bid for supper by leaping at Rudyard's head and trying to claw me out.

i'd like to point out it's not the last time rudyard's biggest troubles can be attributed to the fact his best friend is a mouse.

AGATHA: Just popped into my head – you see, this is very clever: the bush represents the Digital Age's tangled over- saturation of...

you know, given what we've seen of the hoodlums, that does sound in line with their philosophy

MOB: (VARIOUS ANGRY MUTTERINGS) Shocking!... Disgusting!... Animal cruelty!... RUDYARD: Now- now look here, if you would just give me the chance to explain, we can settle this very reasonably. JERRY: Let's run him out of the village!

...yeah.

also, the whole day the street was Conveniently Deserted. rudyard fights a cat for his best friend's life, and suddenly the whole village is here.

ANTIGONE: My brother’s being pursued by a furious mob? MAYOR: They've got flaming torches and everything! GEORGIE: Cool! ANTIGONE: No! Not cool, Georgie! Not cool at all!

cool is not the word indeed. 'business as usual' is. but, of course, this is only the first time. anyway i just wanted to record georgie still not yet being ride or die for the funns.

GEORGIE: (IRRITATED SIGH) Fine. CAT SLUNG INTO A BIN. YOWL.

the cat is right to yowl. at least the other bin was full of fish.

MADELEINE: (V.O.) ... And inexplicably grabbed a discarded hatchet. HATCHET PICKED UP. RUDYARD: We can’t leave this lying around; it’s not safe. MADELEINE: (V.O.) Until – ragged, splattered with red paint and wielding a deadly weapon – he took a brief pause to expend his rage on the dummy Eric Chapman.

he was absolutely sincere about the safety issue btw.

MADELEINE: (V.O.) And then finally, he arrived at the Piffling Cliffs, and began to climb its slopes in the worst thunderstorm Piffling had seen since the fifteenth century.

not just the mob ! the thunderstorm too !

MARJORIE: (OFF) Mr Mayor! Your worship! MAYOR: Marjorie! Top work laying on the searchlight- MARJORIE: But sir, it’s the lighthouse keeper! MAYOR: Captain Sodbury? What about him? MARJORIE: He’s dead! Murdered! Harpooned through the hat! AGATHA: Good Lord! MAYOR: You were right, Ms Doyle! There is a killer on the island! AGATHA: And I think I know who it is!

me too ! how about the one who found the body? i mean, while he was killed, your suspect was seen murdering eric chapman, so....

AGATHA: Rudyard Funn, you are the Monster of Piffling Vale! Anything you say will be taken down and entirely disregarded! Take him away!

....do you think finding out he's innocent and they've jumped to conclusions will change anything about how they regard him ? no ? yeah, you're right.

MAYOR: Rudyard Funn! Who would have thought it? He always seemed such a well-adjusted fellow, didn’t he?

....ah bon?

#myposts #listening again to wooden overcoats #wo spoilers #wooden overcoats #wooden overcoats spoilers

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crisishauntline · 8 months

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Feeling so so tired today, and still sad. I believe she is making progress, but I don’t trust it, which means that I don’t trust her. I’m trying to.

Every day feels like a roll of the dice. There have been some days when neither of us felt hurt by the other, but even those days feel tinged with hurt from the day before. I want a perfect day. I want to see her in the sun. I want to trust her to face and release her demons instead of fighting me.

Last night I gave her some concrete phrases to use to show me more tenderness. The basic one is “I love you and care about how you feel, and I’ll be ready to talk about it when you want to.” She asked me to repeat it a few times for her before she said it back, taking care to say the words right and mean them. She asked me to tell it to her again tonight when she called after work. She’s practicing. It’s touching, but also sad that it’s such a new idea to her. All she really learned from her family is shouting and casting blame. Unlearning that will be a long road, even with applying all her strength and earnestness to the task.

On the other side of all this sadness and distrust is my guilt and self-doubt. I feel like I might be a terrible partner, that maybe I’m the selfish and manipulative one, that I’m weak and useless and wrong about everything. It’s made worse by the times when I can tell she believes it too, even though she’s too afraid I’d leave her if she said it out loud. I feel a little crazy and extremely insecure. Even when I am certain how I feel and why I feel so hurt and unloved sometimes—a considerable improvement from the last time we dated—I am anxious as hell that I actually have no right to feel that way.

So, am I the least reliable narrator in the world, or is my self-doubt simply overwrought humility, the imperfect evidence of my validity and worthiness to feel my own feelings? I know I am moralizing too much. Look at me now, writing endlessly about my hurt and saintly empathy without so much as mentioning her chronic pain, the slow self-destruction of her cruel alcoholic mother, and the tumor in her grandmother’s pancreas. When we watched Claire dance with her parents at the wedding, she told me she cried from missing her dad, and at the thought that if we ever got married, her mom and grandma might be dead too.

I feel sick, almost disgusted at myself, for not being able to suck up my feelings in light of her much bigger ones. But it’s not as if I do nothing for her in these moments either. Being present and tender with her, comforting her, holding her unraveling heart in my hands is as natural and involuntary as breathing. I empathize deeply with her hurt, though she doesn’t really hear or remember it—or maybe I don’t say it out loud as often as I think, like she says? I really think I do though. I know yesterday I did, but it was only when we talked again in the middle of the night that she believed me. It was after I told her those phrases, and she said “But can you ask me how I’m feeling too?” When I told her I had asked many times, she asked me when. At first it seemed more like an accusation than a question, but she clarified that she really wanted to know what she’d missed. I told her, and she remembered. Another deeply bittersweet moment. And her sweetness held me.

#love life #personal

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talesofstyles · 3 years

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Good Morning Indeed

absolutely no plot whatsoever, just a bit of husband and dad harry in the midst of the family’s morning chaos 😂

Harry

“Go get the condom on.”

“I’ll pull out, I promise.”

“Your pull out game is weak.”

“Oi, them’s fightin’ words.”

“There’s a reason we’ve got six kids.” Says the missus with a roll of those pretty—but sometimes deadly (please don’t tell her I said this)—eyes. “‘Sides, I’ve just changed the sheets yesterday. You are not coming on the sodding sheets.”

“Fine,” I sigh and reach down to the bedside table. Why is the drawer filled with sodding Duplo and those tiny, pricey Sylvanian Family bunnies? I’m guessing kid number two, three and four have something to do with that. A few more seconds of rummaging before I finally found my treasure in the very back of the drawer. I lay on my back as I sheath myself up, and seeing as I’m already here… might as well, right? I smirk at her as I say, “hop on then.”

“Fat chance that,” she mutters. “Do I have to take off my top?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, it’s cold, and I’m a considerate husband. “A flash will do. Just give me a visual.”

She rolls up my shirt that she wears to sleep, a really old white rolling stones t-shirt that has two holes and a loose thread hanging on for dear life from the hem. She looks homeless. Gorgeous homeless though.

“Nice,” I flash her a boyish grin, like a teenage boy seeing his first pair of tits. “You’ve got great racks.”

“You’re just saying that…”

I know what she sees when she looks at herself in the mirror and I wish she could look at herself through my eyes.

“Hey, don’t you dare. My babies grew in that body, that’s everything.”

Her tender smile hits me right in the gut. “I love you.”

“Love me enough to ride me?” I say with a playful flick to one nipple.

“Nice try.”

“I love you,” I mutter near her mouth and give her a searing kiss. I run my tongue over her bottom lip, then I kiss her down her neck, her cleavage and her breasts. I slowly circle one nipple, and she giggles, knowing it’s a well-rehearsed move that is guaranteed to do what’s needed. See, her tits are kind of like start buttons. No matter the situation, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick. Her head slams back against the pillow. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We’ve got ignition lads.

I nestle my body on top of hers, and there’s a bit of wayward angling and poking until I find my way inside of her. And then it’s on. Two bodies writhing on the bed. My hips rotate in long, slow circles.

“Bollocks!”

“What? The condom isn’t broken, is it?”

“No, it’s bin day. I forgot to take out the recycling bin.”

“S’fine, we’ve got time before the school run.”

The bin’s sorted, back to the shag…

I slide my hands under her, bringing us closer. Rocking us faster. My forehead hovers close to hers and I open my eyes so I can watch. What can I say? I’m greedy like that. I want to soak up every gasp, every flicker of pleasure across her face. Pleasure I’m giving her.

Her breathing changes. It turns panting and desperate, and I know she’s close. I move harder, grinding against her, inside her, with every forward push. Warms sparks tickle my spine and heat spreads down until every nerve in my body is shaking. I slam inside her, burying deep as her hips jerk upward. She spasms hard around me, gripping me tight.

I rock back my hips and pull almost all the way out, but then I freeze. Because a dreaded sound echoes across the room, grabbing our full attention. It’s coming from the baby monitor. It’s a rustling, the sound of cotton rubbing cotton. Like snipers in the jungle, we don’t move a muscle. We don’t say a word. We wait, until the rustling stops. And all is quiet again.

Too bad it’s not for long. Because two thrusts in, a light comes on in the landing. Followed by small footsteps heading down the stairs. Shit.

“Harry, just come already. They’ll all be up soon.”

“I’m close… don’t rush it, you’re scaring it away.”

She grinds her hips. Also another well-rehearsed move that she knows will get me off. But I freeze again, because there’s a second set of footsteps and the sound of a toilet flushing. Oh, and the babies next door are starting to whimper.

Great.

“I’M HUNGRY!” That’s James, darling little cockblocker number four who likes to be fed on time. He’s three.

“WE’LL BE OUT IN A SECOND!” My wife shouts over my shoulder. “Harry for the love of god-”

I pick up the rhythm. Small beads of sweat form on my brow. She grinds her hips again, and I try to focus. “Just like that, fuck, keep doing that.”

“Sshh, keep your voice down.”

“IS THERE ANY BREAD THAT ISN’T 50/50?” That’s Eleanor, child number two. She’s seven, and she’s one of those children who seem to possess a discernible palate that knows when we’ve changed brands of baked beans or attempt to bring sugar-free fruit squash through the doors.

“IT’S THE SAME,” I reply.

“NO, IT’S NOT. DO WE HAVE OTHER FOOD?”

“THERE ARE SHREDDIES.”

“DON’T LIKE ‘EM.”

“PORRIDGE.”

“I’M NOT A BEAR!”

Honestly, seven-year-olds gunning for a fight this early in the morning can go do one.

The babies are starting to gather volume next door so I try to focus again. It only takes a few more thrusts before ecstasy wrecks my body, making me shudder. I press my lips against her neck as I come back down to earth. But I don’t move yet. I know we should get going because things are already chaotic outside our door, but I just don’t have the will yet. I’m considering going back to sleep for a minute or two. She won’t mind, will she? Well, I’m wrong. Because she proceeds to perform the move that seems to amuse every sodding woman on earth. And causes every man to squeal like a bloody pig. Without warning, she uses her powerful muscle to squeeze my extremely sensitive cock.

Girls, grab a piece of paper and write this down. I’m speaking on behalf of every man to walk on earth here; we hate that. We don’t think it’s funny.

I jerk back, pull out, and roll off her. I try to look annoyed as she giggles, and obviously I fail, because that freshly fucked, flushed-face makes it impossible not to grin back.

“CAN I HAVE JAFFA CAKE?” That’s Victoria, child number three. She’s five, and she’s yelling as she thunders up the stairs.

“JAFFA CAKE ISN’T BREAKFAST,” my wife shouts back as she sits up and hands me a nappy sack. “Harry…”

I wrap up the condom with it and toss it to the bin. “You’ve just taken me life force, woman, give me a moment.”

“CUSTARD CREAM?”

“NO.” We shout in unison.

“HOBNOB THEN?”

“STAY AWAY FROM THE BISCUIT TIN!”

“You want to wrestle a biscuit-hunting kid out of a cupboard and 50/50 bread drama or fussy babies with full nappies?”

“Babies.” I hear a small child get whacked by a sibling downstairs and I feel like I may have got the better deal here.

Next door, the twins are not happy. They’re six months old now, and they’re both teething. Thing one glares at me as I walk into their nursery and thing two stares at me stroppily from the corner of her cot. Their cheeks are scarlet, and thing one proceeds to bark at me like a seal. I pick his warm, sleepy, cuddly body and cradle it close to mine as I lay him down on the changing table. I smell the dampness. It’s definitely wee. He’s soaked through, I think I didn’t tuck his willy in when I last changed him around three in the morning so it sprayed in some upward motion and drenched his clothes. See, this is why girls are better than boys. There’s no way they can pee upwards.

After I put a fresh nappy and a change of clothes, I put him down on the rug so he can wiggle around while I grab his sister and sort her out. After six kids, I’m definitely a pro with baby duty and can practically change their clothes one-handed. The whole thing takes only a few minutes.

I cuddle the babies on each side as I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. They immediately reach out to their mum who’s cracking some eggs as soon as they spot her, knowing she’s the only one who can cure their hunger this morning.

“Uniforms!” She says to the big kids as she takes one baby into her arms. “We’ll do breakfast after. Please, please, please…”

Desperate pleas lead them to saunter out and up the stairs. I follow my wife into the living room and hand her the other baby as she plops down on the couch. She rolls up her shirt and the babies latch instantly. Tandem nursing is harder now that they’re a little older and aware of their surroundings. They’re trying to scratch each other’s faces as they nurse. “Oi, what’s this? You each get a tit, stop fighting.”

They seem to somehow listen to me and have stopped trying to poke each other’s eyeballs. We’ll see how long that lasts. “Finish the eggs?”

I nod. “I’m on it.”

I brew some coffee, finish the scrambled eggs, and pop the slices after slices of bread in the toaster. Breakfast is done just in time as my wife walks back into the kitchen with two full and happy babies. She puts them in their high chairs and I scoop a bit of eggs on each of their trays for them to nibble on.

George appears back in the kitchen clad in his uniform with his also dressed brother trailing behind. We always lay his clothes the night before on his bed and he gets dressed all by himself in the morning. And he’s getting better at it, seeing he only missed a button on his shirt.

“Hi mate,” I say as I fix his button and he flashes a toothy grin at me. I plop him down on the chair, he’s graduated from the high chair now but still uses a booster seat.

“No toast!”

“What do you want then?”

“Chee-yos?”

I nod before I grab a handful of cheerios and set them on his plate next to his eggs. Then I take a few steps back across the table. “Hey, James, set it up.”

He flashes me another toothy grin before he opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one. Styles got the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots…”

I toss the Cheerios in a high arc. It lands right into his mouth.

“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”

“Viv stole the biscuit tin, you know? She ate three jammie dodgers upstairs.” Eleanor says as she walks in with book bags and school shoes.

George, seeing his sister walks in, proceeds to open his mouth wide and flashes her the half-chewed eggs on his tongue. It’s his current thing and it annoys his sisters to death. The young’uns think differently though as they double over in laughter.

“Eeewww!” She shrieks. “You’re so gross!”

“VICTORIA, PUT THAT BISCUIT TIN DOWN AND GET YOUR BUTT IN THE KITCHEN! AND GO GET THEM HAIR TIE THINGIES…”

“I didn’t have any biscuits!” She yells and runs down the stairs.

This kid is the quintessential daddy’s girl. She climbs up onto my lap right away, handing me the brush and a hair tie.

“See, poppet, I would’ve believed you if you didn’t leave evidence all over your face,” I arch one of my eyebrows as I sweep a speck of raspberry jam on the corner of her mouth.

“You always do a ponytail,” she huffs.

“Either that or I give you a bowl cut with kitchen scissors. I reckon that fruit bowl will do. Your choice.”

“Can I have some more eggs?” George asks with his mouth full of his last bite.

“God, that’s like your third serving,” Eleanor grumbles.

“Nag.”

At that insult, Eleanor flings a piece of toast like a ninja. Before George can retaliate, my wife gives them both the look.

“Viv, will you at least have some eggs?”

“No.”

“Fine,” my wife sighs. “I’m gonna get changed then.”

I glance at the clock and, well, shit, I should get dressed too. “Can you lot watch the babies and try not to kill each other for the next five minutes?”

“Five quid each?” Eleanor tries to negotiate. “Babysitting isn’t supposed to be free, you know? That sounds like child labour to me.”

Bollocks.

“Two quid each,” I give her my dad look that says the offer is final and indisputable.

“Deal.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #dad harry imagines #dad harry styles #dad!harry #husband!harry #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles ff #harry styles one shot #the styles gang

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zackcrazyvalentine · 3 years

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Hi! Can I request all the dorm leaders confessing to their male crush who is their first male crush? Maybe some panicking about reader not accepting his feelings but he does?

I hope this is good… some bits are intense

may have gotten very carried away writing this... be ready for some angst

-- -- --

OVERVIEW

Some boys get over the initial shock sooner than others

Others take a while to fully work out their internalized problems and doubts

Vil and Kalim are ones to settle with their feelings quickly (though Kalim does have one doubt cling to his mind)

Followed by Riddle and Leona, both had a realizations that made them snap out of their doubts

Malleus struggles more with understanding that what he’s feeling is love more than struggling with how he likes a guy

The two who struggle the most are Azul and Idia

Azul due to the past bullying he sustained, and how he feels he isn’t being honest to the boy he fancies because his personality isn’t exactly his true self, but one built to appear powerful and capable

Idia… Idia feels this is some sort of joke fate threw at him. His self hate and internalize prejudices make it hard for him to accept his feelings

🌹 Riddle Rosehearts 🥀

The moment Riddle realizes he looks forward to have this boy present in any future Unbirthday Parties, and how the dorm head tries to show off when tutoring him, is when it clicks

And he feels such an immense happiness, feeling like he’s floating on a cloud, while his face develops a bright red flush paired with a soft smile

But it crumbles when one thought haunts his mind: “What will mother think?”

There’s a mess in his mind and heart, and a heavy feeling in his chest that makes it hard to breath

“What mother thinks… what she would say…” Sudden unadulterated rage fills his body, “What mother has said and done until this day led me to Overblot, to almost lose my life…”

It’s between tears that he decides not to give a single care about what his parents think of his feelings. It’s his life, time to finally live it as he sees fit

What were those tears of, sadness or happiness? He knows not, but most probably it was a mix of both

Sadness for letting go years of strictly following his mother’s rules and fulfilling her expectations, and happiness to finally fight for what he wants

Still, Rosehears will make sure to eventually speak up to his mother about this and reach middle ground where both are happy (she’s still someone he respects and wants approval from)

You know this boy take to research in order to understand his emotions better, and learn ways to approach his crush

Understanding and considerate to the other boy’s feelings, will approach him when he thinks it’s appropriate

“[Name], I have something to confess. First off, I want to tell you that you’re a dear friend and I understand if you wish for some distance.” The redhead would take a deep breath before looking deep into his eyes, “[Name] [Surname]... I… I’m in love with you and… and I want to fight for our feelings, in case you feel the way I do.”

“Riddle..! That’s- I- Woah, you really-! I-It’s just..!” The boy babbled, brows furrowed at his own nerves.

“Ah! Uh… Don’t pressure yourself, I understand.” Rosehearts put on a strained smile, “If you need distance, I understand, as well.”

“No no, Riddle! What I mean is that-! I-...UGH! I LOVE YOU TOO, YOU LITTLE QUEEN!” The [hair color] blurted out, blushing furiously once he realized what he did.

Riddle himself blushed, too. “Oh? O-OH!” He snickered adorably, “So, uhm… How about you pass by Heartlabyul for a cup of tea? Maybe… we could schedule a date?”

🦁 Leona Kigscholar 💛

We all know Leona respects women and sees everyone for their potential, disregarding prejudice

At first, the beastman thought this was an amazing friendship. Both making each other surpass their previous accomplishments, become better

One day, when that huge dumb happy smile was directed at him, his breath hitched

“What the fuck?” (yup, this was definitely his first thought)

Leona isolated himself for a good while, and every night he would remember Fereena’s tales of how he fell in love with his wife. All those mushy feelings and tender words… it all made sense now, as much as it irritated him to admit

A single laugh tore through his throat. Man, what a life, huh?

But it’s exactly that what helped him say Fuck it and push through

They made him a second son, unworthy of the throne, even more so now that there was his brother’s brat as future heir

He was not about to let his family ruin this for him too

If there’s anything lions will always have is their pride, and Leona would proudly show his crush off to his whole dorm… in his own way

Everyone at Savanaclaw was surprised to see their dorm head share food with this one boy, even allowing him to disturb his sleep and crash with him whenever

Ruggie caught up rather quickly and got to investigate things behind Leona’s back

“Hey, Leona-san, why don’t you just come out and tell him?” “Huh?” “He doesn't understand your courting, go on and spit it out already.”

“Stop it.”

“W-What?” [Name] asked in confusion. He just wanted to share a tonkotsu sandwich with the lion. Seems like waking him up this time was a mistake, he had you pinned under his tall frame.

A growl rumbled through the 3rd year’s chest, “Stop… Looking so stupidly cute.”

[Color] eyes widened, “Huh? What do you-?” His inquiry was cut off by a pair of rough lips on his.

Leona smugly smiled down at the stunned boy, but the silence quickly made him roll off. “Shit… I’m sorry, just… go, leave me alone.”

“Leona”

“Leave”

“...Leona” He tried with a firmer voice this time.

With a roar, he tried to intimidate, “Just go already! I don’t want to-!” It was the beastman’s turn to be silenced by a kiss.

They looked at each other for a few seconds before [Name]’s face colored red.

Leona snorted, “Feisty little herbivore, I see… Not bad…”

It felt nice to feel his own heart beat rapidly after such a long time of feeling numb.

🐙 Azul Ashengrotto 💜

Oh, he knew the feeling well

He had it a couple times before when young, albeit more airy, not as serious. Still, the fear of rejection and mockery led him to forcefully remove the emotion from his repertoire

So, once he felt the tendrils of love grace his heart, Azul panicked

Completely isolated himself from everyone, pretty much. Piling as many mountains of work as he could onto himself so he had no real reason to leave his office or room.

“How will [Name] love someone as fake as me? As pathetic as me? As-” The flashback of his compliments in the underwater museum interrupted his train of thought. Tears fell down his cheeks as he coughed up ink from the stress.

Then he realized how much he missed spending time with his crush. How the buy would occasionally visit Mostro Lounge to share a drink and catch up… How those [color] eyes remained trained on his, how close he would sit to him, how the [ x ] year would accidently sip the mermen's drink--

Wait… “Does he like me back…?”

“AHAHAHA NO, OF COURSE NOT! YOU’RE OVERANALYZING THINGS, AZUL! ...unless 👉👈”

That’s when he slowly tries to interact with the object of his affections again

Man… MAN… THERE’S NOTHING AS AWKWARD AS THESE TWO

When one tries to act suave and flirty with the other, an accident happens

Be it spitting a drink on the other’s face… or ink

That, or it completely flies over their head (both their heads, the nerves are too much… I’m sure they could power the whole Isle of Sages with their anxiety)

Eventually…

“You’re leaving already? Aww, I wanna be shellfish and keep you to myself~” Azul sighed dramatically, playing his typical theatrics.

“Oh, worry not! For you octopi my thoughts all day, Azul~!” [Name] answered back.

Azul choked on his drink (while a pair of twins snickered some ways away at the awful flirty puns). “Wha-wha-wha-wha-! What?!” This was the first time flirting was return when either party started it.

“Ahaha… Well… Haven't you been flirting with me?” He looked at Octavinelle’s dorm head with a light blush and worry on his face. Maybe he was interpreting his comments incorrectly?

If Ashengrotto doesn’t take the leap here, he will lose the chance. “Have been… for a while now, yes. Ahem, thank you for noticing.”

“So… Does that mean we can-?” “Stop with the sea life puns, yes”

The boy pouted, “I mean...sure, but that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” (No, he was definitely going to say another pun). Regardless, he threw a soft smile at the octomer, “Can we go out some time? I enjoy your company a lot, Azul. Let me see all different sides of you, yes?”

☀️ Kalim Al-Asim 🦂

This is one thing he need no help with. Once he felt that distinct fluttering in his heart and how his whole body buzzed after his crush touched him, he knew

And he LAUGHED

Laughed the merriest laugh, danced around the entire room (or all of Scarabia, if they were at the dorm), and hugged everyone in his path (first victim being his crush, followed by poor Jamil)

I can see him blurt out his feelings right then and there

“Kalim, Kalim! What is wrong with you?” The [color] eyed boy snickered. Kalim could be so cute~

“[Name]!! Do you- Did you feel it too?! The sparks?! The butterflies?!” The white haired male held him by the shoulders, bringing him so close to his face.

“It feels...magical! Like I-! I-.! [Name] can I… c-can I… kiss you?” Round garnet eyes shone with intense happiness, the [ x ] year found it difficult to speak (his breath was stolen away~).

At that, Kalim gasped, letting go of his friend. “Oh, sorry! That was p-probably very, uh, sudden.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“No, you dork! Please!” Now it was [Name] who brought the 2nd year closer, “Kiss me!”

And so the Asim heir did~! The blushing boys shared their first kiss surrounded by high energy and happiness.

Otter boy would want to tell his parents as soon as possible of his fortune, but one though stopped him on his tracks

As the first son of the Asim family, his parents will surely want him to have a kid, a future heir

“I know they will be happy for me, but… Will they fully accept the relationship?”

No one has ever seen Kalim so determined to study the Land of Hot Sand’s history

He was set on finding an example for his parents to understand that, regardless of who he chose as his future spouse, their family can have a future heir

There’s many ways to bring children into the family! Why only be tied by blood?

Whatever their answer to his relationship and example is, Kalim is fully prepared to push on and not give up on his love

They make it together or they give it up together. Kalim knows the implications of this, of probably being disowned and whatnot; while it breaks his heart, he will want to go on with it. “What’s the point of being with them if they won’t accept and love their son for being happy with who he loves?”

Kalim’s love for his boyfriend runs deep, and his for Kalim runs equally as profound

They will make it through any hurdles and obstacles in their path

👑 Vil Schoenheit ❤️

The one that takes it most calmly

Sure, he’s happy and excited there’s someone he fancies, but he’s Vil Schoenheit: Cool as a cucumber, elegant always, rising sta; a crush won’t make him lose his composure, in public

In private, though... boooyyyy you bet he’s dreamy sighs and fantasies, love songs and talks with the pillow

It doesn’t fully shock him to like a guy. Love is love, there’s nothing wrong in loving someone with your whole heart, outside opinions are irrelevant

Maybe he’s delved into what the LGBTQIA+ community is due to fellow actors and people in the industry he looks up to, one or two (or more) identities called out to him in his research

(can totally see Vil as an Ally that later on discovered his own identities the further he advocates for the community’s rights)

Still, he will take his time to fully register and unravel his feelings towards the guy. He would absolutely detest getting both their hopes up when no real feelings exist between them

Will occasionally throw coquettish comments and carefully invade his crush’s personal space with playful touches to see his reaction.

I believe he knows how to read people well, so this is a key element for him to know if the boy’s interested too or not, and Vil’s next plan of action

Don’t think Vil tells anyone about his crush, but the ever observant Rook catches on and encourages him to pursue his feelings

If they get in a relationship, it will become public only after approval is given by his partner. Privacy should always be respected

“Vil?” [Name] poked his head through the door after knocking on it. The letter said to meet him here, along with other very sweet and heartfelt words.

The blond signaled him to come closer, “Do close the door behind you. Take a sit.”

“Vil, I-” The words he practiced so many times failed to come out.

Pomefire’s dorm leader smiled into his cup, “Don’t worry about it, [Name], I understand. However,” Amethyst eyes look into deep pools of [eye color], “I hope we can remain as frien-” A folded piece of paper slid his way interrupted Vil.

Eyes shifted from the hastily made card to the student across him. Slowly, Vil took the paper and read the words inside.

A gentle smile shaped his painted lips, “Aren’t you the sweetest?” Giggling lightly, Schoenheit took the other’s hand and placed a tender kiss on his knuckles.

💀 Idia Shroud 💙

Alright, take it as you will…. but I think Idia would have some internalized homophobia problems

With how into anime, manga and games he’s into, of course he’s heard of same sex couples and the like

Doesn't react much to them, but maybe the parts involving them he passes quick in his media & games

He’s sorta indifferent to them

The typical boy that imagined his future with a nice girl that loves him as he is, but

The way this one friend of his makes him look forward to his next visit, how he interacts with Ortho and the way they play together, the gentle way he coaxes Idia out of his room to share a meal or drink in the cafeteria or Mostro Lounge

Then they accidentally brushed hands. Idia’s face flared up and his heart did a somersault

“I liked that” followed by “But [Name]’s a guy”

His brain is very much confused, and so is his heart. He believed himself straight, and very not attracted in other irl people, to have this revelation has his world made a mess

At first, he’s denying it, telling himself it was an overreaction… But that breath stealing sensation happened again once the guy smiled at him in greeting

Proceeds to isolate himself and fall into a hole of self loathing

“This can’t be happening” “Humans are disgusting” “Same sex couples are shunned, looked down upon” “I knew fate wouldn’t let me be happy ever in my life” “I have a prestigious family’s image to uphold, what will everyone say if they see me with a boy?”

“Love is disgusting”

His world is even more shaken after that thought crossed his mind… Is love disgusting? Up until few days ago, he was hoping for a future with love in it…

It then morphs to “I am disgusting, for feeling this towards a boy”

Doesn’t help when said boys actually shows up on his dorm and (quite literally) kicks down his door to know what is going on (Ortho helped with the door thing, after all, he’s also very worried about his brother)

“What are you doing here? Came over just to mock me, did you? Yeah, of course you did.” Idia immediately began his attack.

“What? Idia, what the hell is wrong with you?! I’m here because I care about you and I’m worried! It’s been more than a week! You haven’t even attended your classes through the tablet!” The [color] haired retaliated.

“I don’t want you here, I don’t want anyone here,” There was a strange glint in his eyes, “Especially you.”

“Idia, what?!” That hurt.

“I want to forget, I want to get purged from you!” His flaming hair bursted for a second. “I want you out of my life, out of my mind! Out of-! Out of my-!” Words choked in the older Shroud’s throat.

[Name] was scared, and very much hurt. “Idia… what is going on? Why are you saying such things?”

“Because I-! I-I..!” The 3rd year student felt like throwing up, this sadness, anxiety and unjustified rage did not sit well in his stomach. “Because I don’t want to feel this way! I-I don’t want to be in love, not like this!” Panic rushed through his blood, making his breathing erratic and vision blurry with tears.

The [hair color] rushed over to his friend’s side, carefully taking one of his hands and calling for his attention. “Idia, Idia, let’s do this together.” He placed the hand on his chest and took deep breaths. He kept repeating the breathing exercises until he saw the sapphire haired male repeat the motion, albeit shakily. “Now, tell me, what do you see on my jacket?”

“A-...A-A color… [fav. color]”

“Texture?”

“Sm-smooth”

“Keep breathing, don’t stop.”

“I see… a white shirt… a-and [color] skin...warm…” Idia continued describing, until his eyes crossed with [color] orbs. “A-And I see…” More tears welled up, pointy teeth biting harshly on his bottom lip to muffle the sobs, “I-I see… The friend I love most… The friend…. I love… love…” He finally rested his forehead on the other’s shoulder, silently letting his tears fall.

Shroud cried until he could no more, voice hoarse and head pounding. “I… Sorry, [Name]... I fell, fell for you and… don’t know how to… what to do…”

Gentle hands lifted his head, “It’s fine, it’s fine, Idia… If you allow me, we can work it out.”

🐉 Malleus Draconia 🖤

He took it as calmly as Vil, but with some bumps in the road (by bumps I mean long periods of time for him to realize what was happening)

All this time, he thought the feelings he held for his friend were purely that, platonic

It wasn’t until he spoke out to Lilia about how his insides tickled curiously whenever he walked under the skies with the boy that Lilia made him realize what it truly was

“Young Malleus, I do believe those tender feelings are a sign of you falling for the male” “Fall? No, We walk carefully through school grounds.” “No, Malleus, not literally.” “Ah, could it be the famous expression used when describing love? I’ve read it before in novels.” “Indeed, My Lord, you’re falling in love with [Name].”

Silence…. “Hah! Oh Lilia, your jokes are ever hilarious.” He just brushed it off, and continued to do so for a while.

While novels and books described the magical feeling in many different exciting ways, love wasn’t exactly something Malleus sought in his life

What he wanted most was company, friends, to never be alone again

And he certainly never felt alone when with the boy he fancies

Many months passed by rereading romance novels and reading new books for the little seed to sprout… maybe he was indeed falling for his friend

“Lilia, I have a question.” “Yes, My Lord?” “Why are same sex couples so rare in human literature?” “That, Malleus, is something not even I can fully comprehend… Humans can hold senseless hate in their hearts, and these couples are unfortunate objects of such hate.” “...They should learn from faefolk” “Indeed they should, indeed they should.”

He prods Lilia further to quell his curiosity and learn more, but the old bat eventually gets tired of it and leaves him with a “Dear Malleus, just explore the emotion you’re feeling right now. That’s better than asking an old man like yours truly to answer your questions. Explore and enjoy life!”

And that he does. His night walks with his crush become more frequent, he invites him to his dorm room to enjoy tea, info dumps about gargoyles, and starts his courting

Little useful (and random) gifts, Malleus even gives him some pieces of jewelry and gems from his own treasure (the biggest show of respect and affection between dragon fae)

“[Name], I have something special to give you.” Malleus broke the silence.

They had been sitting, looking at the stars for some time.

“Oh?” The boy outstretched his palm, where the taller male placed a single object.

[Color] eyes examined the smooth, dark object, awed at the hardness of it.

“It appears my previous gifts have been misinterpreted, so I will take to explain this one.” The crown prince began, “That is one of my very own scales. For us dragon fae, gifting jewels, precious metals, and scales is a great show of respect.”

“Oh! Well, thank you for thinking so highly of me! I certainly hold you in high regards, too, Malleus.” A bright smile appeared on the [ x ] year’s face.

“And they are also great displays of affection… tremendous, I would say.” Draconia added.

Silence.

And then…

“Oh my! Malleus, I am…!”

Silence once more.

“I see....” The dragon exhaled, “It is fine, apologies for not explaining things earlier. You’re, of course, welcomed to keep the gifts… They are gifts, after all.”

“Malleus… I’m just… Blown away-!” Shining eyes looked into his lime ones, “All your gifts… You were courting me without my knowledge… Sorry, I-I promise to make it up to you! If you allow me, of course…”

“Oh?” Shock and excitement pierced the dorm head’s heart, “Very well. Next time, come out in your best drapes. I wish for us to dine the finest of meals.” He could feel the tips of his fangs poke his bottom lip from how wide his smile was at that moment.

-- -- --

UEFHIRGOPEK THIS WAS SO LONG AAAAAAAA

Sorry if spelling mistakes sneak here and there 🙇‍♀️

Hope this was enjoyable! And sorry if I strayed from the original request (bc I definitely feel like I went in a tangent orz)

Thank you for the request!! This was very fun and interesting to imagine :D

962 notes · View notes

blackspoon99 · 3 years

Text

The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift.

---------------------------------

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

-----------------------------

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?”

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

----------------------------------------------------------------

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off.

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

--------------------------------------------------------

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

------------------------------------------------------

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall.

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.”

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I’m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though.

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlockxreader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #the sign of three

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mrspettyferr · 3 years

Text

A Midnight Wish Part 2: A Kiss of Dawn

Part 1

Elain was exhausted by the time she finally dragged herself to her bedchamber. She had neglected her slippers long ago, crossing over the threshold silently on padded feet.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her back against the closed door and closed her eyes. Despite the nature of the festivity--and the celebration of Nesta and Cassian--too many thoughts were still running wild in her mind. She tried not to think of how she had failed Nuala and Cerridwen, because that led her to thinking of someone else.

So she tried to think of nothing at all.

She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, fully clothed, her face still glowing with rouge and her hair still styled. But she would regret it in the morning--especially if she ruined such a beautiful gown.

Sighing, Elain walked to her vanity, plunked down, and got to work.

She had just finished removing the pins from her hair when she felt the night-kissed shadow ruffle the hem of her gown. She went very still, staring at the swirling darkness at her feet. It moved, and she turned and watched as it slithered away like a snake, across her floor and to the balcony.

Follow me, it seemed to say.

She hesitated only a moment before rising and padding quietly across her bedchamber. She pushed back her lilac curtains and stepped onto the balcony. There, crouched precariously on the railing like a gargoyle, was Azriel.

For a moment they just stared at each other, Elain still in her evening gown, her golden-brown waves blowing gently in the wind. Azriel still wore his finery, too, though he had retired from the party long before she had.

She wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but instead she blurted, "How are you doing that?"

He seemed surprised at her question. She could not blame him. "Doing what?"

"Balancing like--like that."

"It's not that difficult."

It most certainly was. "Perhaps you just make it seem easy."

"Perhaps," Az agreed, and though it was almost too dark to see, a slight smile tugged at his mouth.

Elain crossed her arms, shielding herself from the chill of the night. "You left the party quite early," she said, and immediately regretted it. She shouldn't have noticed.

"I had business to attend," he replied.

"He keeps you busy, doesn't he?"

She said it lightly, jokingly, but for some reason Azriel stiffened slightly. And when he spoke, he did not sound amused. "Yes, he does."

Silence fell, though it was not uncomfortable. It never had been with him. Still, Elain felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks as she considered the situation: it was very late, and there was a male perched outside her balcony. Not just any male, either.

She was about to ask him what he wanted, when she saw his head turn slightly, as though listening to something. A shadow, no doubt, though she could scarcely see one. But she did notice the way he went very well.

"What is it?" she asked, taking a step forward.

"Nothing." He turned back to her, his hazel eyes guarded. But not enough. Something was worrying him.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

He shrugged.

"You like your secrets, don't you?" she asked, her tone a bit sharper than she intended.

"No, I don't. But that comes with the territory." Azriel smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Though Feyre tells me you have me beat in secret keeping."

"Did she?" Elain couldn't help it--she beamed at the compliment, no matter how poorly earned it was.

Still, Az nodded. "Nuala and Cerridwen are training you well."

Elain stared at him. It felt like someone had thrown cold water over her.

"How--how did you know?" She managed to ask. The twins wouldn't have told him, she was certain.

Az angled his head almost curiously. "I am Rhys's Spymaster. It is my job to know."

"Are you upset with them?" Before he could answer, she plowed on, "Don't be. I insisted. We are friends, you know. And I practically forced them to train me. Don't--"

"The only thing that upsets me," he interrupted quietly, "is that you felt you couldn't come to me."

Elain blinked, staring at him. "You haven't exactly been around," she said carefully.

Azriel's jaw clenched, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise perfectly guarded face. It was the sort of look one made before they retreated into the night, a heavy silence falling in between.

And because she did not want him to go, to put that distance between them that he so recently favored, she said, "If you must know, I failed miserably tonight."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but settled on, "How so?"

"I was...out matched, it would seem." An understatement, but she did not want to elaborate.

To her surprise, Azriel chuckled, his shoulders loosening a bit. "I doubt that. You just need practice, and time."

Time. She had endless time now, didn't she?

She didn't want to talk about any of that anymore. So she just cocked her head and surveyed him, still perched on that railing. Wasn't he cold?

"Do you want a cup of tea or something?" she asked. "A scone? Something hot?"

Azriel straightened as though she had offended him. "No," he practically blurted.

"Oh." Elain blinked in surprise. Something inside her crumpled just a bit. "Right. Well, it's late, I shouldn't have--"

"It was very kind," he said quickly, though for some reason, he sounded pained. "But I don't think that would be a good idea."

Of course not. How could she be so foolish?

"It's fine," she said stiffly.

"You keep saying that."

"Because I mean it."

Az stared at her. "You can lie to them," he said quietly, "but not to me."

And just like that, Elain was no longer on the balcony, but standing before Nesta and her friends. A familiar necklace stared back at her, glinting and taunting her in the faelight.

It was as though Azriel could read her mind, for he said, "I--I'm sorry."

"You said that already."

"Can't I say it twice?"

Elain just waited.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, once again looking oddly out of sorts. "When I found your necklace, I intended to return it to the shop, but for some reason I ended up at the library, and I thought..." He shook his head. "I don't know what I thought. You didn't want it, and--"

"I did want it," Elain interrupted.

His brows furrowed as he studied her. "You did?"

She nodded. "I wanted it very much. Too much, probably."

She knew--and hoped he did not--that she was no longer talking about the necklace. But something shifted in his gaze, as though he did know. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

Hesitantly, Elain took a step forward. And another. Moving closer until she stood before him. He watched her carefully, still balanced precariously on the railing. Even perched, he still stood above her.

His hazel eyes were glowing, an intensity in them that made Elain look down. Made her admit, "I left the necklace behind because I did not want you to regret more than one thing that night."

The silence that followed was cold and biting, seeming to last forever. Elain sucked in a breath, prepared to fumble through some sort of explanation, when--

"I do regret it," Az said softly.

Elain looked up, hurt flashing on her face before she could hide it. But Azriel reached out, cupping her face in his scarred hands. Her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

"I regret making you think it was a mistake. And I regret not doing this," he said, and leaned down and kissed her.

Elain's surprise only lasted a half second before she returned his kiss, sighing into his mouth, her own moving in perfect sync with his. Her hands clung to the front of his jacket, pulling him off the railing and closer to her. A lesser male would have stumbled in the process, but Azriel was graceful and smooth, and no sooner had he landed on the balcony did he spin them so that Elain's back was pressed against the railing.

His wings flared out slightly, shielding them from the wind. One of his hands slid behind her neck, burying in her hair, while the other found her lower back, pressing her closer. Elain let out a soft moan that Az devoured with his mouth. Heat flooded her cheeks, her core. She was on fire. She was burning and burning and--

A clock tolled in the distance.

Dawn. It was almost dawn.

As though the sound woke them from their reverie, Azriel pulled back slightly. His breathing was slightly ragged, matching Elain's. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his hammering heart.

"I will speak to her," Az said finally. "Clear up the confusion and return your necklace to you."

It took Elain a moment to realize who he meant. She opened her eyes and frowned. Took a step back. "No, no. I could never do that."

"But--"

"What is done is done." Regret flashed in his eyes. She wanted to tell him it wasn't the gift itself that meant so much--it was the thought, the careful consideration in which he took in finding something so perfect. But all she said was, "I might ask for something else in exchange, though."

Though Az's eyes narrowed slightly, he said nothing, waiting.

Elain knew it was selfish, but she said, "Come to family dinners. When you can. Everyone misses seeing you."

I miss seeing you.

Az stiffened and peered down at her. His thumb gently brushed her cheek, the gesture shockingly tender from someone who tortured enemies for information.

"They know where to find me," he murmured.

"Perhaps they're waiting for an invitation."

He raised a brow. "Is that so?"

Elain nodded. "It is only polite. Even among friends and family."

"Friends and family." Amusement glittered in his eyes and even Elain fought back a smile. While she was still trying to work out what Azriel was to her, simply a friend or family did not seem accurate. "I will remember that."

"Good."

They stared at one another, tension and longing thick between them. They left the rest unsaid. How the mating bond complicated matters, even if Elain had not accepted it. Even if it meant nothing to her at all. There would be a time for that conversation, but that time was not now.

"I should go," Az murmured. "Rhys is expecting me."

Elain didn't want him to leave, but she had no power to make him stay. So she just nodded.

He turned, and hesitated. Hesitated long enough that Elain asked, "What is it?"

"There is something else," Az said, almost reluctantly.

"Oh?"

"It's Koschei."

Elain felt the color drain from her face. "What about him?"

Azriel turned back to face her. He looked resigned, unhappy, but determined. "There is another object to be found, I am certain--a fourth item in the Dread Trove."

She stopped breathing. Forced herself to say, "And?"

"And I think we're the only ones who can find it."

Elain stared at him. She hadn't told anyone--not even her friends--what she had seen.

"Who is we?" she managed to ask.

"You and I."

You and I.

The words fell into deep, unending silence. And the way Azriel was looking at her--did he know she had seen something? Was he just waiting for her to confirm his suspicions?

"This sounds quite serious," she said finally.

"It is." Shadows swirled around Azriel's shoulders, reflecting the darkening of his eyes.

"Then you must tell Feyre and Rhys as well."

And I must tell them what I have seen, she thought.

Some unknown emotion flittered across Az's face, one Elain could not decipher. "I intend to, but--"

"Perfect. Then you will do so tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"At dinner. I will even prepare some of Nesta's favorites, for she will certainly have much to say on the matter."

Az's confusion morphed into a knowing, amused look. "I know what you are doing."

"I have no idea what you mean," Elain said seriously, but her eyes shone with mischief. "This is a serious matter that must be discussed with the High Lord and Lady. Don't you agree?"

"I do," he said reluctantly.

Her grin widened, but quickly faded as she considered, truly, what he was saying. What it meant. What it confirmed, even for herself.

"Do you think they will protest?" Elain asked. "Insist I stay out of it?" She remembered the last time she tried to get involved, and how that had ended. But this time was different. It had to be different.

Azriel considered her words. "Possibly. And they are not entirely wrong." When Elain looked at him in exasperation, he added, "There is an innate darkness to the Trove, Elain. A darkness that might alter you forever."

She raised her chin. "I do not fear the dark."

Az smiled slightly, like he believed her. And Elain could not help but return his smile, because she knew he did. He was the only person who ever looked at her like she was capable of something great.

She wanted to cross the distance between them and kiss him again. She wanted him to gently push her into her bedchamber and lay her atop the silk sheets.

Elain swore Az could read her mind, for he chuckled and inclined his head toward her chamber. "Go," he said, though it was far from commanding.

And because it was nearly first light, Elain backed away, biting her lip and smiling. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," he promised.

- -

Note: In this scenario, I do imagine when Gwyn found out the truth, she would return the necklace. But I couldn't imagine Elain demanding it from her. Such an uncomfortable situation, so it was interesting to write. Can't wait to see how SJM handles it!

#elriel #elain x azriel #mrs pettyfer writing

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The General (part 4): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: escape sounds good. but is it better than staying?

wc: 2.6k

tw: sexual assault and death

a/n: please don’t kill me. This is plot. No smut to be found quite yet. I’m really trying to save up my smut cards for something really big lol

masterlist

Everything is on fire. Everyone is running around you, because for some reason, you’re walking toward the flames. Screams echo in your ears and the feeling of something tugging you into the burning building that looked like your home is too strong to ignore. When you push the door to your house open, your mother is hovering over your father, who is bleeding out as you watch in horror. When your mother looks up at you, she’s crying fat tears of sorrow, then she whispers:

“You did this, y/n. You let that monster into our town, and now look at what you’ve done.”

A hand smooths over your face as you twist and turn, but you don’t realize it’s the General until you open your eyes, the light from the moon blocked by his body. “You’re okay. Don’t worry; no one’s going to hurt you here,” he whispers, despite having hurt you before. You push his hand away and sit up, clutching your knees to your chest as you catch your breath. “Nightmare?” he asks, and for a second, you’re wondering if he’s saying that he had a nightmare. But then you feel the sweat around the nape of your neck and on your chest, and remember the feeling of helplessness you just emerged from. You nod, looking around the tent at the table, papers, the ink, the discarded haori near the seat…

“You’re up late,” you mention - trying to change the subject - and the General huffs a laugh, pushing back his hair like he always did before he launched into an explanation. Why didn’t he just tie it up?

“I do my best work right before the midnight hours. You’d be surprised at the formations I can create with just a hint of alertness left in my body.” He turns back to you, touching your foot with a broad hand. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No,” you answer quickly, hoping he would drop the subject.

“Then let me have Kaori fetch you some water for a bath. I would hate for you to remain as sweaty as you are.” You slide off the bed, walking around to the little desk area that held stacks of papers and diagrams and sliding one free from the stack.

“You draw maps?”

“Cartographers are not cheap, little one. I’ve canvassed a massive effort to make a map of every place I’ve been to… Nanami is very helpful with this, as well. He’s so attentive to details that I might have missed, so I rely on his help more often than not.”

“And Haibara?”

“Yu? He’s pretty easy to get along with as well. He’s my mentee, if you really consider it. If I have no children, he will inherit the throne after me.”

“What about Gojo?” you question, sliding a map of the surrounding area forward and examining it carefully. As he drones on about the blue eyed man, you make sure your eyes cover every inch of the map and memorize the routes in and out of the camp. If you could just find a way to get over to the edge of the camp, you could easily hitch a ride back to your hometown and tell everyone about the General’s whereabouts. And expose Yuko for the traitor he is.

“But do you enjoy your time with Kaori? I purposefully made her the head of maids so she would tend to you and you alone.”

“Ah,” you push the map away and smile up at Geto, having finally found your escape route. “She’s lovely.”

And Kaori would be even more lovely once she helped you with your plan to run away.

_______________________________________________________________________

“How do you feel today?” Kaori wonders as you dress in your standard blue kimono.

“Quite well,” you answer, smiling back at her. She raises a brow, a grin forming on her lips.

“Might this have anything to do with Master Geto?”

You look back at the maid, and give her your best fake grin. “Maybe.” Kaori hums in surprise, then gathers her things up before leaving you alone again. “Oh, I almost forgot,” you begin, tying the kimono closed. “Could you bring me an extra pear or two with lunch today? I have a craving for them right now.” Kaori nods and bows slightly before walking out of the tent.

Map? Check.

Clothes? Check.

Extra food? Check.

The entire morning is spent pouring over the map, tracking your path in and out of the compound. You would have to walk a considerable distance, but it was perfectly fine. If you could manage to secure a horse, you’d probably get halfway home before anyone noticed you were missing, and that was a considerable head start.

Your plan went into effect as soon as they announced dinner, and you wait patiently for Geto to come fetch you for the evening meal, laying in his bed with a pained expression. When he comes inside, he sees you clutching your stomach and hanging over the side of the bed a little.

“Are you unwell?” he asks immediately, stooping by the bedside and smoothing your hair away from your face. You shake your head slowly, all of it an act, and he grumbles something about ‘knowing the food was undercooked at lunch’. Little did he know that you had stowed it away, along with a spare kimono of his and rudimentary copy of the map.

You fake a cough for emphasis, and his hands fly to your face, patting the tender flesh of your cheeks and forehead. “You’re warm. I’ll have Kaori come and attend to-”

“I don’t want her to catch what I have,” you moan, rolling over on your left side.

“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” Geto urges, eyes frantically looking around the tent space for something. “I’ll… I’ll eat dinner here, then. I’ll stay with you.” You shake your head weakly, ignoring his panicked expression.

“I can’t bear the smell of food right now… I just need some rest.”

“And you shall have it,” Geto whispers, placing a tender kiss on your left hand. “I’ll be back within the hour to check on you.” And with that, he leaves you in the tent. When you suspect that he - and as a result, his friends - are all gone to eat, you slide out of the bed and retrieve your sack of things hidden underneath it.

It isn’t escaping the camp that’s hard.

It’s running through the dead of night with only a sliver of moon to guide you that is most difficult.

Without the daylight, you could easily mistake a patch of trees for a forest and river for a ravine. But it doesn’t matter. Your father had taught you how to tell the North from the South and the East from the West, and you relied on those skills now to guide you out of the camp. First, you have to locate the brightest star in the sky and just follow it to get on the right path. If it is directly overhead, you’d be on your way to determining which way to go. The makeshift map you have is telling you that you should wander northeast to get out of the confines of the camp, and you would be well on your way to your hometown.

Except…

You look back at the lights dotted around the camp behind you.

What if you stayed? What if you stayed and made friends with the General? What if you stayed, made friends with the General, and then lured him in with a false sense of security? You adjust the sack on your back and think for a moment more.

He had let you remain in the tent by yourself. Not only was it a sign that he was finally beginning to trust you while you were alone, but also while you had all of the opportunity to escape, like you were now. Either that, or he’s more than confident that he would be able to find you and drag you back so he could execute his plan properly.

The only thing that would come from you attempting to run away would be a chase, and you would more than likely be caught without a horse. Then, Geto would not hesitate to discipline you and make you submit to his will, and possibly never trust you again.

“Flattery is the best persuader of people,” your father used to murmur, but you didn’t believe it back then; rolling your eyes at his old sayings. But now… perhaps you could work this to your advantage by staying.

You trek back with the pack, dumping everything except the kimono nearby to avoid any suspicion. The kimono is placed back where it had been before, and you slump onto the bed - facing away from the tent opening - groaning with exhaustion and anxiety.

The General returns what feels like a few minutes later and runs a hand down your back with care, humming in the darkness. He’s unsteady on his feet, it sounds like, and he anchors himself on the bed with one knee, leaning over you to brush a lock of hair away from your face.

“If there’s one thing I know about Yuko,” he breathes, words tumbling out of his mouth like a bucket of apples. “He didn’t lie about beauty or character.” Geto slides in next you, wrapping an arm around your waist protectively and nestling his face into the crook of your neck. He places a kiss below your earlobe, then almost instantly afterward, he’s asleep.

And although you want to squirm out of his arms and give him what-for, you don’t. The resolve in your new plan has set you on a path of compromise, and you would see this through until the end.

_______________________________________________________________________

Lips. They’re everywhere. On your face, trailing down your neck and accompanied by touches that stoke the flames of a fire you didn’t realize you had burning inside of you.

When your eyes flutter open, it’s still night, but the General has let the wine go to his head. You let out an involuntary moan at the feeling of his fingers gripping the skin underneath your kimono before you snatch yourself out of his grasp, tumbling to the floor below and remembering how much you hated him.

“Y/n… are you..” he hiccups a little. “Are you alright?” You push off of the ground in a fury, dusting yourself off and facing away from him as you yell:

“How dare you go back on your promise to not defile me, you filthy swine! Touching me in my sleep is low for even you, Your Majesty!” You spit the last two words at him, then stomp towards the flaps of the tent, which open with a flutter before you can get to them.

Geto steps inside, his eyes meeting yours in a confused stare.

“I heard you yelling and I--” He looks over your shoulder and frowns, squinting his eyes at the figure in the bed. “Get up.” When the man stumbles to the floor, Geto pulls you in behind him, shielding you from who really occupied the bed.

“M-Master Geto, I can expla--”

“Silence.” The deep bass of the General’s voice is unmatched, deadly, and practically telling of the punishment to come. Haibara and Gojo walk past you into the tent behind Geto, making lanterns glow and illuminate the tent space. “Do you know this man?” Geto roars, pointing an accusing finger at the offender as he turns to you, throwing daggers with his eyes. You look at the soon-to-be dead man, nostrils flaring. But you don’t recognize his face, nor his body. Nothing about this person is familiar.

“No, sir,” you state, and Geto starts a little at the sound of the formality falling from your lips.

“Has he touched you in any way?” Your skin is crawling with what feels like a thousand little bugs, and you clutch your elbows instinctively. In one smooth motion, Geto turns to Gojo, who nods his head once and grabs the man’s hair, dragging him past you and Haibara as his screams of pain echo into the night. You feel two hands resting on your shoulders as you stare at the tent flaps, the fluttering of them barely revealing the man’s fate. It’s only when the screaming stops that you turn to Geto. “Are you hurt?” he asks, dipping his head a little to look into your eyes with his piercing black ones.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Where did he touch you?” You look over to Haibara, and Geto does as well, before waving the youth off. “Make sure Gojo takes care of…”

“Of course,” Haibara replies, and with a sad smile thrown your way, he departs. Geto turns his attention back to you, taking your wrists in his hands.

“Show me.” You move a hand across your chest and down your right thigh, grazing the spot where the man had grabbed you roughly. Then you swipe at your neck and face. “My gods,” he breathes before pulling you close. Tears threaten to leak out of your eyes, but you hold them at bay, trying to maintain the hysterics for later when you were alone. “I should have stayed.”

“I should have let you.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You awake enveloped in Geto’s warmth, unsure of when you fell asleep for the second time, but thankful for the body heat that wards off the night-time chill. When you move away from him, he does not awaken, but does stir a little.

And that’s when you see it. The dragon on his arm is moving it’s head back and forth, eyes blinking lazily. At first you think you’re hallucinating, but when you rub your eyes and peer closer, it’s still moving; the entirety of its body doing a little dance side to side.

“You should see it after a battle,” Geto murmurs sleepily, eyes trained on your astonished face. “Dancing is just how it wakes itself up.” You stare at the mythical being in silence, unsure of whether the true beast was the man before you or the tattoo on his arm. “How are you feeling?” Geto finally breaks the silence, sitting up and pushing himself out of the bed.

“I feel alright.” He takes your hand, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back. You pause, unsure of how to respond to such a gesture, but Geto keeps moving around the tent, adjusting the sheets and running his hands through his hair.

“Have you ever thought about braiding it?” you wonder, and Geto looks over at you with an amused look.

“I have; but no one here is skilled enough to braid - not even Kaori.”

Wordlessly, you trek over to him and thread the locks of hair through your fingers.

“How do you keep it so clean when you’re on the battlefield?” you wonder aloud, and Geto chuckles.

“Water is a resource that I take full advantage of, little one.” He instinctively stops his movements and angles his head back so you can work the strands one over the other, finally ending the long braid with a simple strip of fabric from the edge of your kimono.

“There.” Geto pulls the braid over his shoulder and examines it carefully, humming at the sight of your handiwork.

“This is interesting, to say the least.”

“It will keep things from getting caught in your hair, and I’m sure it feels much less ‘all over the place’.”

“Indeed, it does,” he breathes, then reaches a hand out to touch your cheek affectionately. Without thinking, you lean into his touch, and after taking half a step forward, Geto places a kiss on your forehead. After this signal of affection, he leaves, making you wonder what was wrong with your face and if you actually had a fever - because your cheeks felt hotter than they had ever felt before.

#geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk gojo #jjk haibara

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Note

Hello 🥰 Whump fic idea :)TK lands in the hospital, again. But this time they're serious, serious injuries, he is under a respirator, he is not breathing on his own, the doctors do not give him much chance of survival, they even advise it would be the best to prepare for the worst and say goodbye, just in case. Owen calls Gwen, she's arriving the same day with Enzo and baby junior. When in the hospital they find out how it happened and that it's mostly Owen's fault (I don't know, for example, he allowed Tk to enter the unstable building to tend to the patient, or whether he made someone else angry and this person unloaded it on TK, or Owen decided to do something reckless and TK wanted to save him or it is The arson situation from 2x12 so Gwyn arrives pregnant, without a baby of course), Gwyn slaps him twice and Enzo punches him right in the nose, breaking it, for risking TK's life. Fortunately, despite the bad prognosis, TK wakes up, but after he took his sweet time being in a coma.

holly's august extravaganza day 3: the meetings for those in my wake

thanks for the prompt! i really loved writing this one though i need to confess to toning it down a little? idk but with the way it was going it didn't feel right to have enzo break owen's nose. i hope you still like it!

ao3 | 3.3k | major character injury, coma, angst with a happy ending

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news.

TK got in a fight.

TK overdosed.

TK was shot, he’s in the hospital.

Over and over, until the first words out of her mouth whenever Owen’s name flashed up on her screen were, What’s wrong?

Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas. Gwyn suspects it’s partly TK’s influence—he’s been more than enthusiastic in getting to know his baby brother, and Isaac has latched onto TK despite only seeing him in person every few months or so. But they’ve talked as well, she and Owen, and they really are doing better. They’re almost like friends now, which is why Gwyn thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Owen?” Gwyn repeats, louder this time, her heart leaping into her throat. She sits down heavily on the sofa as she waits for Owen’s response; there’s only one thing that could make him cry like that, and tears prick at Gwyn’s eyes as she imagines TK hurt again, or worse.

“Gwyn,” Owen eventually manages to gasp out, voice wrecked. “Gwyn, it’s TK. He’s… You need to get here. You need— It’s not like last time. They don’t know if he’s going to— They don’t think— It’s bad. Really bad.”

Owen breaks off, crying harder, and Gwyn claps a hand to her mouth. She remembers well how devastated he’d been when he called about the gunshot, but this a whole other level. Gwyn’s head spins with the potential implications of that and she finds her breath coming in sharp gasps, but it’s Owen’s next words that knocks it from her altogether.

“They think we should say goodbye.”

The rest of the story comes haltingly—someone got angry after his son couldn’t be saved on a call, he came to the firehouse, he attacked TK—but Gwyn barely hears it. Her boy is in the hospital again and this time…this time he might not be coming home. She can’t understand it; she spoke to him just two days ago, they made plans for he and Carlos to visit for Isaac’s birthday, and now…

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn,” Owen finishes. She feels a flash of that age-old urge to scream at him, but she fights it off, not wanting to wake Isaac.

“I’ll be on the first flight over,” she promises, then ends the call, sliding off the couch to the floor. Her phone falls from limp fingers and harsh sobs tear from her throat, muffled by the press of her fist against her mouth.

Enzo finds her there an hour later and immediately takes her in his arms, not complaining about her tears soaking his shirt. When she tells him what happened, he insists on joining her, and Gwyn allows herself to take that shred of comfort and run with it.

She thinks it’s the only comfort she’s likely to get right now.

The next flight isn’t until morning, so Gwyn spends a sleepless night packing and unpacking their suitcases and making phone calls with the firm and her clients to cancel everything for the foreseeable. She has the brief, terrible thought about whether she should pack funeral attire, which almost sends her into a panic attack as reality hits her all over again.

Enzo saves her from it, gently guiding her to bed, but not before she packs the clothes anyway.

Isaac seems to pick up on her mood when they’re hurrying out of the house, remaining mostly quiet aside from the odd question about where they’re going. He perks up considerably when he finds out they’re heading to Austin, babbling about seeing TK, and Gwyn has to blink hard to keep from crying again. Enzo reaches over to take her hand, and he barely lets go until they’re landing in Austin.

The entrance to the ICU looms before her, and Gwyn feels stuck. There had been a part of her, still, that had hoped to find TK miraculously awake and on the mend, like the last time she had made this trip. She doesn’t want to believe that he’s here, hurt, maybe dying.

But he is, and she’s forcefully reminded of that fact when a kind-looking nurse approaches her hesitantly.

“Ma’am? Can I help you?”

Gwyn blinks at her, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “I, um. I’m here to see my son. TK Strand.” She pauses, then shakes her head, cursing herself internally. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

The nurse’s entire demeanour changes, a sympathetic smile taking over her face. “This way.” She leads Gwyn through the ICU, then points at a door near the end of the corridor. “Tyler’s room is just there. I promise, we’re doing everything we can for him.”

Gwyn nods absently, her gaze stuck on the door the nurse had indicated. She walks forward slowly, the room seeming to get further and further away until, suddenly, she’s standing on the threshold, and she sees her son.

TK is barely visible, his face half-obscured by the ventilator, half by bruises, and heavy gauze covers his forehead. His arms, resting limply at his sides, are littered with scrapes, and if Gwyn squints, she can just about make out more bandages peeking out from under the hospital gown.

She’d thought that seeing him would make it all real, but she feels separate from everything somehow, only one thought going through her mind on repeat.

This is not my son.

A quiet whisper draws her attention to the figure sitting at TK’s side. Gwyn has to suppress a gasp as she takes in Carlos’s appearance; she hasn’t seen him in person since the wedding last year, and his pale face and red-rimmed eyes cut a stark contrast to that day. He hasn’t noticed her yet, wholly fixated on TK, one hand gently stroking the tufts of hair poking out above the bandage. His lips move and Gwyn knows she should walk away, but instead she finds herself leaning closer, straining to hear Carlos’s words.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’s saying. “I know you’re fighting and I know you’re going to try as hard as you can to come back to us—believe me, Ty, I am praying every day to see those pretty green eyes of yours open again. But I—I want you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. If it gets too hard, if you need to let go, you can. I already miss you like crazy and I really, really, don’t want to live the rest of my life without you, but the thing I can’t stand more than that is the idea of you suffering.

“Come back if you can, but if someday you find you can’t, remember that I love you and we’ll be okay. I promise.”

Carlos sniffs and ducks his head to place a gentle, lingering kiss on TK’s cheekbone. It’s such a tender, intimate moment, but it quickly shatters when Carlos looks up and spots her, his eyes going wide. “Gwyn. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were there.”

She waves him off, willing herself to finally step into the room. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Carlos nods, giving her a small, sad smile, which Gwyn does her best to return. She pulls up another chair and sinks into it, reaching out to take TK’s hand. She’s startled by the coolness of his skin, and more tears burn in the back of her eyes.

“What did the doctors say?” she asks, clearing her throat and twisting her body towards Carlos, though her eyes never leave TK.

“That it was a miracle he made it through surgery,” Carlos says, sighing wearily. “Eight stab wounds, too much blood loss, damage to his organs, broken ribs—that’s all bad enough, but they’re most worried about his brain. He took at least two blows to the head, and add that to the fact he wasn’t breathing for a good few minutes… They keep saying not to speculate, but we all know the odds here.”

Carlos’s voice breaks and Gwyn reaches out to comfort him, feeling sick to her stomach at the revelation. Why anyone would do this to her boy, she can’t comprehend; she finds herself both wanting answers and feeling unable to take any more.

Owen chooses that moment to appear in the doorway, looking every bit as wrecked as he sounded on the phone. “Gwyn,” he says roughly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Carlos moves as if to give them privacy, but Gwyn shakes her head at him, cutting off his protests before he can even get them out. “You stay with him, Carlos,” she tells him. “We’ll talk in the hall.”

They head to a quiet spot not too far from TK’s room, and Gwyn turns to face Owen, holding her arms. “What the hell happened, Owen? Why is our son lying in there, not even breathing on his own?”

A flicker of a frown crosses Owen’s face. “I told you—”

“No, you didn’t.” Gwyn clenches her jaw, staring him down. “You said he’d been attacked, not that some maniac had used him as their personal punching bag.”

A few more seconds pass before Owen relents, sighing. “There was a call,” he starts, voice heavy with sorrow. “A car accident; dad and his kid were trapped inside. We got the dad out but the son was stuck pretty good. It took a long time to free him and by then it was too late—EMS did their best, but he was gone.

“The dad went ballistic, screaming at all of us, but especially at TK. We don’t really know why, but it was probably a convenience thing; TK had been the one to break the news, he was the closest person—the guy wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. He threatened him, tried to hit him—the cops had to arrest him eventually, but you know TK. He refused to press charges, said that the dad was just in shock and that he understood.”

Gwyn smiles a little at that; her son has always been too forgiving for his own good. It’s never come back to hurt him this badly before, though.

Owen pauses, throat bobbing as he seems to work up to the next part. His voice is quiet, and he seems reluctant to meet Gwyn’s eyes. “He showed up at the firehouse a week later—the dad, I mean. He said he wanted to apologise and, I swear, Gwyn, he really did seem genuine. None of us wanted to let him near TK, but ultimately it was TK’s decision. They went round the side of the house to talk; when neither of them came back after twenty minutes, we went looking.

“By that time, the guy was gone, and TK was…” He stops and shakes his head, swallowing hard. “He could barely breathe. Tommy and Nancy did what they could and they got him here quickly, but we have no idea how long he’d been like that before we found him.”

Gwyn’s head snaps up, a white-hot anger flashing through her. “I can’t believe you,” she hisses. “You left our son alone with a man who had already threatened him for twenty minutes, Owen.”

Owen frowns. “I told you, he seemed genuine. And TK—”

Gwyn can’t help it; she slaps him. “Don’t you dare,” she grounds out, crowding into Owen’s space. “Don’t you dare act like this was his fault.”

“I wasn’t—”

Her arm moves on instinct, but before she can connect again, a hand closes around her wrist. Gwyn turns to find Enzo staring at her, brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Gwyn, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head and takes a step back from Owen, freeing herself from Enzo’s grasp. “What’s going on,” she responds tightly, “is that he is part of the reason why my son is half-dead in there.”

Enzo gapes between them. “What?”

She ignores the question, needing to focus on anything else to keep her anger from overwhelming her. “What are you doing here anyway? Where’s Isaac?”

“He’s with Grace and Judd, they offered to babysit so I could come here. What—”

“Hang on,” Owen interrupts. “What is he doing here? I figured he’d stay in New York with the kid.”

“Isaac is TK’s brother, Owen,” Gwyn says, turning on him again. “And Enzo has just as much right to be here as any of us; he was more of a father to TK than you were sometimes.”

Owen’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Him? You’re joking, right?”

Gwyn isn’t sure what happens next, who starts it, but soon they’re all yelling, insults and accusations flying around the ward. There’s a furious nurse heading their way, but before she can say anything, another voice cuts through the argument, quiet and trembling but still somehow powerful.

“Get out,” Carlos says. “All of you.”

They all turn to him, Gwyn’s lips parting in shock. Owen takes a step towards him, holding his hands out in a gesture that’s probably meant to be pacifying.

“Carlos—”

“I mean it, Owen,” he snaps, harsher than Gwyn has ever heard him before. “You all screaming at each other is the last thing any of us needs, least of all TK. The only person to blame in all this is the guy who attacked him, and he’s already in custody; he’ll get what’s coming to him. If TK—” Carlos breaks off, clenching his jaw and staring down at the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, before breathing out shakily and looking back up at them. “If anything changes, I’ll call you, I promise. But you can’t be here right now. Go, please.”

Carlos doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and going back into TK’s room, reassuming his position next to the bed. Gwyn watches him for a second, nodding when Enzo pointedly takes her elbow.

“He’s right,” she says, directed at Owen. “We should go.”

Owen glares, gearing up to argue again, but he must think better of it as he suddenly slumps, all the energy draining out of him. “Right,” he mutters. “Right.”

They file slowly out of the ICU, closely watched by the hard eyes of the nurse from before. Gwyn spares one last look before forcing herself forwards; if getting here was hard, walking away is a thousand times worse.

Three weeks pass with no change and, crucially, no improvement. Gwyn spends more time with Carlos than she ever has before, and she hates that it’s her son being comatose that has brought the two of them closer. A tentative peace exists between her and Owen and she knows—truly, she knows—that the attack wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing that could have stopped it.

But she can’t help but be angry that, once again, her son was seriously hurt and she wasn’t around.

She takes Isaac to see TK once, when the worst of the bruises have faded a little. She worries that he’ll be scared, and he does seem to hesitate when they reach the room; in truth, Gwyn hadn’t wanted to bring him at all, but he’d kept asking about TK and she’d found herself helpless to do anything but acquiesce.

They still haven’t told him what’s going on. No-one knows how to. All Isaac knows is that TK is a little hurt and he needs rest, and even that knowledge seems to upset him.

Once he gets used to the sight, Isaac stretches his hands out to the bed. “TK,” he says simply, looking pleadingly up at Gwyn.

She hugs him close, trying to smile for him. “TK’s asleep, sweetie,” she explains. “He needs rest.”

“When wake up?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

Three weeks pass, and the doctors start talking about options and next steps. It’s obvious what that’s code for—they want to pull the plug. They’re told to take all the time they need to discuss it but, ultimately, the decision will be Carlos’s, as TK’s husband and next of kin.

Gwyn knows what choice he’s going to make; it’s the same one she, or anyone else in his position, would make.

That doesn’t make it any easier to bear, for any of them.

Gwyn finds him in the hallway, bent over with his head in his hands. She goes over and quietly sits in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back.

There’s a long silence before Carlos sniffs and turns to her, his face the picture of devastation. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this, Gwyn,” he whispers, voice cracking. “How am I supposed to just give up on him like that?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not giving up on him, Carlos. You’re letting him go.”

“I don’t know how to do that either.”

“None of us do.”

Silence again, but this time, it’s Gwyn that breaks it first. “Listen, Carlos, I know this is hard. God knows I wish none of us were even here. But we are, and we have to do what’s best for everyone, including TK.”

“I know that,” Carlos admits. “I just don’t want to lose him.” He closes his eyes and leans into Gwyn, allowing her to wrap him in a hug. “I wish we had more time.”

Gwyn’s heart breaks all over again, and she squeezes his shaking shoulders. “We’ve got time,” she says, though she knows that’s not what he meant. “As much as you need.”

The sob she’s answered with tells her there’s not enough time in the world for Carlos to say goodbye to TK.

The call comes in the middle of the night. Dread pools in Gwyn’s gut as she accepts it and lifts the phone to her ear, her hands trembling.

“Owen?”

“Gwyn. TK, he—he woke up. It was only for a few seconds, but he woke up, Gwyn. The doctors said it was a miracle; they think he might actually recover.”

Gwyn gasps, a sob crawling up her throat as the news sinks in. It’s everything she’s been praying for ever since that first call, and all she can think about now is getting to TK.

“I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen,” she says. She ends the calls and raises her hands to her face, wiping away the tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Maybe this nightmare is finally coming to an end.

TK is off getting tests when Gwyn arrives, but she’s finally allowed back in the room an hour later, Carlos and Owen on her heels. The ventilator has been removed, replaced by a nasal cannula, and his eyes are open—barely to slits, but Gwyn doesn’t care. TK is awake and alive, and that’s all that matters.

As soon as she’s in the chair by the bed, she reaches out for him, her touch feather-light as she strokes his cheek. “My brave boy,” she whispers wetly. “My brave, brave boy.”

TK’s head rolls on the pillow so he’s facing her and he mumbles something that’s probably meant to be a greeting, but the words jumble together and come out as gibberish.

Gwyn thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

They’ve all been briefed about the risks of brain damage and all the potential lasting consequences which could impact the rest of TK’s life. But right now, as she holds TK’s hand with Carlos on his other side and Owen at her back, Gwyn chooses to take solace in the constant rise and fall of TK’s chest and the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

There’ll be enough time for worry later; for now, her son is alive, and Gwyn can’t think of anything else that's more important.

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

a day in the snow (h.p.)

prompt as requested by anon: after being friends for two years, you had been toying with the idea of how and if you should tell harry that you have feelings for him. but will the fear of rejection hold you back?

pairing: harry potter x fem! reader

warnings: food

word count: 3.2k

author’s note: this could be read as a sequel to may i sit?, but you don’t have to read it to understand this fic! happy reading! oh! and requests are still open ;)

Soft, powdery white snow covered the Scottish hills that rolled in the distance. The green grass now hidden beneath blankets and blankets of freshly fallen snow. Untouched snow was soon replaced with trails of snow shoe footprints and laughter of students as they weaved their way to Hogsmeade. It was a perfect winter’s day. Cold enough to keep the snow from melting and make you shiver if you wore the wrong jacket, but not cold enough from keeping you from dragging Harry through the snow to the town.

Harry would have much rather stayed inside and kept warm in the comfort of the common room with the roaring fire in front of him, blanket over his lap as he enjoyed the chatter of his closest friends. You, on the other hand, lived for days like today. You insisted it would be an adventure; out in the snow, romping around, enjoying each other’s company. Although Harry insisted you had gone to Hogsmeade so many times in the past, you had practically begged him to go today. You needed some excitement rather than being cooped up in the castle all weekend long. With a groan and exaggerated roll of his head, Harry finally gave into your pleas. He couldn’t resist you for longer than five minutes of constant begging.

Linking your arm in his, the two of you trudged through the snow, you laughing as Harry bemoaned about snow getting into his boots. “Don’t be such a party pooper, Potter,” you tease him as he rolls his eyes. “We’ll make a day of it. We can get Butterbeer at Three Broomsticks, shop around at Honeydukes, maybe venture into Zonko’s,” you list off excitedly. It would be a pricey expenditure, but you had just received your monthly allowance from your parents and you were certainly planning on spending a chunk of it today.

“Or we could head back to the castle, get a blanket, sit by the fire in the common room, sneak into the kitchens. You know the house elves love me,” he smiled as you scoffed at him. “We’ve been to Hogsmeade hundreds of times, why can’t we enjoy a day inside the castle?” he implores you as a bright smile appears on your face as the village comes into your view.

You drop Harry’s arm and make a mad dash for the village, giggling wildly. You turn to face him, walking backwards now, “We are in that castle every day, Harry. I need a change of scenery once in a while and what better place to do so,” you speak merrily. Pure joy was laced in your voice as Harry sighed and shook his head with a smile. He couldn’t deny the look of childish glee on your face as you stood there, waiting for him to catch up to you, clapping your hands like a toddler on Christmas morning. “Now come on, let me treat you to a Butterbeer,” you extend your hand out to him as he gladly accepts it, swinging your arms back and forth.

The gesture was simple, something you and Harry always did. But you couldn’t deny that every time Harry held your hand, flashed you a toothy grin, cracked a joke and looked your way to see if he had made you laugh, it always made your heart flutter and mind races with a thousand and one thoughts. Harry had been your mate, a close one, for almost two years now. After the night you two had formally met, you were inseparable. You spent nights in the library studying (mostly fooling around and pissing others off), running through the corridors playing elaborate games of hide-and-seek, exchanging small glances during class. Together, you and Harry just made sense. The two of you got along like you had known each other your whole lives and yet, nothing more evolved from your friendship. You had managed to convince yourself that a friendship was all you signed up for and all you wanted from Harry which was a total lie. Harry made you feel like you were the only person who mattered; like when he was with you, you had his full and undivided attention. Harry made you feel safe.

But you ignore the butterflies that danced around in your gut as you walked towards Three Broomsticks, Harry opening the door for you as you slid in carefully. “Go on and find us a seat, I’ll grab us drinks,” you instruct him as he smiles and nods.

You approach the bar and see Madam Rosmerta, drying some mugs. She catches your eye as she flashes you a brilliant smile, “Back again, Miss (Y/L/N),” she beams as you nod. “What can I get for you, my darling?”

“Two Butterbeers please,” you request, leaning against the bar, removing the woolen gloves from your chilled hands. The Three Broomsticks was warm, in temperature and the environment. The pub was bustling in customers, varying in age, old and young. Some Hogwarts students were tucked away in booths as you surveyed the area, some on what looked like dates, others messing around with friends.

Madam Rosmerta gives you a look, raising one brow suggestively. “Two?” she asks as you nod. “You fancied your way into a date now? Who with?” she implores. But before you can protest that you were just in for a quick drink with a friend, her eyes land on Harry who waits patiently at a table. Madam Rosmerta dramatically gasps, “With the Chosen One?” she gawks. “Nicely done, my darling. Way to go!” she hits your arm encouragingly.

You shake your head feverishly, “No, no, Harry and I are just mates. We’ve always been mates and always will be.” When the words tumble from your mouth, your stomach feels sour. Always been mates and always will be. Nothing more and nothing less for you and Harry. Stuck in the friend zone. Madam Rosmerta gives you a look to tell you that she’s not buying it. You insist, “Really. Harry is a good friend. We’re just spending the day together as mates.”

She smiles at you as she pours you up two brimming mugs of Butterbeer, the copper mugs foaming wildly with the delicious beverage. “That’s how it always starts,” she teases as you play with the hem of your lavender jumper. “Just mates usually means something more is on the way,” she winks as you lightly laugh. Reaching into your pocket, you look for a few sickles to give in exchange for your drinks, but Madam Rosmerta stops you. “These are on the house,” she insists. “A toast to best mates,” she winks.

“Thank you,” you blush before you part from the bar, walking over to the table with your drinks. “For you,” you slide the mug over to Harry who thanks you before you sit down and take a sip from the refreshing beverage.

Harry takes a glug from his mug before speaking, “Alright. Well, now that you’ve got me here, what’s on the agenda? I want the full (Y/N) (Y/L/N) experience.”

You smile at your best friend and shake your head. Harry could be a pisser, but he sure knew how to make you smile. As you ran off everything you wanted to do for the day, you became very aware of Harry’s gaze as he looked at you. His green eyes held so much tenderness, gently resting upon you as you spoke with such glee in your voice. Occasionally, he would permit a small smile to appear on his lips as you would catch him and ask what he was smiling about. He would brush it off and simply say, “Nothing. I find it sweet when you get excited about things.”

In response, you scoffed and rolled your eyes whilst inside your stomach did and flip and your mind screamed about how much you liked him. How you wanted to hold his hand and tell him how much you cared for him. How you wanted kiss his lips and lay your head on his chest, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. But instead, you continued blabbering on about the day ahead of you.

After finishing at Three Broomsticks, you and Harry walked down High Street and made a stop at Honeydukes. Inside were countless shelves filled with sweets and treats beyond imagination. As soon as you stepped foot inside, you immediately ran to the shelves to pick out your favorite sweets. Harry laughed at your impatience; you couldn’t even wait for him to grab you a basket. “We have to stock up on all the good stuff, Harry,” you say very intently as you grab three parcels of Jelly Slugs. “Godric knows that once Ron sees the stash, he’s bound to consume half of it,” you huff as Harry laughs. You weren’t wrong.

Harry watches as you select a few Chocolate Frogs, Chocolate Wands, and Cockroach Clusters from the shelves. “Easy does it, you don’t want to spend all of your money in one place,” he warns.

You flash him a look. “Geez, you sound like Granger,” you laugh as he rolls his eyes. “Last time I checked if Harry saw me buying this many sweets, he’d be encouraging me to buy more,” you tease as he rolls his eyes. “Come on, what do you want? My treat.”

Harry looks at you and shakes his head. “(Y/N), no. You already treated for Butterbeer, I’m not letting you buying me sweets too,” he tells you as you shake your head.

“Madam Rosmerta covered the cost of the Butterbeers, so that doesn’t count,” you reveal to him as he gives you a confused look. But before he can question why she would cover the cost, you speak up, “Come on, Harry, if you don’t chose, I’ll chose for you.” You nudge his arm as he sighs giving in as you smile widely.

You knew Harry didn’t want you wasting your money on him, but you hardly considered it a waste. You wanted him to enjoy himself too, especially since he didn’t want to leave the castle and you practically forced him out. This was just a small way to express your gratitude.

Now, your shopping basket was full of sweets and was considerably heavy. But it was no problem. You swiftly paid the cashier and carried out a large bag of sweets out of the shoppe as Harry laughed as you struggled to carry it. “Give it here,” he laughs as he takes the bag from your hands, easily carrying it in just one of his. “Light as a feather.”

“Oh, shut it, Harry,” you laugh alongside him as you trudge through the snow, enjoying how lively the town was today. People made chatter, buying things from the shoppes, children playing in the snow, indulging in sweets. The scene made your heart swell. You loved how alive and well the town seemed. As you looked around, you felt Harry’s gaze on you again as you caught his eye. “Why’re you staring at me?” you laugh as Harry blushes.

“I can’t look at my best friend?” he defends himself. “Rather me close my eyes and walk around blindly?” he teases as he screw his eyes shut, pretending to feel around for directions. “Someone help. My best friend is mad that I dare look at her so now I’m forced to walk around like this!” he jokes as you roll your eyes.

But before you can say anything, you hear someone call out for Harry’s name. You both turn around and see Ron jogging over to you both as Harry looks at you. “Go,” you smile at him. “No need to ask me for permission.”

Harry smiles as Ron runs over to him, the two of them immediately babbling about something that Ron found in Zonko’s. Behind Ron is Hermione who walks over to you with a small smile. “Enjoying yourself?” you wiggle your eyebrows at Hermione.

She rolls her eyes, “Ron and I were in Zonko’s for nearly three hours.” You laugh at her complaint. She sighs, “But it made him happy. So in a weird way, I guess it was worth it.” You poke at her sides, teasing her for her innocent crush on her best friend. “Oh, stop, you’re one to talk! Harry told us he wasn’t feeling well today and he wasn’t going to come out with us,” Hermione reveals.

You stop poking at Hermione’s words as they fall from her lips. You twist your face with confusion. “What do you mean he didn’t feel well?” you ask as Hermione restates what she had previously revealed. Did Harry lie to his two best friends, so he could spend the day with you? You shake your head, “No, Harry told me he wanted to stay in the castle today. He didn’t want to go out today all together,” you justify.

Hermione gives you a knowing look. “Sure, he could have told you that, but you know Harry likes to give people a hard time. He would have gone with you whether you begged or not,” she smiles. “Even if you didn’t go to Hogsmeade, you would have stayed at the castle with him, wouldn’t you?” she asks, already knowing the answer to the question when a rosy hue appears on your cheeks. “(Y/N), drop the charade. You both have been infatuated with the other since you met each other,” Hermione places a hand on your arm, rubbing it. “Everyone sees the glances you two steal, the way you laugh at his jokes, the way he literally drops everything to be next to you...don’t wait any longer.”

If this all was true, then maybe it really did mean Harry had deeper feelings for you. But the possibility that people were reading into it and Harry saw you as just a close friend loomed over your head like a dark rain cloud. The fear of Harry looking into your eyes and telling you that this relationship of yours was merely platonic would break your heart. You would rather keep your secret just that, a secret. That way you could prevent yourself from being hurt. But then there was the risk of keeping this secret hidden deeply and hurting yourself by watching him live life with another girl, someone who wasn’t you. And that was what made your stomach churn.

Before you can ask Hermione advice, Harry speaks up, “(Y/N), you ready?” You look at Hermione who gives you a reassuring squeeze and wink as you sigh. Turning to Harry, you nod.

“We’ll catch up later,” you tell Hermione who gives you a curt nod. You walk over to Harry who extends a hand out to you to walk back into the castle. You accept it, letting your hands swing back and forth, letting the negative thoughts in your mind float away as you enjoy the feeling of his gloved hand holding yours.

Harry gives your hand a gentle squeeze as he notices you ruminating in thought, nibbling on your bottom lip. He knew your nervous habits like the back of his hand and he monitored them carefully. “What’s bothering you?” he asks quite simply. You look at him, puzzled. “Your biting your bottom lip. You always do that when you’re overthinking something,” he tells you as you sigh defeated. He knew you too well and that was the problem. “You know you can tell me, (Y/N). We’re best friends.”

Best friends. That’s exactly what you were. “Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“Anything,” he smiles as he continues to swing your hand back and forth.

But you stop walking and drop his hand, tucking both your hands into your jacket pockets. Harry watches as you do so, gulping, nervous as to what you had to say. “Did you...did you tell Hermione and Ron that you didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with them today because you weren’t feeling well?” you ask.

Harry looks at you blankly before inhaling deeply. “I did, yes.”

You, even more confused, now try to clarify. “But you came out to Hogsmeade with me instead? You told me you wanted to stay in the castle, so why didn’t you? If you weren’t feeling well, you should have told me that and I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me,” you tell Harry who just stands there. “Harry, you know you don’t have to follow me around. I could have gone with someone else today.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not the point, (Y/N). That’s not why I came with you.”

“Then why did you come with me?” you ask, genuinely needing to know the answer. Harry remains silent for a moment as you groan. “Harry, I need you to be honest with me. You tell some of your friends one thing and then you tell me another. I’m just confused and I need at least a little clarity as to what is going on inside that head of yours,” you exclaim.

Harry stands there silent again as you look at him, with an exhausted expression on your face. Was it really that hard to tell you the truth? You shake your head and start walking away from Harry, whispering under your breath, “This is ridiculous.”

Before you can take another step away from him, Harry grabs your hand and pulls you back to him, spinning you around to face him. He wastes no time, cupping your cold cheeks in his hands and pulling you into him, connecting his lips with yours. You are taken aback by the sudden move, but you instantly melt into his touch, kissing him back. His lips are cold from the weather, but the kiss is warm and sweet and genuine. The kiss is revitalizing; it makes your heart speed up and makes you pull him closer to you, wanting more and more and more until you can’t take anymore. Harry only kisses you harder as you relax into the kiss. As you kiss, you can feel snowflakes fall upon your cheeks and eyelashes. The scene was picturesque. Two friends now kissing in the middle of the snowy pathway as freshly fallen snow surrounds them like halos.

Gently, Harry pulls away and rubs your cheeks with his thumbs as you keep your eyes closed, savoring the sensation of his cool lips on yours. “Does that clarify things?” he asks as you lightly smile, fluttering your eyes open, looking into his green ones. “I always want to be with you, (Y/N). I lied to Ron and Hermione because I wanted to be with you. I will take every opportunity to be with you because I’m absolutely head over heels for you.”

His words make your heart flutter. It was everything you have ever wanted to hear and you can’t help but smile like a goofball at his words. “You are?” you say in disbelief, breathlessly as you hold onto his arms tightly, not ever wanting to let go.

“Head over heels,” he repeats. “And I’m willing to do anything to prove it to you.”

You smile widely before pressing your forehead against his. “There’s no need. Because I’m head over heels for you, Harry,” you confess as Harry smiled brightly at your confession before kissing the tip of your nose gently. “Quite the pickle we’ve gotten ourselves into, huh, Potter?” you tease him.

Harry shakes his head, “One I don’t plan on getting out of any time soon,” he tells you before kissing you again sweetly as the snow showers over the both of you.

#Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut #harry imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter x ravenclaw!reader #harry potter x ravenclaw #harry potter x slytherin!reader #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter x original character #harry potter x gryffindor!reader #harry potter x reader imagine

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whumperooni · 3 years

Note

alpha bird keigo nii is🤤🤤 can u do a continuation, maybe she feels ugly because of multiple chicks in her belly and keigo-nii takes care of his mate🥺 he praises her while sucking her milky tits and makes love to her😳

you can absolutely have a continuation ♡

(but be warned i took some Liberties)

a continuation of this

tags/warnings: tw incest, tw dubcon, tw pregnant reader, nursing, mention of breastfeeding (just a tiny bit), fingering, shame, praise, depression and self-deprecation, yan keigo

You’re disgusting. You’re so ugly.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you look in the mirror and take in the sight of your bulging belly, your fattened breasts and thighs and puffy ankles. You’re so big now- swollen with your big brother’s clutch and softer than ever, bigger and squishier than you ever imagined you would become.

Pregnancy glow? What a load of crap.

Maybe that’s just reserved for people who haven’t been drenched in sin.

You swipe at your tears and you sniffle over the way your tank top struggles to fit. Keigo won’t let you wear anything loose anymore- he likes how big you are, he goes nuts over the visible evidence of the way he bred his little sister.

You just want to hide away from it all.

There’s the sound of a door opening and closing in the distance and you quickly try to scrub the tears from your eyes, wince as footsteps grow closer.

He’s home.

Multiple locks tumble loudly as Keigo undoes them and you hurriedly scramble to the nest, just barely get your bottom sat down before he strides in.

Keigo grins at you only for his face to falter and you flinch in worry whenever he takes a silent step closer.

He doesn’t like seeing you upset. He’s going to get mad, again, and you’re going to have to deal with some form of punishment.

Again.

(Keigo’s gotten a lot more volatile since he claimed you.

You miss your carefree, loving older brother who coddled you and made you feel safe)

“What’s with the tears, baby? You not happy to see me?”

Yes. No. He’s the only person you see anymore- it’s pathetic how you look forward to him coming home just so you’re not alone with your thoughts and worries.

You try to smile, but all you can do is cry- pathetic and upset and unable to keep up with the tears streaming down your cheeks. You sob and you whimper whenever Keigo sits himself behind you, let yourself be pulled like a weak doll against his chest as he wraps his wings around your trembling form.

“Hey, hey- what’s wrong? What’s got my mate so upset?”

His mate. Disgusting. You’re his little sister- not his mate.

Though, the eggs in your belly would say otherwise.

You weep even louder- hormonal, anguished, angry and depressed. The stroke of his hand to your hair does little to soothe you, but you still burrow against his chest in search of comfort, hate yourself as you do.

You don’t want to be like this. You want your older brother back and you just want to be normal again.

“Sis? Hey, come on- what’s wrong?”

He’s so gentle as he asks and, for a second, it’s almost like he’s your big brother again. It makes you weak and you sob more against him, curl your fingers into his shirt and shake.

“I- I’m fat and I’m- I’m ugly and I- I’m disgusting! I’m gross!”

Big tears stream down your cheeks and soak his shirt. You can’t bring yourself to care about any repercussions for your upset and all you can do is shake and weep against Keigo’s chest.

Over your tears, there’s the faintest noise from your big brother and you whimper as his arms tighten around you.

“Oh, baby...”

The murmur is so gentle, sweet. It makes it hurt worse, his tender tone, and it makes you even weaker, keeps you from wincing whenever he kisses your hair. You don’t resist when he tilts your head up and you don’t do anything more than cry and sniffle when he cups your face, looks at you so lovingly that it has you aching.

It’s like when he used to comfort you before- before when he was your big brother and not your captor, before when you were just his little sister and not his bred prisoner.

“Baby, you’re not ugly at all,” he murmurs, thumbing away your tears. “You’re so beautiful, so lovely.”

He couples the word with a soft smile and you cry harder, shake your head.

“I’m g-gross. I’m- I’m a blob!”

He huffs, but he doesn’t look angry or upset- at least from what you can see through your wet, blurry vision. His lips find your forehead and you sniffle again- louder and more pathetic, snotty from all of your dismay and bubbling distress.

“You’re gorgeous,” he insists, thumbs swiping away at more rolling tears. “You’re always gorgeous.”

“I’m not! I’m not!”

Your sobbing denial comes with harder crying, a flash of hurt going across Keigo’s face. Before he can say anything more, you burrow your face into his neck- pressing against him in a desperate sort of way that you haven’t done since he took you in his rut, made you into this pathetic wreck.

You’ll regret it later, probably. But right now? Right now you need some sort of comfort- even if it is from him.

His arms tighten around you even more and you tremble in his hold, don’t register the upset noise that leaves him or the way his wings wrap around you even more.

“Baby, baby...”

The murmured words that would have made you want to scream before only have you sniffling and pressing against him even more. Keigo’s lips press against your hair and his hands hold onto you tight, his lips move in quiet whispers that you can’t hear over your blubbering.

He lets you cry. There’s none of the punishment that you had feared- only comfort and sweetness, a gentle consolation that leaves you dizzy and overwhelmed.

“My mate, my sweet mate...you’re not- I promise you’re still beautiful. You’re so pretty, baby. So lovely. I love you. I love you so much. I love how you look.”

A hand slides down to your bulging stomach and you whine into the crook of his neck, shake your head. He shushes you, quietly, and tilts your head up with his other hand, presses a kiss to your forehead, both your cheeks.

You don’t pull away when his lips find yours- you just tremble and let it happen.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips. “You’re just growing, baby, and you’re doing it so well- I know our chicks are going to turn out so pretty like you.”

Pretty? Like you?

You’re not pretty. Keigo’s always been the pretty one- even before you got like this.

His hands smooth over your stomach and his lips press against yours again, mold in a sweet way that they haven’t quite done before. It’s so gentle compared to the hungry, greedy, possessive kisses he’s forced onto you before and you can’t help but shake, sniffle out more tears as you cling to him.

“Pretty mate,” he whispers. “Pretty girl.”

You want to deny him- you do. But the praise makes you whine instead and you shudder when his lips trail down to your jawline, smooth to your throat. Your head tilts back before you can help it and you squeeze your eyes shut- tears still slipping down your cheeks and strangled, soft noises leaving you.

You want to feel pretty. You want to feel wanted. Keigo is the only one who could want you like this; he’s the only one that would whisper praise against your skin while you’re so bloated and puffy eyed and upset.

Your big brother is the only person that could love you like this.

In fact, he’s the only person that loves you- even if it’s twisted and disgusting, perverted and sinful.

He’s the only person that’s ever going to love you.

A sob wracks through you at the realization and you let yourself be gently pushed onto your back, look up at your big brother through your wet lashes. He smiles at you- gently, sadly- and another sob leaves you, your hands reach up to him in a desperate way you’ll hate yourself for later on.

Keigo catches one of your hands and he brings it to his lips, kisses your fingers with a devotion that has your whole word quaking.

“I’ve never seen you look so gorgeous,” he murmurs, lips moving over the back of your hand and to your wrist. “You’re radiant.”

Radiant? No one has ever called you that. You’re not- you’re not. But...

“Ni- nii-san...”

The whine leaves you before you can think about holding it back and his eyes close, a soft groan leaves him. Keigo places another kiss to your wrist and then he lets your hand drop, leans down until he can nuzzle at your neck.

You don’t do more than whimper when he noses down to your breasts, shiver when his thumbs slowly smooth over your sensitive nipples. Keigo pulls your tank top down in a cautious sort of way that you’re absolutely not used to from him and the consideration (is that it?) he’s gracing you with.

You squirm when you’re bared to him and squeeze your eyes shut in shame, bite your lip and stifle a whine when his hands cup your swollen breasts.

“They’ve gotten so big,” he sighs out- soft and happy. “Full of milk for our chicks.”

The way his tongue laves over your nipple is almost soothing and a horrible mewl leaves you whenever his lips latch onto it, gives a suck.

You’re so sensitive now- body wracked by your live-wire hormones and your overwhelmed emotions. It takes only a second for your breathing to turn stuttered and your fingers twitch against the padding of the nest, there’s an urge to curl your digits into his hair that you’re able to just barely resist.

“Could suck on these all day,” he mumbles- your nipple still in his mouth, his tongue jostling against it and making you squirm, making your breath hitch. “Love them, baby. I love them.”

“Nii-san...”

He groans, again, and he sucks your nipple, switches to the other to lay his attention on it as well.

It’s a betrayal to yourself how you arch up, but you’re already lost to it all- your hormones, your need to feel wanted, your desperation to forget for just a moment that you’re not what he’s saying but a disgusting mess instead.

He murmurs something but it’s lost against your flesh, lost underneath the whine that leaves you. Keigo oh so gently scrapes his teeth against your hardened peak and whimper leaves you as you feel a heat light down low.

You don’t fight it whenever his hand rubs over your stomach and sneaks down low. You don’t fight the way your legs part for him and you don’t fight the quiet, quiet moan that leaves you whenever he cups your mound. His finger hooks your panties to the side and slips through your slit. There’s a pause to his nursing, an upset whimper from you whenever his lips pull from your tit as he lifts his head. He looks down at you- surprise on his face, his expression blurred from your still teary gaze- and you whimper again when he blinks, whenever his eyes widen ever so slightly.

“You’re wet,” he breathes out, finger finding your clit and stroking it so your gasp. “Oh, baby...”

The way he says it is so- so- so happy. So pleased. So full of praise.

Your lashes flutter in some unwanted creep of joy and you turn your head away from him in shame, squeeze your eyes shut as your bottom lip wobbles and your heart pounds hard.

His finger works over you as he watches you in wonder and you whimper, squirm from his ministrations. Whenever Keigo slides a finger inside you, a whine slips from your lips and your back arches, your swollen belly brushes against his lean one.

Some part deep in the back of your mind screams over how unfair it is that he gets to stay toned and gorgeous while you’re forced to become a large, waddling blob. It’s something that doesn’t quite get to surface, though- not with the starry burst of heat that flames through you whenever his finger curls and brushes over your sweet spot to make you gasp and mewl.

“Fuck. Good girl, good mate. God, you look so pretty.”

Pretty. You’re not- you’re not-

You want to be pretty.

A sniffle leaves you and his lips find your nipple again, he begins to nurse your oh so tender tit. It’s needier, almost feverish but still careful and you can’t help the clench you give to his finger, you can’t help reaching up and curling your digits into his hair as he slides another inside you.

The room is starting to fill with sounds of your wavering, upset, overwhelmed, needy whimpers. The room is starting to fill with the wet shlick of his fingers and the soft, muffled groans that slip from him.

You gasp and whine his name whenever his thumb finds your clit and you tug on his hair without meaning to, press his face tighter against your breast. The way his fingers begin to pump in and out of your shamefully wet pussy has you trembling and you throw your head back as your hips try to move in a stuttered motion against his hand.

“That’s it,” he mutters- so encouraging as he laves his tongue over your nipple in between the words. “Such a sweet little sister- such a good girl.”

Little sister.

Tears spill down your cheeks with a renewed vigor but you’re not able to stop the way you chase after hazy pleasure, the desperate need to fall into something that will help you forget everything.

He ruts against your thigh and you shake your head when you feel him pull back to take his cock out, look up at him through your tears as he pulls down his zipper.

“The babies! You’ll hurt-”

You choke on the words before they can fully leave you- eyes going wide and a hand slapping over your mouth in disbelief.

You...when did you start to...when did you start to care about your big brother’s clutch growing inside of you? When did you start to care about the chicks that are distorting your body, bloating you with the sin of your big brother’s deeds?

Keigo stares down at you- golden eyes wide for a moment before they soften, before something loving fills his expression. You cry whenever his hand cups your wet cheek, fall apart even more as you try so hard to swim through all your mismatched, contrasting feelings.

“...look at you,” he murmurs, thumb caressing your cheekbone and smoothing away your tears. “Such a good mama.”

Mama. You’re- oh, god you are a mama.

A choked sob leaves you and you press your lips against his when he moves to kiss you, fumble your hands over his back and wings until you can curl your fingers tight into his hair once more. He shudders as you kiss him back and his hands press firmly against your cheeks, his breathing grows just a bit ragged whenever he rests his forehead against yours and look down at you with adoring eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “I won’t hurt the chicks.”

How can you believe the words of someone that took you against your will? How can you believe the words of someone that’s kept you captive so long?

You can’t, but you want to- you want to believe, desperately, that your big brother is going to be good to you- that he’ll make his sins easier to deal with, that he’ll love you and care for you even in his crazed possession.

You’re giving into him, into the situation.

...but what else can you do?

You sniffle and Keigo kisses you again, noses against your cheek and then burrows his face into your neck.

“Won’t go inside,” he mumbles, hips canting and dripping cock rocking against your plush thigh. “Won’t hurt you. Won’t hurt our babies.”

The promises almost makes everything better.

You whine- so much softer than before- and your head moves in a weak, horrible nod. The compliance has your big brother shuddering against you and his lips find your nipple again, latch on as his hand moves back to your cunt, rubs against you and makes you arch.

“I love you, baby. I love you so much.”

You sniffle at the muffled words and you sniffle at your tears, the shameful pleasure building inside you, your weak and pathetic break that has you accepting all this instead of fighting like you should.

You sniffle, again, and nod as Keigo’s humping gets a little faster, squeeze your eyes shut tight as a tingle shoots through your breast, as your big brother gets the first taste of your milk.

“I- I love you too, nii-san...”

Keigo moans and you shudder as you rock your hips against his fingers, as you fall deeper into the twisted shambles that your life has become.

#Anonymous #keigo takami x reader #rooni's shit #tw incest #tw pregnancy #tw dubcon #if you think something else should be tagged lemme know!!!!#sorry for any typos but i'm sleepy u.u

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tooweirdforyou · 3 years

Text

Chocolates » Portgas D. Ace

A/N : Happy Valentine’s Day! :D 🍫 please enjoy this very sweet and fluffy moment with our Ace!

Summary : It’s time to give chocolates.

Valentine’s Day.

It was finally the end of the day. This long, eventful day had taken its toll and all you wanted to do was get home and crash.

Not to mention, you didn’t really have anyone in mind to give chocolate or spend this special day with anyways, so a nice romantic comedy and snacks was good enough for you.

“There wasn’t a point in making any chocolates after all.” You sigh and glance at the small box and just tucked it into your bag.

Meanwhile, as you got up and headed for the door, you pass by the lingering students around the classroom and the hallway.

Each one exchanging gifts and chocolates to one another, a few more than others.

Even some of the teachers and staff got some from the students, it was a pretty special occasion. Everyone knew everyone in this school, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Especially with how kind the staff were.

“Time to go.”

Heading out, you head to your shoe locker to switch out your footwear when you pass by Ace along with a female.

Portgas D. Ace.

You weren’t sure what your problem with Ace was, Ace was a great guy. He was such great manners, he’s so kind to everyone he meets, he’s a bit clueless but warm-hearted, not too mention handsome, with freckles.

It was no wonder his bag was overflowing with chocolates and gifts.

But even then, something about him just put you off. Perhaps it was because he seemed to constantly be around wherever you were, and everyone was so focused on him. Made sense since he was popular.

Plus, he seems so happy and almost irritating to you, you wonder what he could be hiding. As much as he was an open book, he was still quite the mystery.

You went to just walk past but you stopped, going to hide behind the wall.

You were curious to see what he was going to do with the female in front of him. Not only was she giving him chocolates, it seems she was confessing to him.

“I have strong feelings for you.. so will you go out with me?” Her hand held out a letter for him, signed with just his name and a heart.

Ace blinks before he smiles gently at the girl and pats her head. “For me? How sweet of you, I’m really honored.” Ace hums, moving his hand to place over hers that gripped the letter.

“But.. I’m afraid I have feelings for someone else. My sincerest apologies, miss. I don’t mind being friends though, if you’re alright with that.”

A beaming grin plasters over his face and even if she was just rejected, she just couldn’t say no.

“Oh.. well I don’t mind. I’m okay with being friends! Thank you, Ace.” With that, the female headed off with a smile, leaving Ace alone but had the letter in hand.

You blink at what just happened before glancing at Ace who was staring at the letter, seeing him putting it into his bag.

“Feelings for someone, huh? Surprising.”

For some reason, hearing that made your heartstrings tighten just a little bit, but you figured you were just feeling dehydrated is all.

Just as you went to continue walking, a voice peers behind you.

“[Name]? What’re you doing like that?”

Jumping away in shock, you turn around to see Ace standing with quite the puzzled look. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

Your eyes narrow and you furrow your brows. “How did he get behind me so quickly??” You decide to disregard it and just exhaled.

“Nothing, see you tomorrow, Ace.” You mutter, walking away with your bag to your locker when Ace follows you, smiling.

“Going home already? Hey, did you give chocolates to anyone?”

This is where you slowly become annoyed.

“Yeah, I am going home. The school day ended. And why does it matter if I did or not?”

“Oh, right.” Ace chuckles sheepishly before smiling softly. “Well, I was just curious since you have a box sticking out of your bag. Either you made or bought those for someone or someone gave them to you, so I’m curious! Secret admirer?”

“Nothing like that, dumbass... I don’t know why I made them..” You knew exactly why but you didn’t want to admit it.

Ace stays silent as he follows you to your locker before offering a softer smile and reached into his bag, going deeper to the bottom where he pulls out a dark red box, about the size of a tennis ball.

“Here. I want to give this to you.”

You look up and see the box in his hand, and Ace humming lightly.

“... is this one of the chocolates you were given?”

Ace widens his eyes and shakes his head quickly. “N-No, it’s one of my chocolates. I made it myself! I wanted to give it to you before you left.”

Ace reaches for your hand and places the small box into it, his smile widening. “There.”

You glance down at the red box and see a tag, reading your name.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, [Name].”

Ace rubs the back of his neck a bit shyly, his cheeks dusting pink. “I really like you.. anyways, I should let you get home, you must have special plans. See you.”

With that, Ace began to walk away, hands in his pockets and a gentle smile on his lips.

This guy.. always so nice and considerate.. you never would’ve dreamed the person he liked was you.

Slowly, a blush began to form on your cheeks as you grip the box. “Tch..”

“Ace!”

The male turns around at his name, just to be met with a box tossed in his face.

Expecting it to be his box, he was surprised to see it [ Color ] instead of his dark red one and he blinks, looking up at you to see you faced away.

“H-Happy Valentine’s Day..”

Ace tilts his head as he glances down at the box again, a bright smile starting to form as he sees the tag, labeled with his name.

“To Portgas D. Ace ~ Happy V-Day.”

Just as you slowly turn around to see his reaction, you see the beaming grin on his face, seeing him hold up the box of chocolates and bringing it to his lips to press a tender kiss to it.

“Thank you, [Name]! I’ll savor it!” He calls out as he walks backwards, winking as he did so before running off.

You merely blush at the action and clear your throat, looking down at the small box in your hands.

“Portgas D. Ace..”

A/N : Thoughts? :O

#tooweirdforyou #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #op #one piece writing #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace #ace x reader #one piece ace #fire fist ace

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spottedenchants · 3 years

Text

(helping the self through another- recollected sorrows rest upon those who got out, who survived.)

(cw: vague references to Caleb’s backstory)

A forceful series of knocks reaches all the way to Caleb’s bedchamber and he is suddenly very awake, hazily pleasant dreams shattered.

This is strange, entirely abnormal.

Frightening, almost.

Without much thought, he rises and throws on a robe, passing through door and door to the final one.

He opens this third door, the one out to the rest of the tower, to find its only other current resident at his threshold, eye-to-eye.

The height is unsurprising given Essek’s favored locomotion.

But Caleb has never seen Essek like this.

A deeply haunted, half-present look in his red-rimmed eyes, his ears entirely away, followed by disheveled hair and rumpled clothing, an entire deconstruction of his usual well kept presentation. Arms crossed and clinging to his sides, clenched against the fabric there.

He’s shivering.

It’s concerning.

Concerning enough to call forth a faint echo of a cold, cold tower, a lingering memory of a warm, warm dorm room, and Caleb’s forearms itch at the involuntary recall, despite how weak he’s managed it to be.

But he keeps his hands away. Takes some breaths to stave off slight nausea.

This can’t be that. It’s not. This is different, Caleb knows. He knows.

But that look. And why is Essek shaking?

Caleb’s words escape as a hiss wrapped in worry.

“Essek, what is wr-?”

But dismay jolts his voice to a stop when Essek immediately glides even closer - very close - and raises a trembling hand to Caleb’s throat, wordless with shallow breaths, eyes narrowed, a slightly unfocused scowl pulling at his pretty lips and drawing his brows together.

Caleb dare not move in this moment, dare not swallow or breathe too deep, dare not react to this uncharacteristically bold motion because there is no hunger in Essek’s shining, panicked eyes, and atrophied habit carries no follow-up without it present.

Essek’s cold fingertips - is he actually cold or is this only further remembrance? - find that particularly vulnerable soft spot between jaw and neck and press gently, firmly, likely just enough to feel Caleb’s rapidly beating pulse.

Ah, that’s what this is.

Caleb dare not move, dare not scare Essek from this oddly executed assurance, this check he must be making with those intent eyes of now-dripping violet as they shift to bore into Caleb’s chest.

Right where Essek palpates cautious fingers against clothed scar tissue.

Right above the residence of Caleb’s hammering heart.

After an unbearably tense second or century, Essek’s face, his entire form, seems to crumple small as he lets out a shaky breath, hands tightening against Caleb’s robe, head bowed and tears now unseen.

Caleb dips his head, trying to catch Essek’s eyes.

“I’m alive.”

Essek looks away further, nods, and his breathing stutters into rough sniffles as he releases Caleb’s robe, voice watery.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Hands still raised and now directionless, Essek’s tensed fingers fidget with themselves, thumbnail sides pinched by fingertips, before swiping at his eyes, as if his teardrops are frivolous things to be plucked and crushed.

Caleb opens his arms, extending them to his sides and proffering a quiet warmth.

Essek trusts him to be here and this is different from so long ago.

This is not comfort for survival; it’s a conscious vulnerability on both their parts.

But Essek flinches at the motion, drifting back and away from Caleb’s embrace, away from this room they have spent time sharing, like they would catch and trap him, and he rights himself uncannily well despite the ways his face still leaks.

Disappointment, concern, and relief all burn together.

Essek does not need Caleb like that.

Even so, his muted, jarringly pleasant façade is askew; it doesn’t fit quite right anymore now that Essek has grown to encompass more than another vizard underneath. Caleb knows, can see hesitance slip through the cracks in the way Essek clenches his hands motionless.

Seeming to remember his magic, Essek clears his face and throat, mending the mask some.

“I’ll go. Thank you.”

Still, Essek stays of his own volition, untethered even to the ground.

This current bond between them is something very different from what Caleb had before, very different from what he and Essek had before; it’s something grown newer, blooming fresh of their own choosing, tended to on purpose.

This is alright.

So what can Caleb do but continue to pay forward a gesture of goodwill and good intent, born to soothe memory and fostered to mark safe opportunity, among other hopeful sentiments?

Slowly, slowly, as Essek watches with a level gaze, meeting his eyes all the while, Caleb takes a careful step out of the room.

Over the course of an eon, he raises a single hand to ghost fingertips over Essek’s cheek, to steady himself, to ensure Essek is willing to accept this smaller touch, and waits.

Though he does not flinch again through these snail-paced motions, does not back away from Caleb any farther, the mask slips as Essek seems to realize what Caleb is planning and he bows his head.

Squeezes his eyes shut and buries them under taut brows like he’s anticipating a swat.

This is nothing of the sort.

Caleb leans in and up, and presses a gentle kiss to Essek’s forehead before withdrawing both hand and face, volunteering no further touch.

He keeps the quiet, the closeness, but still asks, head dipped and voice soft, a murmur.

“Sit with me?”

No response, only the same grimace, the same clenched jaw. Tear trails reappear.

“I can show you how to count.”

Essek’s eyes open, violet deep as pre-dawn dusk and framed by dew-melt clung hoarfrost lashes, and they grow sharper, more focused.

“I know numbers fine.”

His eyebrows slant with what could even be read as defiance against presumed patronizing.

Good, good, welcome back.

Caleb crooks a gentle grin, feels the steep upturn of his brow line.

“But do you know my way?”

A tiny fleck of curiosity lightens Essek’s eyes, lifts his ears; it’s a shift imperceptible enough that Caleb would miss it had he not spent time deliberately learning the difference between its presence and absence.

So Caleb turns aside and pulls a cat-call cord, gesturing through the door to their well-familiar couch, before following his own guide. He takes the middle rather than his corner and pats Essek’s side of the seat, looking back to him, keeping his face open.

Essek follows and settles into his place, drifting down and pulling small, clearing his face again.

A moment more and then Gretchen, dutiful as ever, waltzes into the room with a chirp, making a point to rub against Essek’s idle hands as she jumps onto the couch on her way to Caleb.

“Hot cocoa, ice water, and some snacks, those little finger foods with fiddly bits that Jester brought last time, for my friend and I, ja?”

Gretchen purrs as Caleb scratches on either side of her jaw before she disengages, pesters Essek again to receive a few more disjointed pets, and pads away to fulfill the request.

As they wait, Caleb demonstrates how he counts for breath when difficult thoughts swarm and tension grabs his lungs tight.

Staying quiet, Essek breathes along, seeming to sink further into the couch with each exhale.

Cats come and go, filling the low table in front of the couch with drinks and nibbling tidbits.

Perhaps it would be best to keep such things handy and readily present, Caleb notes.

Just in case.

Without much deliberation, Essek claims a mug of cocoa, holding it between both hands, staring in as steam matches the jumbled swirls of his hair.

So he does want some warmth.

Having no specific appetite, Caleb only keeps watch on the fireplace, ready to follow along with whatever Essek decides next, even if that means Essek leaves entirely.

The hearth plays a crackling solo to the room.

Ice makes a single clink to glass.

“Verin taught me that, a long time ago.”

Caleb glances to Essek- he’s gripping his mug tight.

“Checking the pulse?”

“Mh... And I-”

Caleb waits, listens.

A sharp inhale.

“I apologize. For barging in and- doing that. I realize it was strange, unseemly, invasive. I couldn’t collect my thoughts well enough to say anything meaningful, but I should have kept boundaries in mind instead of falling to…”

Essek’s lips push flat as he releases his breath through his nose, an expression of consideration, Caleb decides.

“Buried… habit.”

Habit, hm.

Caleb absently runs a hand down his sleeved forearm before resting his hands together, held loose in his lap. Fingers to palm back, he kneads one thumb to the heel of the other, and looks back to the flames.

“Well, I’ll be prepared should it happen again.”

“Ah.”

Firelight catches in condensation, bejewelling the water pitcher with golden cabochons and veins of amber.

Caleb glances aside.

“Would you like to stay?”

Tired violet eyes turn to Caleb when he asks this, wide as the saucers on the low table.

Then Essek looks back to his untouched drink, nods reticent.

The ice in the pitcher catches Caleb’s ear when it shifts upon melting some from the fire’s warmth.

He tips his head to Essek.

“Would you like me to stay?”

Essek gives a wry huff to his cocoa.

“Would that be selfish?”

“I’d like to stay.”

A quick shift of violet to Caleb before Essek’s gaze returns to the mug.

“Then be my guest. Or- oh. I…. Ha.”

It could be a trick of the shifting firelight, could be Caleb’s sleepy eyes, but Essek’s expression seems to turn just a little tender, just a touch softer on the edges, as his voice lilts a murmur.

“I suppose I’m yours, hm?”

A gentle smile pulls at Caleb’s lips, and he watches as Essek traces the rim of his mug with a thumb, fingers and palms still held against its warming sides, the contents inside rippling slightly.

“Is there anything else you’d like? Anything to help?”

A glinting fang worries a lip. But no words.

“Show me?”

Essek looks up from his mug to Caleb, eyes flicking between Caleb’s, brows softly furrowed, but he neither says nor does anything further than the glance.

No matter what Essek could ask for, Caleb knows this is safe.

“I won’t run.”

A moment.

Caleb will give Essek all the time he needs to consider.

A moment more.

Then, careful and slow, not spilling a drop of his drink, Essek unfurls and abandons his corner in favor of tucking himself next to Caleb, going so far as to nestle his way under Caleb’s arm and press against his side, shoulder to hip, legs folded up and feet drawn under.

This close, Caleb can feel Essek’s tremors immediately lessen, can feel Essek’s chest expand and contract alongside his own.

Caleb can feel Essek’s fluttering heartbeat, rather in sync with his own.

They are both very alive, present together.

“This, if it’s alright?”

Caleb remains stationary, not wanting to spook Essek from this rare moment of outreach, looking into those too-careful, entreating eyes.

His heart feels fit to burst.

“Ja, this is alright.”

Essek blinks, nods, settles further into place and turns his eyes to the fire.

And so they sit, leaning side-by-side, breathing together, sweet steam warming the air around them, the fireplace casting its gentle warm light through crystalline ice water.

Essek’s eyes grow unfocused as he watches the flames.

Deep in thought, Caleb assumes.

Muscles held taut relax, slowly, slowly.

Eventually, Essek takes a sip of his drink.

Caleb, drowsy, comfortable, definitely does not stare when Essek reflexively licks the chocolate from his lips.

He definitely does not wonder how it would taste.

The water pitcher’s ice shifts again.

The hearth cracks in reply.

Caleb holds Essek close until he wants his space again.

Read I Lean In and Kiss Him [Right Here] on AO3

T, M/M, No Archive Warnings apply, Complete (5 Chapters, 10.9k)

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #critical role fanfiction #i just really like this bit #chanse writing

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nerdyfangirl67 · 3 years

Text

A Piece of You - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Spencer x fem!reader

Warning: Spencer in prison, angst!, language, post prison!Spencer, PTSD symptoms, fluff ending

Word count: 5951

Short summary: Reader finds she is pregnant just as Spencer is sent to prison.

A/N: Y/F/N means your first name. Y/L/N means your last name. Y/N means your name. And Y/C/M means your comfort movie. I chose for the baby in the fic to be a girl, but feel free to change it when you read it. I found a blog post on the internet that stated Reid was in jail for about 84 days, so I added some to accommodate time for travel, etc and am going with it. I also changed a few things, like Spencer coming home without the reader knowing and I didn’t include his mother as much either, to add to the storyline. And I added/made up a few details with the whole prison call/visit things so it may not ring true. Link here: click

A warm pair of lips placing feather-lite kisses on your face pulls you away from the comforting arms of sleep. You sluggishly open your eyes, blinking the blurry figure leaning over you in the darkness of the bedroom into focus.

“Spence?” You drawl out, reaching a hand up to weave into his curly hair. “Don’t go.” He lets out a small laugh as he gently unthreads your hand from his hair. “I’ve got to go Y/N.” He says reluctantly, moving to rest his forehead against yours for a moment. You close your eyes, reveling in the intimacy of the moment.

“I love you.” You murmur, your breath fanning across Spencer’s face. You reach up enough to press your lips against Spencer’s in a tender kiss. “Come home safe.”

“I love you too Y/N. Go back to sleep.” He says as he brings the comforter back up over your shoulders. “I’ll be home before you know it.”

If you had known that the kiss you’d given Spencer before he left for his trip to Mexico would have been the last you’d be able give him for the next 89 days (you had been counting), you would’ve made it more than a sleepy, wet kiss as you yearned for your bed. You would have hugged him tight, pressing your face into his chest, deeply breathing his musk in as you listen to his heartbeat. You would have pulled him in for two, three, four more kisses, murmuring words of love between each.

Most importantly, you would have told him what you had found out only the night before when he had been at work, that you were pregnant. If only you had known what was to happen, you could have saved yourself from the hell to come.

---

No matter the case, Spencer always made sure to call, or at the very least text, you once a day. But after two days of radio silence, you were starting to worry. You had called him twice, leaving him a message each time asking him to call you when he could. You sent him quite a few text messages as well, becoming more and more concerned as time passed but you receive no call back from him.

By the fifth day, despite having sent a number of additional text messages and leaving enough voicemails to fill Spencer’s inbox, you still hadn’t heard from him. You are so worried that you can hardly focus at work. In fact, you are so distracted by thoughts of Spencer being kidnapped or him being shot and bleeding out in an alley that you got pulled into your boss’s office and reprimanded for your “airhead behavior”, as your boss had put it. When you arrive home, you are gripped with such anxiety and fear that you can only grab one of Spencer’s large sweaters and curl up in bed with it. You can’t even bring yourself to take off your shoes.

The ringing of your phone early the next morning pulls you from the trance you had been in all night. You frantically start looking for your phone and quickly find it on Spencer’s side of the bed, answering it without looking at the number.

“Spencer? Is that you? Are you okay?” You blurt out, not allowing the other person to talk before you are firing questions at them.

“Is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?” The voice on the other side asks quickly, stopping you. You immediately know it isn’t Spencer, just as much as you know that it isn’t someone you know.

“Yes. May I ask who this is and what it is regarding?” You ask nervously, your heart quickening as you wait what feels like an eternity for them to answer.

“I’m Penelope Garcia and I work with Spencer at the FBI.” She pauses for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to continue. “You were the most called number in the call log on Spencer’s phone and I felt like this is something you should know, as he seems to be someone very important to you, and vice versa.” The brokenness of her voice causes the worry in your chest to bubble up again. “Spencer is in jail...in Mexico.”

“Wh-what?” You struggle to wrap your mind around what she is saying as you climb out of bed, rushing to find your discarded jacket and set of keys from the night before. You aren’t entirely sure why you’re rushing, or even where you’d be going, but that doesn’t slow you down. “Was there a case in Mexico? What happened?”

“There wasn’t a case. He took some personal days and went to Mexico for some experimental medication for his mother. He...um..he was arrested for murder, but he doesn’t remember anything.”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to sit in one of the living room chairs as you try to fight off the sobs rising in your chest. “Is he, is he going to stay in Mexico? I mean, is he, no, when will...he didn’t do it.” You stammer out, as you try to slow your racing thoughts, stop the inevitable tears from falling, and make your word coherent.

“Miss Y/L/N, I don’t have the answers to those questions yet. But, I can keep you updated if you’d like. The team left a few hours for Mexico to help Reid. They want to get him transferred to a prison in the states.” Her voice is comforting, but does nothing to tamp down the feeling of impending disaster that is rising in you. You manage to get out a shaky goodbye to Penelope before you lose grip on your emotions.

You struggle to get a proper breath through the onslaught of tears as the reality of the situation hits you. Your phone clatters to the floor as you bury your face in your arms, drawing your legs up to yourself as you try to push it all away. Eventually the tears slow and stop. You gradually unfurl from the cramped up position you had been in. You numbly make your way to the kitchen and somehow manage to make yourself breakfast. The rest of the day passes in a hazy blur, with you almost forgetting that you were supposed to be at work (you called in sick once you remembered, but your boss wasn’t happy the call was coming in three hours late). You spend the night, clutching Spencer’s pillow and wishing that this were all a dream. You don’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, when the exhaustion of the last few days finally overtakes you.

The ringing of your phone wakes you later that morning, serving as a reminder that you have to face the day ahead, as much as you don’t want to.

“Y/F/N? This is Penelope with the FBI. I called you yesterday about Spencer.” Her greeting has you sitting up, trying to clear the foggy cloud from your brain so you could think.

“Penelope, have you found anything else out? How is Spencer?” You plow over any possible pleasantries as you ask the question that had been on your mind for the last day.

“The team was able to get him extradited to the United States.” She starts, her words helping to ease some of the anxiety that had built up since you had learned about Spencer’s imprisonment. “He isn’t out yet, but the team is working on his case. In the meantime, I’m setting up a visitor schedule. If you’d want to come down to Quantico, I can help you fill out the necessary paperwork and get on the schedule to see him, if you’d like.” You quickly voiced your agreement and after getting directions and setting a time, you hung up with Penelope, your mood considerably elevated for the first time in days.

A glance at the clock has you scrambling out of the bed and to your closet. You had completely forgotten about the doctor’s appointment you had scheduled days ago, before your world had been flipped upside down. You manage to get dressed and ready to go in less than ten minutes, arriving at your appointment only a few minutes late.

Your appointment is short as the doctor just does a routine exam, confirming your pregnancy and letting you know that the baby was healthy so far. You receive a list of different things to avoid (such as caffeine and smoking) and a few different things that are beneficial to your, and the baby’s, health (such as prenatal vitamins). After your appointment, you quickly stop at the store to pick up a few things suggested by the doctor, before heading back to Spencer’s apartment, where you had been staying. Although he had never officially asked you to move in, you had been staying at his apartment most nights for the past few months and had your own drawer and spot in his closet. And with the events of the past few days, it had just felt right to stay, almost as if you had one small part of him still with you.

You go to bed early that night, really early, in hopes of getting the time to pass quicker. The prospect of seeing Spencer has you anxious and excited at the same time, making sleep nearly impossible. After a few hours of tossing and turning, with no sleep, you climb out of bed and get dressed. You grab your purse and keys before leaving the apartment. You walk the short distance to your car and start it. Despite knowing that you would be hours early to your meeting with Penelope, you still start the drive to Quantico and the FBI building.

After almost an hour in the car, and twenty minutes with security (in which they had to confirm your meeting with Penelope before they gave you a visitor credential), you finally made your way to the floor where the BAU team worked. Your eyes scan the bullpen and immediately you recognize Spencer’s desk, even though you had never seen it before. You recognize the pattern in which the items are placed and the semi-clearness of his desk space; it is identical to the desk he uses for work at home. You make your way towards it, tracing a finger along the fake wood edge as you take a seat in his desk chair. Sitting here, you can almost feel his presence behind you, his voice speaking up, sharing an idea he had or some crazy fact, his fingers tapping along the edge of his desk. You take comfort in the feeling as you rest your head in your arms on his desktop. It isn’t long before you are closing your eyes and falling into a light sleep.

A tap on your shoulder jerks you awake, causing you to fly up in a sitting position and blink at the harsh light of the bullpen. “You must be Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m Penelope Garcia.” A cheery blonde, wearing a bright orange dress and matching hair accessory, as well as holding a bright pink pom topped pen.

You stand, smoothing out any wrinkles in your outfit before offering a hand out to her. “Yes, that’s me.” She takes your hand but instead of shaking it, pulls you into a hug. You are taken back by her forwardness, but give her a squeeze in return.

“Let’s go see what we can do to get you on the visitor list.” She says softly, leading the way to what you could only describe as her office, although it more resembled a cave, filled with more types of technology than you would know what to do with.

Penelope gestures to a black swivel desk chair set next to the wall. “Here, take a seat. I’m going to pull up Spencer’s information and see if we can get you some visitor paperwork.” She says as you take a seat in the chair. The longer you sit there, the more nervous you feel. Unconsciously, you rest your hand on your lower stomach, right over the small bump that was starting to form.

You don’t realize that you are zoned out until Penelope clears her throat. “Are you okay?” She nods at your hand resting on your stomach. You quickly pull it away, straightening up in your seat. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She gives you a long stare before speaking. “I have some good news and some bad news Y/N.” You nod, waiting for her to speak with bated breath. “The good news - you can call Spencer.”

You wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. “And the bad news?”

“I can’t add you to the visitor list. It seems that Spencer doesn’t want you to come see him as a visitor.” She can’t look you in the eye as she says that.

You are quiet after that, not entirely sure what to say. The thought that he doesn’t want to see you hurts. But you also know Spencer, and whatever the reason, you know he has one.

“He can take a call in about five minutes if you want to get on the call list.” She says, looking up from one of her monitors at you. You nod quickly, before voicing your agreement. The five minutes of waiting seemed to go on forever, but finally, she is patching through to a prison phone. “Here you go, he should be on the other line now.” The fact that she immediately gave the phone to you, instead of taking some of the time to talk to him, had you smiling gratefully at her. ‘Thank you’, you mouth as you take the phone.

“Spencer? Is that you?” You ask, your heart in your throat as you wait to hear his voice.

“Y/N, it’s so good to hear your voice.” He speaks quietly, the low quality of the phone call causing his voice to crackle.

“I know you didn’t do it Spencer. Whatever they are saying, it isn’t true.” You whisper, clutching the handset close to your ear, as if that would bring him closer to you.

“Y/N...I don’t know-” He starts but you cut him off, knowing he was going to tell you he wasn’t sure what had happened.

“I know Spencer, but I also know you. And that isn’t who you are.” You say thickly, as you fight back the coming tears. “I want to see you Spencer. Why don’t you have me on your visitor list?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to see me here.” You start to argue that it doesn’t matter, but some yelling in the background cuts you off, after which Spencer says, “I’ve got less than a minute Y/N before I’ve got to hang up.” He says solemnly, the sorrow in his voice echoing the sorrow you felt.

You push aside the topic of seeing him, not wanting to waste what little time you had left talking to him by arguing. “I love you Spencer. Don’t forget that okay? I don’t care how long it takes, we-I will be here when you come home. You have a lot of people here in your corner Spencer. They will get you out.” You push back the tears as you talk, not wanting him to hear you cry.

“Gosh, I love you and I miss you. I wish I was th-” His voice is cut off, followed shortly by a dial tone.

You grip at the handset, calling “Spencer? Spencer?!”, wishing for him to respond.

“I’m sorry Y/N. The call ended.” Penelope says quietly. You hand over the handset, moving to sit back in the swivel chair against the wall, roughly wiping away the evidence of your tears as you do.

“What do we do now?” You ask through the tears.

“We wait. The team is working on his case and I will keep you updated on everything that happens. Do you need anything?” She asks, giving you a good look.

You are telling her before you consciously realize what you are doing. “I-I’m pregnant. I just found out and I haven’t had the chance to tell Spencer. I don’t know what to do. I want to tell him when I can see him face to face, when he can enjoy it for what it is, a blessing. But I hate hiding things from him.”

Penelope gives out a little squeal, bouncing up from her chair to hug you tight. “Oh, you are gonna have a baby Reid!” She says loudly, taking a step back from you. The look on your face must have given away the shock on your face because she is quickly apologizing. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. What can I do to help Y/N?”

“I just, I need someone to talk to. I miss him, a lot. It’s hard to be going through this alone.” You whisper, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“Girl, you don’t have to ask. I’d love to be your friend.” She says excitedly, giving you a soft shoulder bump. “And I’m going to do everything I can to get the boy wonder home to you.” She gives you a small smile. “And your little one.”

---

The days follow a routine after that. Work, talking to Penelope, and the occasional doctor’s appointment. Penelope comes to some of the appointments as support, which you appreciate, and when you find out the gender, she insists on going shopping for baby items with you. You are able to talk to Spencer a few more times, although each phone call is shorter than the last, and leaves you missing him even more.

Each doctor’s appointment is harder than the last. All you could think of when you hear the baby’s heartbeat is that Spencer wasn’t there. All you could think of when you feel the baby move for the first time is that Spencer might never be able to feel your baby move like that. He might never get the chance to feel your baby kick. All you can think of when you hear the gender of your baby is that Spencer might never get to experience that excitement, that joy, of imagining all the future things that might be in store for the baby.

---

Late one evening in early May, after a long day at work (which you had spent almost entirely on your feet) and a feeling of nausea that had lasted all day, you dig through Spencer’s side of the closet and grab one of his cardigans. You pull it on, wrapping around you as well as you can with your growing belly getting in the way.

You grab one of the many books resting on Spencer’s side table, taking it with you as you head to the living room. You pull the afghan blanket off of the back of the leather wingback, carrying it with you as you move to the dark leather couch. You get comfortable, wrapping the blanket around your legs and waist before opening the random book you had grabbed.

It isn’t long before the story has your eyelids drooping and your muscles relaxing, giving into the cloud of exhaustion that hung over you. The book, forgotten and half-open, falling to the floor doesn’t wake you, and neither does your cell phone, distant and tinny, as it rings from the bedroom. You don’t wake at the jingling of a key in the lock or the opening of the apartment door. However, the heavy thud that follows the apartment door falling shut has you jerking awake, one hand coming to rest on the swell of your abdomen, the other on the back of the couch. You struggle a bit to sit up, but when you do, after taking a moment to study the intruder, you realize it’s Spencer.

“Spencer?” You whisper, moving slowly from the couch, not entirely sure if he was real or a figment of your imagination. Either way, you didn’t want to scare him away. You stop when you are a foot from him. You search his light brown, almost hazel eyes, the pain and darkness within them, swirling around and hardening his expression. You tentatively reach out with your hand to caress his face. Your fingers slowly graze his stubble covered jaw before you move to rest it against his cheek.

He leans into your touch, bringing his large, rough hand up to cover yours. Your eyes fill with tears, causing your view of him to become blurry and before you can stop yourself, you are throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can get.

He is quick to return the hug, but after a brief moment, he becomes stiff, his arms sliding loosely down your back. You step back, feeling hurt and confused at his sudden rejection of your affection.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur as you roughly wipe a hand across your face, trying to get rid of the tears that were running down your face.

“You’re pregnant.” He states, his eyes no longer looking at your face, but instead, your belly.

Your heart beats faster, a rush of excitement going through you. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for. You’d finally get to tell Spencer that he was going to be a father.

“Spencer, it’s ours.” You answer softly, gently taking his hand in yours and placing right above where the baby typically kicked. “You’re going to be a father.”

“I-I am?” He questions in disbelief. His hand, which had been rigidly resting on your belly, slowly relaxes just as the baby kicks. He jerks his hand away, stepping back and bumping into the door. He brings his hands up, pushing them into his hair. His fingers grip onto the long, curly locks as uses his palms to cover his eyes.

“No, this isn’t happening, it’s a dream. I don’t deserve this.” He is rambling now as he slowly slides down the door, landing in a sitting position. His face is still covered with his hands as he continues to ramble. “This isn’t real. I don’t deserve this.”

“Spencer?” You murmur, keeping your voice low, but audible as you kneel down beside him. You place a gentle hand on his arm, afraid that your touch might startle him. He doesn’t move as he continues to talk to himself. You bring your other hand up to cradle his still covered face. You stay this way for a long time, holding him as much as he’ll allow in his closed off position. Eventually, he stops muttering to himself and is quiet. You shift then, until you're sitting next to him against the door.

“Lie down, Spencer.” You whisper softly, brushing a lock of his hair back away from his face when he turned to face you. You slide your hand from his hair and over his shoulder, gently pulling him down towards you. He didn’t resist, placing his head in your lap and allowing you to run your fingers through his hair.

The two of you stay that way until your butt goes numb from sitting in the same place for so long. You squeeze Spencer’s shoulder with your hand to get his attention. “Let’s go to bed, Spence.” You say. He slowly gets up, offering you a hand as he does, avoiding any accidental brushing of your stomach as he did. You keep his hand in yours as he leads the way to the bedroom, only letting go when you move to your side of the bed and get in. He is gone for a few minutes, coming back with a low-slung pair of gray sweatpants and an old college T-shirt on. He gets in bed, but instead of wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as he usually did, he simply laces his fingers through yours.

Weeks pass this way, with you and Spencer going back to life as it was, or at least as much as the two of you could with Spencer’s new work schedule and the fact that you were getting closer and closer to your due date. The fact that things remained the same though, as they had been when Spencer arrived home for the first time, was what worried you.

Never once did Spencer engage in the conversations you started about the baby or the nursery you wanted in the small spare room across from the bedroom you and Spencer shared. Whenever you commented that the baby was kicking, he found some excuse to leave the room. He still only ever held your hand at night, completely avoiding your ever-growing belly both in bed and anywhere else. It was almost as if he was trying to pretend as if you weren’t actually pregnant, as if what was happening wasn’t reality. Not only were you constantly uncomfortable, tired and just all around ready for the baby to come, but you were frustrated that Spencer still acted as if you weren’t pregnant, as if anytime within the next few weeks you wouldn’t be handed a newborn, making the two of you parents. You had finally had enough when you had mentioned going shopping for baby supplies about two weeks prior to your due date and he ignored you, continuing to wash the dishes. At first you thought he hadn’t heard you, so you repeat yourself, but when he acted much the same way a second time, you slam your hand on the table.

“Spencer, you can’t ignore this pregnancy. It may not be something you want right now, or ever, but you can’t just ignore it.” You snap at him, the irritation you had been feeling at his callous behavior finally surfacing. He doesn’t answer as he continues to wash the dishes from dinner. You can tell he heard you though, by the unnecessary sheer force he was using to scrub the plate in his hand.

“Spencer,” you pause, waiting until he is looking at you before continuing. “You have to find a way to accept it. This baby is coming.” Your tone is softer now, but your words don’t hold any less bite.

“I can’t accept it Y/N. Accepting it means it’s reality.” He lets out a harsh, joyless laugh. “And the reality is that I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a baby. And I definitely don’t deserve this life with you.” He is no longer facing you, rather his back is to you, his shoulders tensed and hunched.

You place a tender hand on his elbow, wanting him to turn so you could see his face. Instead he roughly pulls his elbow out of your hold, flinging soapy water through the air before returning to the plate. “Spencer, look at me.” You try to speak clearly, steadily, but your voice cracks, betraying the emotion behind your words.

He does as you ask, but his face is twisted and dark in a way you had never seen before. “Damnit Y/N. You have no idea what I’ve done or who I am.” He is yelling at you now, waving a half washed dish to emphasize his point, causing you to take a step backwards. “You think I should be the father of that child,” he gestures wildly at your belly, “when you don’t even know who I am, what I am.” He drops the plate and the sponge, letting them clatter loudly against the metal basin of the sink, as he walks towards the front door of the apartment, his hands still dripping wet.

“Where are you going?” Your words are barely audible as you try to force them past the growing lump in your throat.

He ignores your question as he grabs his jacket from the coat rack by the door and leaves the apartment. The loud thud of the door closings clangs against your ears, the tears you had been trying to hold back freely falling now. You were beyond angry at him, despite knowing you shouldn’t be because he had gone through hell the past few months. You couldn’t bring yourself to wait for him to come back. You were tired of the constant bickering and the numerous different times he had chosen to ignore any mention of your pregnancy or the baby.

You quickly fill your duffle bag with the things you’d need for a few days as you called Penelope. The phone rings three times before she answers with a bright, cheery “hello, Garcia.”

“Penelope, hey. It’s Y/N. Can I stay at your place for a few nights?” You ask as you zip your bag closed. “I need some space from Spencer.”

“Of course girl. You’re welcome anytime.” She says warmly. “I’ll get the couch made up and Y/C/M queued up on the TV.”

“Thanks Penelope. I’ll see you soon.” You end the call and upon reaching the kitchen, you find a piece of paper and a pen.

Spencer,

I am going to stay with Penelope for a few days. I just need some space.

I’ll be back in a few days.

I love you.

Y/N

You magnet the note to the fridge, where Spencer will be able to find it. You then grab your bag and make your way out of the apartment and down to your car. The drive to Penelope’s doesn’t take long, and when you knock on her door, she is there, holding a pint of your favorite ice cream and the TV remote. “Come here girl.” She proclaimed, pulling you into a side hug.

The two of you watched feel-good movies well into the night. It is really hard for you to get comfortable, despite being on Penelope’s comfortable sofa, but you chalk it up to being 38 weeks pregnant and partaking in a ‘girls’ sleepover’. When you finally become too tired to keep your eyes open, you rifle through your bag, finding your toothbrush and toothpaste. “I’m going to brush my teeth Penelope.” You say, standing up to go to the bathroom. A wet sensation washing all down your legs has your frozen in place. The pinching sensation in your back intensifies, causing you to sit back down. “Penelope..” You call through the pain.

“Huh? Y/N?” Penelope answers groggily, sitting up from her relaxed position on the oversized chair. If the situation weren’t so serious, you’d be laughing at the way her hair was standing up in random directions.

“Penelope, I think I need to go to the hospital.” You say, letting out a breath as the pain subsided. She is at your side within moments. “What’s wrong? Is it-oh.” Penelope stops as she sees the evidence of your leaking amniotic fluid on pants. “Let’s go Y/N. We’ve got a baby Reid on the way.” She says cheerily, helping you up. She grabs your bag, which was sitting by the door and helps you out to your car, opening the passenger door for you. The drive to the hospital goes much slower than you would like as a combination of traffic and increasing contractions makes the thirty minute drive feel twice as long.

Upon reaching the emergency room, you are wheeled into a private birthing room with Penelope following closely behind. She stays with you throughout the next six hours of labor, leaving only once near the end. The closer the birth of your child gets, the foggier you feel. At one point, someone else enters the room, hovering near the head of your bed, but you can’t focus enough to see who it is.

After six hours and twenty-eight minutes of labor, you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. Shortly after birth, she is placed on your chest, a bright pink and green striped blanket placed over her backside. You laugh through the tears as you look into her eyes for the first time, an overwhelming feeling of love overtaking you. The hustle and clatter of the doctors around you slowly fade away as you get lost looking at the face of your newborn daughter.

“Y/N, she’s…” Spencer’s voice startles you as he trails off, causing you to take in his lanky form, framed by the hospital room door. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

“This baby, she’s a piece of you and me and if all I’ll ever get is a piece of you, then I’ll be happy. I love you and I want this life with you, but I can’t force you to love us either Spencer.” You pause, wiping away the tears falling down your face in frustration. “No matter what you think Spencer, I won’t ever stop loving you, just as this little girl won’t ever go a day without knowing who her father truly is. A kind, compassionate man who gave himself wholly and completely for the people he loved, regardless of what that meant for him. That’s who her father is.” You are looking at the baby in your arms now, her bright wide-eyed look bringing a small smile to your face.

You aren’t paying enough attention to Spencer to realize that he had come closer, almost to your bed, and was now staring at the girl in your arms in amazement. “She’s so small.” His words are thick with emotion and cause you to lift your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are glistening with unshed tears as he stares at his daughter.

“Do you want to hold her?” You question, slowly moving her towards his hands, which were hanging awkwardly out in front of him, as if he had anticipated your question. He hesitates a moment before nodding so you place her in his arms.

He cradles her against his chest, holding her as if she was made of glass. His eyes never stray from her face as they study her features, almost as if he was memorizing what she looked like in case he never got to see her again. You lean back against the stiffly starched hospital pillows as you watch them, exhaustion pulling at you.

“You would never have to force me to love her, or you.” His words snap you from the light doze you had fallen into. He is no longer standing as he watches the baby in his arms, now he is sitting in the chair next to your bed, the baby sleeping soundly in his arms. His eyes bore into yours as if he is trying to tell you with his eyes what he was struggling to with his words.

“I have never stopped loving you.” He looks down at the baby girl in his arms, running a gentle finger over her small cheek. “I just don’t understand what I did to deserve this, to deserve you and her.”

His words break your heart and you place a hand on his knee. “Spencer, of all the people in the world, you deserve this. You deserve love and a family. You do. And I’ll be here, no, we’ll be here everyday to remind you, of who you are and what you do deserve.” You whisper, squeezing his knee as you look at him through teary eyes.

He leans forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.” Those two words, uttered softly near your ear, hold more meaning than the typical words of gratitude and they meant the world to you. They meant he would stay, even if it wasn’t always easy, even if it wasn’t always what he felt he deserved, he would stay.

Tagging: @twilightlover2007 @brandydel @thisiscalm-andits-doctor (I added a few more of you who liked the post I made about this fic. I hope that’s okay!) @aaronhotchnerr @emofairyprincessofarkansas @sunflowersandotherthings @impala1967dwinchester

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haztory · 3 years

Text

𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. (2)

-chapter two: the story of us; warnings for this chapter include a brief discussion and mentioning of sexual assault. it is not described in detail nor does it happen to anyone in this fic. i will not ever be using sexual assault as a plot device as i think that’s unnecessary. however, because it is prevalent in female culture, or at least the discussion of it is, it is briefly mentioned.

if this makes anyone uncomfortable, please skip over! i will not be offended at all!

-summary: His eyes are a sea of green that you can't seem to stop drowning in.

a/n: this chapter is a doozy yall, im so sorry. this is mainly to serve as complete exposition of reader and iwa, so it’s hella long. i had an original idea of how i wanted this to go and then i started writing and this happened. lmfao. thank you all for being patient and loving and your comments are so wonderful! i had midterms all last week and all i could think about was writing this! so thank you all and i hope you all enjoy! next chapter will be pure chaos and fun!

i was listening to “cloud 9″ by beach bunny for this chapter! so that might help you understand how i see reader and iwa <33

(w.c.: 8,662 words)

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You’re ten years old when you meet Iwaizumi Hajime for the first time.

He’s an inch shorter than you, skinny, hair set in an unorganized mess of spikes, and he smells of sweat. It’s the least enticing first impression you’ve ever encountered, wondering briefly if this is what all of Miyagi Prefecture has to offer.

Because if so, you’re not looking forward to it.

He’s blocking the entrance to the neighborhood park with his bike, back facing towards you and an arm stretched outward-pointing at something across the park. The same park that your mother has forced you to attend, kicking you out of your new home filled with moving boxes, a warm smile on her face and a simple request to “go have fun”.

A request that was starting to seem like more of a problem than you anticipated.

You’re halted in front of the gates to the area for a solid minute, the boy in front of you being less than aware of your presence as he continues to shout from across the park.

“Grab all of them, Oikawa!”

There’s another boy roughly the same age holding several items that look to be action figures close to his chest. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders slouched as he takes exaggerated sluggish steps while crossing the courtyard. He’s sweaty too, just like the boy in front of you.

“But there’s so many, Iwaaa. Can’t you help me?”

“You’re such a baby, Oikawa.”

The one named Oikawa is about to respond when he stops his movements altogether. He merely points his finger, eyes fixated on something behind his black-haired friend.

You realize a bit too late that he’s pointing at you.

The friend, Iwa as he was called, turns his head with a questioning hum, green eyes meeting yours. A sea of emerald.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice high in timber and flooded in awkwardness, raising his hand in a shy greeting, “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you respond in equal awkwardness, the kind that only a new kid can embody. Uneasiness has been settled into your bones ever since the move was announced, and now, as you stand before two physical embodiments of your displacement in this area, the feeling seems to sink even deeper into your stomach. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

“Huh? Oh! Sorry ‘bout that.” He begins a cumbersome shuffle of pushing the bike he was sitting on backward, small grunts escaping his mouth as he tries to make space for you to enter. It’s a slow process, considering he teeters from side to side and struggles to smoothly retreat from the space. Oikawa snickers in the background, some teasing words being aired that you are too far to hear, but they must be irking enough considering Iwa mutters a “shut up, idiot” in response.

The friendship is formidable, you don’t need to know them for long to see that. Envy and all its bitter acid coat your tongue.

“Are you the one that just moved in?” Oikawa speaks up.

You nod.

“How old are you? Are you going to Kitagawa Elementary? Have you already—”

Iwa interrupts the ferociously excited boy with a gentle scoff, “Calm down, Oikawa. Give her some air. Geez.”

“I just want to know more about the new girl, Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah, well you’re doing it wrong.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and clutches the toys in his arms tighter, “You do it then!”

“Do what?”

“Introduce us! Make friends!”

“I think you blew it already.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. If she’s going to the same place as us, she might as well join us! What do you say, new girl?”

You’re shaken from the brief exclusion of the conversation— realizing they’re including you this time— when Iwa tears his eyes away from his friend and meets yours once again. Upon connection with the emeralds, your throat constricts your throat and the relief of ease washes over. The hesitancy that was bubbling in your stomach starts to dissipate when he looks at you— almost comforted by his dark yet steady stare— but the sense is quickly replaced by something else that shakes you. Your skin prickles, like fire ants marching up the pattern of your skin, and your palms start to sweat despite the cooling temperatures and the light breeze blowing against your skin.

You’d have to tell your mom about this, just to make sure you weren’t getting sick.

“Would you like to join us?” Iwa asks. There’s no trace of a smile on his face but the invitation isn’t lacking in warmth. It’s a subtle kind, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the look of curiosity residing upon his features. He speaks gently, like there wasn’t a distance between you two and another person listening in on the conversation, pointing his question and attention solely at you. There was a center of his gravitational pull and it was in your direction.

He’s waiting for your answer, and not the kind that results after courteously asking someone a question; You can tell he is really waiting, wanting to know what you say because his eyes hold onto yours in a way that is much more mature than a boy at the tender age of ten should be looking at someone.

He’s sincere. He doesn’t even know you and yet he waits upon you as though your response were one he was to weigh considerably with his agenda. He’s a stranger, only said two things directly to you, and yet you feel weightless in the most minute of his attention.

The rocks of anxiety that were sitting heavily in your stomach for the past month have disappeared and the answer that he waits so intensely for comes rather naturally. It’s the surest you’ve felt in a while. You don't know them at all, aren't even sure if you'll like them, but what would you be other than a fool to not follow the path of certain safety laid out in front of you, disguised as a black-haired boy with the spiky hair? How can you be sure unless you don't see for yourself?

“Yeah,” you sigh out, burdensome weight lifting off your shoulders at the answer, “Can I?”

“Yeah. You can.” He affirms with a nod, the corner of his lips quirking upward. Oikawa, rather befittingly, shouts a cheer, resuming his incessant chatter in throwing an onslaught of questions your way but you’re not listening. Pulled elsewhere you find your gaze being drawn back to the calm and steady boy, with the sea of emerald in his eyes.

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, by the way. And that’s Oikawa Tooru.”

“I’m (Y/N).”

“Cool.”

You spend the whole day with them, quickly finding a natural place in their relationship, serving as the happy in-between of the flamboyant nature of Oikawa and the pillar of stone that is Iwaizumi. It’s fun, the most fun you’ve had in the entirety of your move that you find yourself trying to make some kind of excuse to extend the day when the sun starts to set.

But Oikawa has to go home, and so does Iwa, and the disappointment is more than apparent on your face. There’s the unmistakable promise of seeing one another again, that of which was affirmed when Oikawa held out his pinky for you to take and solidify the statement on.

“I can walk you home if you want.” Iwaizumi tells you after you both wave your goodbyes to the other brunet. It’s a godsend, a miracle from the heavens who heard your building plight and decided to spare your jilted mind with some form of comfort.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you tell him, purely as a formality. Your mother’s lessons of never burdening others kicking into gear at his offer, but you plead, secretly in the deep recesses of your brain that he disagrees. Hope desperately that he’ll take the initiative and stay with you just a moment longer.

He shakes his head, bearing a toothy smile that is missing one of his canines. “I don’t mind. My mom always tells me to make sure girls get home safe.”

Calm, steady, comforting. You selfishly agree before you have half a mind to say otherwise, “Okay. I live this way.”

And as he trails beside you, holding his bike in his hands as he walks at the pace you set, telling you the details about his favorite monster movie, you find yourself incredibly enamored with the short, sweaty boy that hates green tea and loves summertime.

And not for the first time.

You’re thirteen when you realize that you have a terribly, horribly, deeply incessant crush on Iwaizumi Hajime.

It’s lunchtime and while you’re usually quick to eat with the resident bickering duo of Sendai, they’ve ditched you for volleyball practice— and not for the first time. So you sit with your other group of close friends, the ones you made through the conventional school setting, and not because they impulsively adopted you into their routine. They’re the necessary and equal balance to the growing testosterone you religiously spend your weekends with, so ultimately you’re not too upset at being left behind for a sport.

Besides, it’s nice to be surrounded by girls who talk about normal things instead of sweaty violent boys that only talk about volleyball and occasionally the things you like.

Mai, a girl with a short bob that frames her round face, shakes the table with her loud laughter, the curtain of her hair swaying in tune to her joyful movement. She was the first friend you made in this group, and easily the one you’re closest to. The complete opposite of Hajime if her unabashed, frantic excitement is anything to go by. But much like the spaces in this Miyagi heart of yours that’s dedicated to Tooru and Hajime, there’s one for her too. She grabs onto one of your arms and holds it tightly, seeking stability as her melodic laughter rings through your table.

It’s hard not to laugh alongside her.

“Please!” She begs Yua, a blonde girl in the year above you, and wipes her eyes free from the laughter-induced tears, “No more! I’m gonna pee!”

Yua huffs, shrugging her shoulders to say that Mai’s inability to hold her urine was beyond her control, “I’m serious! That’s how I found out Kaito had a crush on me!”

“And what did you do?” You ask, laughter lacing your own words at the tale Yua expertly weaved, describing in excruciating detail how Kaito from your third period wrote a love letter comparing Yua’s lips to that of a whale as if that was somehow a compliment.

“I ran away! What else was I supposed to do?!”

Mai howls with laughter, her body being thrown against yours and her arms flailing with the movements, unable to contain herself. You’re almost identical, finding that you follow Mai’s gesticulation in perfect countering. Where she pushes you left, you move in sync, allowing her to lean her weight on you as you both lose yourself in the story.

For as much seriousness as she tries to implement in her words, the quirking of her lips betray Yua, “Laugh all you want, but wait ‘til this happens to you! Then you’ll get it!”

“I don’t think Mai and I have to worry about that,” you tell her, the remainder of your laughter dying out of your words. Mai snaps upward, her body no longer slumped against yours, and instead of facing you with furrowed brows and an offended expression.

The two friends speak simultaneously, one with indignation and the other with confusion “Why not?”

The pointedness of the question makes it seem as though your words were wrong, a misstep in a direction that you have to apologize for. Regardless of whether or not you know why. “Uh, ‘cause no one likes us like that?”

Mai scoffs, crossing her arms and tilting her nose upwards, “Speak for yourself.”

“Sorry, no one likes me like that. So I don’t have to worry.” You say with a smile punctuating the statement with a scoop of rice into your mouth. It wasn’t a statement meant to be considered deeply, it was a simple fact. There were hardly any thirteen-year-olds looking your way, and even if there were, it wasn’t like your attention was focused on them either. All the boys in school were either too annoying or too stupid.

Except for Hajime. He was the only tolerable one. Oikawa fell into the “too annoying” category. But you still loved him—sometimes.

Yua and Mai share a glance, a fleeting look before they look back at you, “You’re joking, right?”

You look up from your food to meet their furrowed stares, “What?”

They share another glance, Mai answering Yua’s silent question with a shrug of her shoulders. You’re completely left in the dark. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Okay, so what if,” Yua begins, the familiar teasing lilt that you’ve widely associated with the blonde returning, stressing on the ‘if’, “someone did like you. What would you do?”

They both look at you with waggling eyebrows, like they’ve cornered you into the exact hypothetical they want you to be in. While this isn’t necessarily an unfamiliar place to be in, it is a weird one, considering you and boys have never really been the topic of conversation unless Iwa and Oikawa were somehow brought up. But your friendship with them was well known and not exactly hidden at all. It wasn’t sensational, nor was it the topic of gossip. Neither was the fact that you aren’t exactly the kind of girl the boys of Kitagawa First were looking at if they were even looking at girls.

“But no one likes me like that.”

“Answer the question.”

You gesture in exasperation, “I don’t know! I’m not really into anyone like that, so I guess I’d say no?”

The two girls pause again, sharing another look.

“Okay, can you two stop that?”

Mai speaks up this time, almost disbelieving, “You really don’t like anyone?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Yua sings, “Not even Iwaizumiii?”

The chopsticks that you held deftly in your hands go limp and a straight shot of shock runs down your spine. Time stands still in this cramped cafeteria and it feels like your head has been dunked into a bucket of cold water, halting the train of thought and highlighting every possible exit in this building.

The red lights of panic have turned on in your brain and they’re screaming at you to run.

“I— I don’t— what are you guys talking about?”

Your two best friends, who now resemble Satan’s assistants more than anything remotely positive to you, share their third unspoken glance, and you’re about to lose it.

“So,” Yua starts again, tearing her sly eyes from Mai’s excited ones, “You do like him?”

Code red. Abandon ship. Abort. R-U-N.

“No! He— I— We’re just friends!”

“Oh my god!” Mai slams her hands on the surface of the table, her brown eyes boring into your widened ones as she leans over to invade your personal space and poke your chest.

“You like him!”

The brain that is usually so quick with an excuse, trained to be sharp-witted and smart from years of intense teasing from Tooru and Hajime, suddenly feels like mush in your head. Ooey, gooey mush that can’t come up with anything but stuttering, “N-No” at the idea of having some romantic inclination towards Hajime. The best friend you hang out with every weekend; The boy that always walks you home and always makes sure your comments are heard; The spiky-haired idiot with a sea of emerald in his eyes that you always seem to drown in.

But, that’s not— that doesn’t mean— No.

You don’t like Hajime like that. He’s just a really really good friend. That you enjoy spending time with. That makes you feel comfortable with just a single look. The friend that you always want around, regardless of the kind of day. Yeah. That’s it.

Hajime is just that kind of person.

Yua gives an unconvinced hum and taps her bright pink nails on the table surface, “When you think about another girl liking him, do you get jealous?”

Mai backs up from your face to give a wide smile at the blonde, pointing at her wickedly and almost shouting, “Ooh! Good question!”

“Thanks, I read it in my sister’s magazine.”

Mai turns back, almost touching your nose with hers, “Well? Do you?”

The “no” is on the tip of your tongue as an instinctual defense against this personal interrogation, but it doesn’t come out. Partly because of the mush of your brain but also because you know any denial of that question just simply isn’t true; Because when Saran followed Hajime around all day in grade six, you distinctly remember being in a foul mood for a while.

A mood that could only be fixed when Hajime indirectly affirmed that he did not like her.

Oh god.

You like Hajime.

You like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and the stupid way he teases you and the stupid way he makes you feel.

Your friends laugh in your face for a solid minute while you hang your head in your hands, certain that your life was completely over with the new revelation. Yua is the instigator, teasing you relentlessly over the silent confession while Mai asserts that this is the beginning of a fairytale.

She says it with such conviction that you’re almost inclined to believe her until reason kicks in, and the shamefulness of the situation kicks in. You push it down, fine with keeping the acknowledgment exactly where it is, right under your thumb. That is until Oikawa finds out about it and then suddenly, it’s no longer in your control.

You’re fourteen when he corners you after school. He’s walking you home, taking Hajime’s usual role when said boy and subject of your plight had to stay home with the sick.

You don’t think he’s going to bring it up, hardly aware he even knows about it, but he does making you choke on your spit and trip over a crack in the sidewalk. He clutches his stomach in a guffaw.

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Tooru teases, his finger poking at your heated cheek that you quickly swat away.

“I’m not hiding anything, Tooru,” you mutter, keeping your head turned downwards. If Oikawa even sees a smidgen of embarrassment he would never let you live it down.

“Oh, please. You’re so easy to read, especially when Iwa-chan is around. You’re all, ‘oh Iwa, you’re so smart and funny. I want to be with you forever. Mwah, mwah, mwah!’” His hands are interwoven beside his head and he attempts a poor, high-pitched imitation of your voice. Again, Oikawa Tooru belongs in the “too annoying” category that most eighth-grade boys find themselves in.

You lift your left leg, thrusting your shin outward to kick the taller boy in his behind, a move all too familiar. Really, Oikawa should have seen it coming, having had it done to him so often by Iwaizumi. He’s too swept up in the antics of teasing, though, that it surprises him and the pain in his bottom is sharp. His hands cover the stinging area.

“Ow, (Y/N)!”

“That’s what you get for being stupid.”

“See! You even act him like him!”

You raise your fist upward and he raises his hands in defense, cowering at the threat of more pain, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He lowers his hands, one eye closed and the other peeking from behind his lowering fingers, “Gosh, so violent. I’m only trying to help!”

“I don’t need help.” You grumble.

You continue your trek onward, desperate to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare of a conversation. But it’s not that simple. There are now three people that have realized the truth of your crush in less than a year— all of which are your closest friends. It’s only a matter of time before the friend above them all realizes it too.

Worst off, only a matter of time before someone tells him.

You turn towards Tooru with a speed that has him flinching and thrusting his hands upward for protection again. A yelp echoes around the empty street and was it not for the intensity behind your desperation, you probably would have laughed.

“Tooru.” There’s a rasp in your voice, one that you aren’t exaggerating. It makes Oikawa uncomfortable hearing such a serious depth to your previously annoyed cadence. In his continuously growing height, he stares down at you, fear crumpling his face.

“Don’t say my name like that—”

“You cannot tell Hajime.”

He straightens his posture out, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A brow is raised quizzically, “Isn’t that the whole point of having a crush? So that you can eventually tell that person about it?”

It’s not like you expect him to understand, hell, you don’t even understand it yourself. All you know is that Hajime cannot know about it; There are too many factors, too many problems that can happen. Besides, you’re sure it’s just a tiny crush, one that will go away after a couple of months.

And even if it didn’t, you still wouldn’t be able to tell him. Because you’ve been best friends for four years now, and if there was anything remotely remarkable about you, you’re sure something would’ve happened already. Because Hajime is strong, decisive, and steady. If he wants something, he goes for it; And if he wanted you, in any capacity like the way you want him, he would’ve said something.

But he doesn’t because you’re his best friend. Nothing is outstanding about you, nothing that would make you more than just the girl he’s friends with. Nothing that would make you any different from “just one of the guys”.

He would never see you as anything but.

So, it’s just easier to have Hajime as a friend than to risk it all for a likely rejection. You could swallow the feelings, bury them deep inside of you for the rest of time. It would be significantly easier than never talking to him again because you couldn’t be a big girl and not make things awkward.

You try to tell Oikawa as much, “It’s— I just— It would be easier if he didn’t know. It’ll go away soon.”

The brunet tilts his head to the side, kind of like a pouty puppy. When he’s not being a teasing butthead, he’s rather gentle with you, considerate of your emotions, and above all, eager to understand.

“Do you want it to go away?”

“Like I said, it would just be easier.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

A quiet settles between the two of you and it feels like it’s oceans wide. You, stranded out at sea in the terrorizing waves of emotions, and he, the lighthouse built on the rocks. Tall and fixed, beckoning you towards his stable ground of reason. It’s a brief reminder that when Oikawa tries, he’s not that annoying. He’s rather kind and empathetic.

“Do you want Hajime to like you?”

The deep cocoa eyes dig into you and the waves crash even more ferociously around you.

Cotton dries up your mouth, and the ache that always pains your heart whenever you think about Hajime returns in full force, “He never will.”

Oikawa huffs out a breath, back becoming imperceptibly straighter while he crosses his arms. It’s hard to imagine him as anything but that sweaty boy you met on the playground, but he stands before you a giant, body filling out from all the volleyball practice and the baby features of his face evening out to become the handsome boy girls were starting to see him as. He radiates his kind of steadiness, one different from Hajime, but equally as comforting.

It’s admirable— he’s admirable— when it's not pinned against you.

“And how do you know?”

“Tooru,” you sigh, exhaustion suddenly creeping up your shoulders along with the overwhelming urge to cry, “Please.”

You don’t feel like explaining all the intricacies of your perceived inadequacy and thank the gods above he’s a good enough friend to know when to stop prying, “Fine, fine. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

You stare up at him, searching his face for any notion of deceit or subterfuge, “You promise you won’t say anything?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves his hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes in that way that portrays annoyance but the love is there. He understands you, at least.

You hold out your pinky for him, “Pinky promise?”

“What are we, ten?”

You hold your finger out further, almost waving it in his face. It’s the staple of trust in your friendship, instituted early on between you and him, and only you and him. He can’t back out now.

He takes it with a sigh of his own, huffing out his breath, and twisting his long, slender finger with yours. You shake his hand in affirmation, letting go only when you feel comfortable in the validity of his promise and resuming your walk home.

He throws an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you tightly to his body, “Eventually you’re going to have to say something.”

“I know.”

“I hope you know I’m never letting you live this down.”

“It’s like you want me to hit you again.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe in the future, when you’re more comfortable with the fact that it’s your best friend of all people that gives you butterflies in your stomach, you’ll do something about it. But not right now, not when he spends all his time in volleyball and especially not when you were barely confident in yourself. Or maybe, it’ll go away, and you can look back on this as a funny memory rather than anything serious.

You’re fifteen when you finally accept the circumstances and become resigned to it. Finally understanding that your crush is more than just a crush, but knowing full well that that’s all you can let it be.

Hajime sits on the floor, surrounded by your regular friends plus a couple of others at Oikawa’s birthday party when he says it. You’re not supposed to hear it from your place in the kitchen, but you do and it’s a dagger to both heart and confidence. He’s confirmed everything you knew and quelled any potential rebuttal of thoughts Mai or Tooru have planted in your head.

You were stupid to think Hajime could ever see you as anything more than the girl he’s just friends with.

Your appetite quickly dissipates and you have to work extra hard to make sure pure despair doesn’t show on your face. Especially when Oikawa hears it too and he makes that face that looks like he wants to give you a hug, which makes everything ten times harder.

A kid named Matsukawa is the one that asks. You don’t blame him. He’s only fifteen, after all, asking what normal fifteen-year-olds normally talk about.

“What about (Y/N)? Would you date her?”

Hajime scoffs, a laugh on his lips as though it were the weirdest question he’s ever heard.

“She’s my best friend. That would be like dating my sister. I don’t like her like that.”

You’re fifteen and you’ve become resigned to it all, because it’s better to have Hajime as a friend, than to never have him at all. Because you would never have him; At least not in the way you want.

You don’t blame him for that either.

You cry about it later on, after the party is over and after you deny Hajime’s insistence to walk you home. He has a weird look on his face when you tell him you’ll be fine, your house is only a few blocks away. He wants to fight you on it, can see the argument forming it in that storm of green. It’s a shitty feeling to deny him so blatantly, but you really can’t stomach being around him at the moment. Not when your heart pangs longingly for him and your insecurities increase tenfold at the confirmation of your inadequacy.

Not when all of this is happening at once, showing as clear as day on your face, and he sees it. Worst of all, not when he wants to solve it, hardly understanding that he’s the cause of it.

His eyes narrow, staring intently as he studies your features. The scrutiny is uncomfortable and if he does stares a second longer the tears will fall.

“Did… something happen during the party?” Hajime asks hesitantly. There’s a whirlwind of possibilities crossing his mind, all indicating rather unsavory and horrifying ideas that have his worry bubbling beneath his skin. You’re barely meeting his gaze, hands clasped tightly before you and body way too stiff. The complete opposite of your normal demeanor, especially around him.

Usually so open, so vibrant. And here you stand before him, the dark of night surrounding you and the fluorescent glow of the streetlamps casting a ghoulish light on your face, exaggerating your dejected features more prominently.

He’s heard of worst-case scenarios when girls and boys get together, something mentioned in passing when his mother was on the phone with his aunt. He never really thought much about it, considering he would never do something like that and he doesn’t hang around many girls, to begin with for something like that to be an immediate concern..

In this stark contrast of a moment, however, he’s briefly reminded of the fact that he so often tends to forget. You’re a girl; A living, breathing, pretty girl. Everyone likes you, would be fools not to. And while he would never allow himself or anyone else to force themselves upon you, you weren’t with him for the whole party. Disappearing for a brief moment after he saw you enter the kitchen. The idea of something like that— something that horrible— happening to you under his nose has all of his instincts on fight mode, forget the flight. A shattering of the innocence he was so previously impervious to.

The implication is clear in his voice accompanied with the fear-stricken features, so you can hardly miss what he means.

“Did— Did anyone…?” His voice cracks and he hurriedly tries to clear it up with the clearing of his throat, but you heard it. It happens often when he’s wrestling with an onslaught of emotions, trying his hardest to remain calm and clear-headed and focused that sometimes his voice just gives out. Also, puberty.

The act doesn’t matter though, not when he’s silently amping himself up to fight someone if you were touched inappropriately. He would win; He’s been in a couple of fights before, usually off school property, he doesn’t mind getting into another one. Not if it was for you. And he would win; Would make sure of that.

The tussle for calm is transparent on his face. Lips struggling to stay in a closed, neutral line rather than the frown he has to hold back. His fists clench, blunt nails digging into the skin of his palms to alleviate the growing anger, only to prove futile. He so badly wants to grab you by the shoulders, shake you furiously, ask what the hell is going on because you’re never like this—

He doesn’t. He knows better. Even if the suspense is driving him up the wall and the tension that encapsulates the empty street is thick and choking him.

Finally, you say something.

“No, Haji,” you say softly, “No one did anything to me.”

It’s what Iwaizumi wants to hear; Should be ecstatic to know that you are physically unharmed, free from the taint that comes with a foreign touch, the one he’s intent to protect you from. Your voice is too quiet though, and the smile you give him is too small for him to feel any modicum of ease. You're lying. Someone did something.

“I’m fine, really!” You try again, amping up the energy to convince him. It falls flat.

“(Y/N).” That spiky head of hair tips forward, pushing himself in your averting line of sight, refusing to let you hide from him. He’s taller now, finally taller than you. While his hair is still that fluff of mess on his head, his eyes are still that piercing green that can always read you like a book and his favorite season is still summer, only this time he no longer enjoys going to the park, but instead the beach.

He’s the same Hajime you fell in love with and the remainder is enough to cause a lump swell in your throat.

“What are you hidi—”

“Iwa-chan!”

The familiar melodious voice rings out in the empty street, its owner sauntering his way over to your departing figures. There’s that recognizable air of flowering confidence rolling off of him like a humid heat and the sly shining of his pearly whites that serves as a buffer from the thick air of tension between you and Haj— Iwaizumi.

Just, Iwaizumi. No added affection.

There's magic in Oikawa’s stroll, you’re sure of it. It looks perfectly coincidental, like he just so happened to stumble upon a tense scene, instead of the very much needed and purposeful intervention for his emotionally crushed best friend and worry-fueled other best friend.

And they call him the idiot.

He sighs that flowery breath of his, throwing his arm around Iwa’s shoulders and watching the desperation that filled your gaze wash away with relief at his intrusion. Iwa’s confusion only seems to increase, but truthfully, Oikawa isn’t too concerned with his hard-headed friend. He’s really only keen on getting you out of there— out to safety and away from the source of your heartbreak.

“Iwa-chan, you have to go set up the movie player. I have no idea how to work it.”

“I’ve shown you how to do it four times, Tooru.”

“But it’s so much easier when you do it. Don’t worry, I’ll walk our precious flower home while you set up for our sleepover.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, his eyes bouncing from the self-assured smile of Oikawa to your downturned gaze. There’s something wrong, he knows it. But it’s obviously a secret he isn’t allowed into.

He won’t pry, he’s never been one to beg for secrets— never been one to want secrets told to him at all. However, there’s a particular sting at knowing that it’s you who’s hiding something and refusing to tell him. That there’s something Oikawa is aware about, that he isn’t allowed to know.

It’s not his business, he surmises. You’re not his business. He swallows that bitter pill, accepting Oikawa’s offer with a brief nod. He’s not happy, that’s plain to see, but he knows better than to insert himself where he’s not wanted.

Calm, steady, comfortable. Iwaizumi will fight for what he wants, but not when it hurts you in the process.

He bids you a brief goodbye, voice tight and rigid, clearly displaying his dissatisfaction but accepting it nonetheless. He doesn’t even look back at you. It’s what you want, you suppose. Some distance from him for your benefit, so you can at least try and forget about how you feel; Save yourself from the devastation of falling even deeper in love with him.

He enters Oikawa’s house. It’s a place you’ve been many times, slept over on many occasions yet, when Iwaizumi crosses the threshold with a strain on his shoulders and a grimace on his face, you can’t help but wonder if he’s finally going someplace that you can’t follow. If you’ve spent all these years pining over him, wondering if you would ever be enough for him, only to push him away into an area of no return.

Oikawa doesn’t give you a moment to think long about it before he’s ushering you away from the crime scene where your uncontrollable and childish feelings have brutally injured a fraying friendship and guiding you home. He talks the entire time, about everything and nothing, and you’re rather grateful for the background noise. To finally think about something other than your broken heart and Iwaizumi’s betrayed face.

He leaves you at your door with the promise that things will get better, that it won’t hurt so much, and that he’s always there for you. He places a sweet kiss on the crown of your head, turning his back with a final wave and leaving you alone with your thoughts. The promise of meeting one another again is unspoken, instinctive. You know deep down, though, it’ll be different from here on out. You’ll have to be more careful, more guarded with the things you say and do.

You wonder if Iwaizumi has as much trouble sleeping that night as you do.

(He does. He doesn’t sleep at all.)

Things do get better, which is a blessed curse. The tension eventually resolves after a couple of weeks of tiptoeing around each other. Normality returns in full-swing and you’re able to talk to Hajime without the overwhelming feeling of guilt and need to explain everything; If he holds any issues about what happened that night, he doesn’t mention it, following your lead and letting the friendship return to normal.

The problem lies in the fact that Oikawa was ultimately right, and he makes a point to show that he’s right. That things did get better, and the fragmentation of your splintering relationship with the boy you love eventually gets patched up.

Life moves on.

The feelings don’t go away, but you get better at managing them. It’s significantly easier to push the pining down and not think too much about any passing romantic comments in school that pair you and Iwaizumi together; Nor do you think twice about the harmless flirting that occasionally comes your way. You dish it back, continuing the joking nature of the friendship and after a while, it doesn’t hurt so bad. You exit the stages of puberty and things don’t feel as hectic as they once were.

The turbulent waves of emotions finally die down to a steady roll, and for a while, you’re able to float. It’s safe, peaceful, exactly how you want it to stay.

That is until you’re seventeen, almost eighteen, and Iwaizumi asks you to be his fake girlfriend. The waves pick up steam and you’re drowning again. You have the girls of Aoba Johsai to thank for that.

This time though, you’re determined to protect yourself. The anxiety of it all starts to settle in between your shoulders and instead of falling victim to the whims of an unsuspecting Iwaizumi once again, the urge to protect yourself and your pathetic emotions takes precedence. You will not be reduced down to the unconfident, love-sick girl you once were; You’ve worked too hard to do that. You matter more than Iwaizumi’s stupid girl problem.

It’s why you don’t think twice when you blurt it out after agreeing to help.

“We need a contract.”

“A contract?” Hajime parrots back, broad arms crossed over his equally broad chest and the intense training you’ve instilled in yourself to not stare at him meets its limitations, lest you stoop down to the level of the girls he’s so desperate to evade. He’s grown so much, physically and personally, that it's hard to not look at him. You force yourself to glance around the crowded cafe, look anywhere but his veiny arms, and instead replace your view with the small restaurant you two frequent every Monday— the only day he has off from volleyball practice.

It’s a small establishment that sells teas and noodles, a pleasant find to make one day when the both of you were hungry pre-teens and full of time on your hands. It’s usually rather empty during this time as it’s just out of the line of sight to avoid the after-school rush of students, but today the line extends outside of the door, all attendees eager to have a taste of miso ramen and pushing against bodies to do so. The people behind you are respectful enough to give you as much space as one can afford in the cramped venue, but you end up still having to press yourself into the stiff body of the boy— no, man— beside you.

You have the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable in the tightness of the situation, but Hajime shows nothing. Whether it’s because he doesn’t even care that your chest is bracing against his arm or he’s too distracted with the complicatedness of his “girl” problem, his face betrays no embarrassment at the closeness. No frustration, no discomfort, not even annoyance. He merely exists, dealing with your body pressed against his as if this were a regular occurrence and not an awkward preemption to the farce that you’ve stupidly agreed to. This would surely haunt you for the rest of your years.

This man of steel, this monolith of lean, corded muscle, was going to be your “boyfriend” for the next couple of weeks. You would be lucky if this arrangement even lasted for that long considering the confession of pure unadulterated adoration is crawling up the canal of your throat and tearing the fabric of your skin, sticking a middle finger at the rational parts of your brain trying desperately to hold it back.

Your fate is signed, knowing full and well that in your inability to deny Hajime— especially when he’s so desperate, which is a rarity in and of itself— you’ve willingly agreed to have your dignity and confidence stripped from your person and your feelings thrown in a loop for the sake of his sanity.

It’s annoying. Every potential hypothetical plays itself in high definition across the theatre of your mind and each one ends with you being brutally rejected once again. There’s no way you could handle something like that again, no matter how much you’ve matured.

This is a bad idea, and you need to tell him that.

But then the sight of pleading jades enters your vision and you distinctly remember the permanent frown that etched itself on Hajime’s face these past three months. Remember how the feelings of deep discomfort forced him to confide in you on a late-night phone call when sleep evaded him and he detailed the dread he felt at the prospect of going to school the next school day.

If your mouth even opened a fraction to breathe, you’re sure the “I’m in love with you and have been since sixth grade” will come tumbling out, but even the fear of that happening doesn’t overpower the overwhelming desire to help the man you’re madly in love with.

There’s a limit to what would be forsaken in the name of Iwaizumi Hajime’s happiness, but your sanity isn’t it.

The situation worsens when the subtle shifting of the patrons behind you throws you off balance and forces you impossibly closer to him. The shuffling of feet knocks into your own, tilting you off balance despite your leaning against Hajime. A rebuttal is on the tip of your tongue ready to be released in rapid-fire when Hajime beats you to it.

He quickly wraps his arm around your waist, allowing your unsteady feet to find balance against his lean body of stone, clutching you tightly to his side as if the accidental push against you were a personal offense.

The protective nature that so often lies dormant in his personality rears its head forward and you swear your heart stops beating altogether.

“Easy,” he mutters, a layer of strict dismay interweaving in his words as he casts a pointed side glare at the two boys standing behind you. You hardly hear it, much too occupied with trying not to drown in the sudden flooding of his cologne in your nostrils.

Musk and spice. His usual scent, but even more addicting when it’s this close.

This is a bad idea. This is a horrible, bad, awful idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.

You have to end this. You won’t survive this.

“C-contract.” You, somehow, manage to spit out, shaking your head free from the waft of his scent and the strength of his arm across your back.

Okay, not necessarily ending this but protecting yourself. Yeah, that’s it. Because there is no way you want him to keep acting like this, no. You’re just doing this to help and totally not to selfishly indulge in the delight of being his, even if it is fake.

He tears his narrowed eyes away from the boys behind you to glance at you, the remnants of disapproval flickering in the sea of green that you swear only evens out when he looks at you, “Right. What’s in this contract?”

“The, uh, basics,” you begin, voice slowly finding its footing after the intense whiplash you just experienced. You're surprised you can even form words that aren’t resembling proclamations of desire, “What we can and can’t do, how long this is for, and so on.”

“That’s a good idea,” He breathes out. The line shifts forward, and the cashier finally enters the field of view. With a quick recoil, as though his skin were burned by the action, he removes his hand from around your waist. The warmth of his arm rescinds with it, and that thirteen-year-old girl that has fantasized for years about this, whines in desperation. You quickly tell her to shut up.

He clears his throat, awkwardness filling the cramped and stale air, “Uh, sorry. About that.”

He avoids your eyes and you quickly look around too, “It’s fine.”

A silence ensues. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but it’s a far cry from the brief pauses in conversation that usually occur between the two of you. The comfortable silences that occur naturally between friends of five years. You wonder if you should address it, address the fact that if you two were to pull this off— and pull it off well— there were going to be more moments when he was going to have to touch you like that.

He was going to have to hold your hand and give you frequent hugs and actually act like he was in love with you. Act.

You swallow at the prospect. Not like that would be hard for you to do, you think rather pitifully.

There are two more couples in front of you when you say, “I’d like to institute the first provision.”

Hajime quirks an eyebrow, his lips lifting upward, an obvious sign of gratefulness at being able to brush over that weird moment of physicality. He doesn’t know why it was instinctual, or why he even thought that placing his hand that low around your waist would be a good idea. But, he did it; And it’s quite the revelation when he realizes he didn’t mind it.

At all.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He glances at you to his right, the teasing smile gracing your features and the recognizable glint of mischief in your eyes.

“You have to buy all of the food we eat together.”

He scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “I already buy all of our food.”

“I always pay you back!”

“You owe me at least three-thousand yen.”

“Okay, an addendum to provision one.”

“Shoot.”

“You buy all of our food and forgive my debts.”

He laughs louder tilting his head back as his teeth peek from his pink lips. It’s the bark of laughter that swells your beating heart with confidence. You may not have him romantically, but there’s no denial of the fact that he likes you in his life, especially when you can make him laugh like that, “I’m starting to think this contract is only beneficial to you.”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him, the body still tucked tightly beside his as feet shuffle forward in the line, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m doing you a huge favor.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” A silence befalls again, this one not as tense as before. A small smile plays on his lips and there’s a sincerity behind his gaze that reminds you of how appreciative he really is for this. Hajime isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to repay you for stepping in and helping him in the most intimate of ways that you most likely would rather not do. There wasn’t ever an expressed interest in the dating scene from you, always denying the occasional confession that came your way and never thinking twice about the romantic holidays that come and go.

He wonders why because if you tried, you’d have every guy within a ten-foot radius begging for your attention. Surely one of them would be worthy of your love. (He doesn’t agree though. There’s no one in this world who could ever be worthy of you. Not when you smile so brightly and tease so enticingly. No one would ever deserve that part of you. No one that he would ever approve of, anyway..) He’s not dumb in realizing that your willingness to engage in a romantic relationship with him— even if it is a fake one— is a large deviation from the norm. It’s not something to be taken lightly.

So, he owes you. Big time. Whatever you want, whatever you put in this contract, he’ll do. He’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

(Fake boyfriend, he has to remind himself. He swallows down the disappointment.)

“Thank you.” he breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his heating neck, “Again. For doing this for me. I don’t—”

“Ah, ah!” You interrupt, holding your hand upwards and wagging a finger at him, “I haven’t done anything yet, so don’t start thanking me so soon. Who knows? I might sabotage this whole thing, be the worst girlfriend you could ever imagine.”

The couple in front of you finishes their order, stepping to the side to allow the both of you forward. You step up, dragging him with you but you don’t miss the low throaty chuckle he emits when he says, “You like me too much to do that.”

He pats the top of your head, smoothing the fly-away hairs with a wink and a sly smile, and then, like nothing even happened, he steps up to the counter, taking the initiative and placing your usual orders. There’s both too much nuance and not enough to his statement to determine if you should be scared at his words. Does he know? Did Oikawa tell him?

You don’t even notice when he puts both food items on one bill.

It’s then that you remember, with little humor like someone who’s forgotten a necessary step to an important project, that while you’ve done a lot of growing and building these past four years to fortify the walls of your heart, so has he. He’s stronger, more confident, more sturdy.

Fourteen-year-old you built the walls for a fourteen-year-old Iwaizume Hajime. She didn’t even think to consider the damage eighteen-year-old Ace and Vice-Captain of the Seijoh Volleyball Team could do. Not with a spike those strong arms could make and a sea of green that you still drown in.

The first large crack in the barriers has been made.

He turns to face you upon finishing the order, stepping to the side and bracing his body against the far wall of the restaurant to allow the next customers to the counter. That damn sly smile is still on his face, and it’s then you realize that he has to know. He has to know what he’s doing, or at least know that it’s doing something to you.

“So,” he tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants, biceps bulging at the action “tell me about this contract, sweet girlfriend of mine.”

end notes: god damn glad that’s over. what did yall think?? too much? not enough? lemme know! i love reading all of your tags and comments, it fills me with such happiness :))))

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