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raibebe · 3 years

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Coming Home

Genre: Sentimental smut with the most feelings Words: 1.456 Prompt: Taeyong + “Mmmh, you are warm” Warnings: unprotected sex, THE most feelings

A/N: One night the wonderful groupchat now named “sexc writers” with @ncteaxhoe and @sly-merlin came up with the idea of what would happen if the three of us had the same prompt and all wrote something with each other’s biases. So I wrote for one of Inni’s biases!

For maximum feelings, play “Dear Dream” while reading. I just want you to know that I actually made myself cry while writing this and listening to that song.

Waking up to your boyfriend in your bed when you definitely went to bed alone wasn’t something unusual. Waking up with him curled around your body like he was some kind of snake and you were his prey wasn’t either. And waking up because of the little butterfly kisses he pressed to the skin of your neck wasn’t out of the ordinary either. So what was the unusual thing when you woke up this morning? “Good morning baby,” Taeyong spoke in your ear, his voice raspy either from sleep or from recording all night – you weren’t sure which one it was. “Morning,” you smiled, snuggling back into your boyfriend’s chest.

“When did you get here?” You sighed after a couple of serene moments spent with Taeyong caressing your body. “Not too long ago,” he confessed, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the tender skin on your neck that seemed to linger longer than his lips actually did. “You should’ve gone home to sleep, baby,” you whined, squirming in his hold to turn around but his grip wasn’t budging. “Mmmh, stay still,” he sighed, tangling your legs together and oh- that was why it was an unusual way to wake up. “Yongie~,” you sighed, arching your body into his. “Mmmh, you’re warm,” he breathed, pressing his naked body to your back until there wasn’t a single centimeter of space between your bodies, “So warm.” He sighed deeply and gently rutted against your backside, his dick sliding between your panty clad asscheeks since he had forgone clothing all together.

Taking a shuddering breath, Taeyong let his hands roam beneath the big shirt you had worn to sleep, mapping out your body with firm hands like it was the first time he was touching you before he grabbed a handful of your boobs, squeezing the soft flesh to make you moan his name. “You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, burying his face in your neck to stifle the moans that kept slipping past his lips, the sounds so soft and breathy, they would have gotten lost any other time than right now in the early morning hours. “Make love to me,” you said softly, turning your body around in Taeyong’s grip to press your lips together in a sweet kiss, pouring all the fragile feelings into it you weren’t quite able to voice. “I love you so much,” your boyfriend whispered against your plush lips once you broke the kiss, his eyes so open and sincere, you almost choked on the feeling that built inside your chest.

“Want to see your face,” you mumbled before catching his lips again, soft and sensual, “Want to see you when you make love to me.” “Then let me see all of you in return,” Taeyong whispered back, his nimble fingers helping you out of your shirt and panties before he settled his body between your open legs, another moan spilling past his lips as his cock got trapped between your bodies. “So perfect,” he chanted, littering your cleavage and breasts with soft kisses, the ghost of his lips burning on your skin while his hands left goosebumps in their wake. With practiced ease, his fingers found your center and easily pushed inside, his eyes never leaving yours as your lips parted in a breathy moan. It should have been embarrassing how intensely he was watching every twitch of your muscles and how open and vulnerable you were but this was Taeyong, he knew you inside and outside so it was easy to just let go and bathe in the feeling of being loved and cherished just by the touch of his fingers and lips.

“I want you,” you moaned softly, letting your own hands roam over his strong back, down his small waist and down to his perky ass, pressing him forward. “You have me,” your boyfriend promised, gently curling his fingers into your sweet spot before slowly pulling them out, savoring the whine that spilled past your lips at the emptiness. “I’m yours.” You meant it. In more than one way and Taeyong was able to understand the weight behind those simple words because sometimes you two didn’t even need to speak at all to understand each other.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he breathed into your skin when the head of his cock prodded at your entrance. “You would never,” you just replied, curling your arms around his neck to swallow his moan with your lips as he slowly pushed into your heat until your hips were flush together. For a little while you just got lost in the feeling of being close to him, connected in the most intimate of ways as your tongues lead a sensual dance, exploring each other’s mouths as if you hadn’t already done it a thousand times over and over again. “Please,” you pleaded, letting your eyes flutter open to marvel at the beauty of your boyfriend, every detail on his face so imperfectly perfect. “Anything,” he promised, “I’d do anything for you.” Breathing the same air as you, Taeyong slowly pulled his hips back to slide back into you just as slowly, letting you both savor every inch of his length, every drag against your walls and every unspoken word between you.

The air was heavy with both spoken and unspoken feelings as your hands never stopped to caress each other: Yours slipping from his arms up his shoulders before tenderly cupping his face to softly stroke your thumb over the scar next to his eye. Taeyong easily leaned into your touch, his dark eyes that held all the stars of the galaxy slipping shut as his pink lips parted to let out soft sounds of pleasure while he held you securely in his arms. “I love you,” you softly whispered and immediately felt like love wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what you were feeling in this moment, soft rays of sunlight bathing your naked bodies as you moved as one, just basking in the feeling of pleasure that buzzed in your veins without the urge to reach your peak. “My whole world,” Taeyong whispered back, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jaw, “My sun,” down your neck, “My moon,” back up to your ear, “And my stars,” to finally connect your lips again all while he never ceased to move his hips, reaching so deep you could feel it in your entire body.

“Please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his shoulders to press him impossibly closer, feeling like you needed to feel all of him to make sure this moment was real. “Everything for you,” he whispered into your skin, picking up the pace of his hips without it being urgent or frantic, just what both of you needed to reach your peak. You worked your hips with him in perfect unison as much as your position allowed you to, burying your hands in the soft strands of his hair to keep his close to your pulse where he was panting into your skin, sending tingles down your spine.

“Please,” now it was him who was begging, his hips losing their steady rhythm to grind deep inside your heat. “Look at me,” you asked, voice cracking slightly but if anything it showed how fragile this moment was, how fragile the feelings between you were. But the moment Taeyong looked up and locked eyes with you, you knew that your heart was safe with him; he would keep it safe and give you his soul in return. “I love you,” you spoke in unison and the soft smile that tugged on Taeyongs lips only got broken when his eyebrows pulled together in a frown as his hips came to a stop deep inside you and you felt him release inside you, the blissed out look on his face pulling you over the edge with him. The orgasm wasn’t mind-blowing to the point where colors were exploding behind your lids. Instead it washed over you like a smooth tide on a beach, leaving you warm and glittery; your skin prickling with thousand little firecrackers everywhere Taeyong and you were connected: From the tips of your hairs down to your toes and inside your chest.

A breathy sigh left your lips and you couldn’t help the soft giggle that spilled past your lips when you saw the feeling of safety and just home you felt reflected in the warm brown of Taeyong’s eyes. “Marry me,” he spoke into the delicate silence, bearing his heart for you to receive or reject, “Be with me for always and forever.” “You were my first love and will be my last,” you accepted his heart, vowing to always keep it safe.

#taeyong #lee taeyong #nct #neosmutcollective #kafenetwork #nct 127 #taeyong smut #taeyong fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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the-slasher-files · 3 years

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Slashers - The Mundane

INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, and BO

Thought of this idea a while ago and I just thought it was adorable, the mundane with a big stabby man is the dream. I just want to hold their hand at a while we shop and have him come home when I make dinner... Hope you enjoy 💕🔪

MASTERLIST

JASON VOORHEES

Since you are away from the city and all the commotion of daily life, his normal is already far different

The man just loves to spend time with you, even just sitting in the same quiet room hearing your soft breaths, it makes him feel human again

Drinking coffee or tea while sitting in bed or on the porch watching the sun rise together is a top tier activity for him

Any hike or walk with him is date, holding his hand and hearing not his own foot steps is reassuring to him

While reading a book or being on your laptop and exchanging stolen glazes at each other is like home

when you fucking smile at your phone his heart explodes

Jason loves to help you do the dishes, he can reach the high shelf :)

Watching movies together his absolute favorite, half the time he just watches you instead of the movie, not wanting to miss a single reaction

Listening to you hum your favorite songs reminds him of his mother

Everytime you gasp because I a rock is cool along the shore, it startles him but loves to see you so excited over the small joys in life

When you grow sleepy he loves your delicate little yawns and they way your breathes slow, and your eyes fall a little bit droopy

Jason’s number one thing by far, the thing that makes his heart flutter and melt however, is at the end of the night and you both are under the sheets, resting your head on his chest while he holds you, tracing shapes into each others skin, listening to each others hearts and breath. Just a beautiful soul being with him will forever be enough

MICHAEL MYERS

After the voices in his head settle down and the urges close, he just wants to be somewhat normal, as much as he can be being a giant man who hates people

Him quietly stepping into the house all bloody while you are cooking or cleaning makes him feel semi normal, even though he is covered in blood

For him just watching you is enough somedays, he loves to see every emotion or small curve to your lips, boy knows every tell you have and what every single body movement means and he loves it. He will watch you for h o u r s

Like the point above he loves to observe you so that means following you while doing laundry, or when you're making the bed, cleaning etc

Man love to toy with people, especially you, so seeing your reactions when he hides your phone or moves everything on your desk an inch to the left makes him lose it.. b a s t a r d

When you are getting ready for your day he loves to watch you, almost like a ritual before the stalk and finally the kill at the end of night when he fucks you raw

Walks in the evening together are his thing, that's a date in his eyes

Depending on the night he had, he usually likes to drink some coffee with you and watch the steam dance around your face

Lazily likes you to hold his hand while you sit and play on your phone or read a book.. he won't ever initiate it though

Just you talking about your day or ranting about something stupid he loves, he's most likely not going to ever respond but he likes your voice, it gives him a break from his own mind

Michael loves to inhale your scent, it calms and soothes him, this could be in bed or just when you walk by him

When you are both in bed and if he is having a hard time falling alseep, which is almost every night, Michael loves it when you play with his soft brown curls... be careful some nights he might push you off the bed for that

BO SINCLAIR

The man aches for normalcy and gets turned on my the mundane, he just wants a ‘normal’ American life with a side of blood

Trips to the grocery store are 100% dates with him since you guys basically never leave Ambrose. You hold the list while he has the kart and reaches from the high shelf for you.

Waking up next you is a huge one he loves, just having another body in the house that belongs to him and him only. Seeing you face so soft against the pillow in one of his old t-shirts.

Bo will watch you do things just around the house that makes him feel like his parents are still around like the laundry or dishes or cleaning the floor. He will have his stupid smirk as he watches you

When you wear his clothes, that is one of his absolute favorite things in the world. He cannot get enough of it. You smell like him and it's almost like he owns you in that moment.

They way you hum a song when you don't know he's around or when you're lost in thought he absolutely adores and it reminds him of his momma

At the end of the night, one of his favorite things is when you come get him from the garage. Bo looks forward and loves to hear your footsteps on the asphalt when he's putting away his tools after working hard all day in the heat.

After coming to get him from the garage he adores getting to the house and you having a hot home made meal for himself and you. It makes Bo feel like a regular man living his american dream.

Once said dinner is done, his baby blue eyes linger as you collect the dishes and grab Bo an ice cold beer and just sit on the couch with him watching some crappy TV show. It's so wholesome but so regular, something he deeply craves.

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chainofclovers · 3 years

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Ted Lasso 2x9 thoughts

It’s no secret that I absolutely adore Coach Beard; he’s one of my favorite characters on the show, and he’s so well-written and well-acted that somehow I tend to be both perfectly satisfied with the details we see and truly curious to understand more about the way he thinks, what’s really happening re: his professional and personal devotion to Ted, where he comes from and where he’s going. I don’t need to know his name beyond the name he wants to be called, but I want to know why we don’t have any other names for him. And I don’t need him to be a bigger focal point of every episode, but I very much needed this episode’s world-exploding reminder that every single character on this show has a rich inner life, full of joys and troubles.

“Beard After Hours” is like a movie, but one that scatters its climaxes and puts off its resolutions...because it’s not a movie. It’s episode nine of a twelve-episode season of TV. When the episode ended, I felt this almost frantic “But he needed to break up with Jane for good before the end of the episode!” feeling. I was so pulled in by the idea of being able to tell an entire story in one night, of going on an odyssey alongside a complicated hero, that watching Beard and Jane find each other in that club felt as intense as the fact that we don’t know if Ted responded to Rebecca’s voicemail and we don’t know what’s going to happen with Rebecca and Sam and we don’t know who isn’t getting married and who is having a funeral in 2x10 (I mean, I have my strong suspicions, but still!) and we don’t know if Richmond will be promoted back to the Premier League. And on and on. I didn’t mind feeling desperate for the story to resolve even though I understood after thinking about it for ten seconds that of course it couldn’t resolve yet. Or ever. Or yet.

I’m a big fan of the TL episode recaps/reviews Linda Holmes writes for NPR, and I have to quote something from this week’s directly because it so perfectly explains my feelings:

The power of the scene where Beard dances in the club isn't that it's a beautiful romantic climax. It's that it's an explanation of why he cannot seem to extricate himself from this bad relationship. What makes the worst relationships so dangerous is that they have elements that feel good that are very hard to get elsewhere. Beard knows that; he tells it to God. What's concerning isn't that Jane makes the world seem more interesting; what's concerning is she's the only thing that does. That doesn't take away from the joy of the dancing; it just tells you that even happiness is complicated.

I love Holmes’ perspective here so much, because it articulates something I was struggling to figure out: how it can feel so legitimate, like such a (temporary but nonetheless powerful) relief, for Beard to find Jane in that club and to have this moment of euphoria as his night nears an end. How it is possible to experience that relief on behalf of a character while fervently wishing it could end differently, because it’s so clear from the abusive text messages and the toxic calls and the manipulative interactions that Jane is terrible to him and they’re terrible for each other. But Beard knows this. He knows it when he hugs Higgins in the parking lot after Higgins is honest with him in a way Ted and Rebecca and Keeley have not learned how to be, and he knows it when part of his prayer includes the clear articulation that Jane isn’t the cure for what “ails me.” He’s inching closer to greater self-knowledge just as Ted is.

And the two big resolutions that really, really needed to happen did. I didn’t know I needed Paul, Baz, and Jeremy to get to wrap up their own night out on the pitch at Nelson Road, but I did. It brought actual tears to my eyes. And the other resolution was Beard showing up with the other coaches’ coffees for their meeting to watch the game film. As interesting as it would have been to see what Ted would have done if Beard hadn’t shown up, I’m so, so glad that he did. He’s got a messed-up face and some truly epic pants on, but otherwise this is just Beard showing up for work, showing up for his friends. It was incredible to realize that Beard and Ted haven’t been exaggerating when they’ve referred to his sex-and-drug proclivities in the past. The night documented in 2x9 might have been particularly scary and violent and euphoric and awful and meaningful, but this type of all-night adventure isn’t a foreign concept for this guy. In all the other episodes of this show, when we see Beard we’re seeing someone who might have been out all night, who might have spent the hours the sun was down desperately pushing himself closer to whatever edges he could find.

I don’t really want to touch upon all the allusions in this episode. They are abundant, they are well-documented, and also I haven’t even seen the movie After Hours. I enjoyed this episode for its allusive qualities and I enjoyed this episode for what it was and I feel like I have to be at peace with the fact that I’m never going to pick up on every single reference on this show and that is okay.

So, yeah, if this entry on my tumblr dot com blog seems remarkably devoid of references and allusions, it’s not because I’m not into it but because I find it too overwhelming to actually write about.

Very into the Misplaced and Discovered box at the Crown and Anchor. (That’s what Mae wrote on the Lost and Found box at the pub, right? Whatever it is, it’s so funny.)

Beard hallucinating Thierry Henry and Gary Lineker was truly upsetting and a great indicator not only of how broken things are between the Richmond coaching staff right now but also how deep Beard’s self-loathing might go. If you’d asked me before Thursday if I thought Beard loathed himself, I would say no. That deepening of knowledge alone makes 2x9 worth it.

James Tartt and his friends in the alley. Such a nightmare. I go back and forth on how much of the night was real, and part of me has decided all of it is, short of the images of Henry and Lineker. (And even that is real to the extent that it was a way of articulating what was in Beard’s head.) But watching Beard in physical danger brought on by the same abuser who had him so upset in the first place. It was a lot.

I’m so excited that Paul and Jeremy and Baz got some spotlight this episode. It was so wonderful to see them out of the pub. I love that they ended up telling the Oxford snots who they really were. They got to see Beard going to bat for them and smoothing over the situation socially, and that actually made it more possible for them to end up being truthful about themselves. Because they have nothing to be ashamed of, and they deserved the magic of that night. (And for it to end on Nelson Road. Every feeling. Oof.)

I feel like I barely have anything to say about the trouser-mending lady or the many places Beard goes or his key-dropping or the nightmarish feeling of wanting to be home and being unable to be home. It all happened and we all watched it and again, it was a lot. But I do feel incredibly moved and fascinated by the fact that Beard very obviously still hasn’t been home when he brings in the coffee. He’s had to sleep at the club for Jane- and key-related reasons in the past, and this time it’s not that he’s slept there but it still feels like a kind of homecoming he was robbed of for the entire night. Ted and Roy and Nate are there. He’s gotten their coffee orders correct. Ted is growing and evolving (he wants to learn from what’s happened, he’s insisting upon it even when the others resist) but he’s done a really perfect (almost romantic in its loveliness) thing by presumably spending his evening following a breakdown of his own speeding up the game film to 10x speed and adding Benny Hill. Ted is not OK and Beard is not OK and Nate is not OK and Roy is pretty OK but could very easily be not OK because he’s just joined a coaching staff with a whole lot of not OK. But they all showed up.

I am very into the realism of the lights being off in the club other than the coaches’ office (@talldecafcappuccino pointed this out!), and the way we’re seeing their desks from a different angle because this episode is unfocused on Ted. It really added to the mindset of being hungover and exhausted and unable to go home or even to know exactly what home should be; even this warm, familiar place feels off even as it’s a relief to be back there.

I am excited to return to our regularly scheduled programming with the full cast of characters, but I really adored this episode for what it taught us about Beard and what it illuminated about the humor, pain, and complexity of each person who inhabits this universe. Beard may not be loud about his long-standing beliefs or about the things he’s learned, but there’s a lot happening in there and I appreciated getting to spend 43 minutes with him and (in the case of the ticket he scrawls on a piece of paper so the pub guys can get into Nelson Road) the moments he sets in motion.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #ted lasso 2x9 #meta by me #a lesbian watches ted lasso #coach beard

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aquaticstyles · 3 years

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unchained

A while ago I was asked for a “Have You Ever Been In Love” sequel, and while this is probably not the direction you guys were expecting, this is what I came up with. Also, this one’s (loosely) inspired by the song “Scott Street” by the lovely Phoebe Bridgers (highly recommend listening to the spotify sessions version while listening). Fun fact, for forever I misheard the lyrics, thinking she was saying “unchained” instead of “ashamed.” After noticing that I have, in fact, been wrong this entire time, I realized I kinda liked my version better (sorry Phoebe). And, me being me, I ran with it and it spun into this quick, 1.4k part two. Reblogs + feedback help so much! Enjoy!! xx, Jane

“Have you ever been in love?”

Harry’s heart stops.

The question catches him off guard, and not just because he’s not used to interviewers asking such personal ones (he guesses this is what he signed up for when he agreed to be the first male flying solo on the cover of Vogue). It makes his heart stop because of his answer, because of the woman that had once asked him the same exact question.

Harry has never been one to linger in his sadness; he finds it unproductive, and quite honestly, completely depressing. After a break up, one can find the caramel-colored curls belonging to the world’s latest phenomenon sweating out his sorrow, or frustration, at the gym, pounding the boxing bag again and again and again. “Nothing another set can’t fix,” his trainer, Mike, would often tease the man in denial, knowing good and well by his posture upon entering the ring, slumped shoulders and an ever-present crease between his eyebrows, that another one had bit the dust the night prior. Mike had learned fairly quickly to never ask questions, to simply let Harry work out his emotions as he pleases, even if that means letting him walk out with wrapped fists masking throbbing, crimson knuckles.

Harry has never been one to talk about his sadness either; he finds it prolongs the pain rather than diminishing it, an annoying gnat swarming around an abnormally large bite from a crisp apple, halting his progression in enjoying his afternoon snack because he just can’t catch the bloody thing. His sister has tried to break him from his stubborn ways, even resulting to getting the lanky man drunk off tequila in hopes of him finally opening up about his incessant missed targets; however, that only ever ends up with Gemma’s arms holding up the giggling teddy bear and folding his bulky body into a taxi, mimicking cramming a cotton ball into a straw. Therapy was suggested and waved off with an inked palm, because if he doesn’t want to talk to his sister about it, how on earth is he supposed to talk to a stranger?

Never-ending claims of “I’m fine,” and “It just didn’t work out,” and “Don’t worry ‘bout me,” and “It wasn’t even that serious.” Sure, each breakup took a little something out of the man that insisted he was “fine,” but eventually, a couple dozen inked journal pages later, Harry would be back to his normal, happy-go-lucky, perfectly-kind self.

All of these rang true for most of Harry’s young adulthood.

All of these were common occurrences, that is, until Harry met you.

You were unlike anyone he had ever met. Selfless, but not in an over-bearing, walk-all-over-me kind of way. Funny, but not in an underlying-hatred, fake-laugh kind of way. Genuine, but not in a look-at-me, fake kind of way. Honest, in a I-want-to-know-everything-that-makes-you-you, ask-you-questions-until-the-sun-rises kind of way. Drop-dead-gorgeous in the most unbelievable, glowing, ethereal, kind of way that he constantly reminded you of. You were the perfect balance, the missing diamond to even out the coal on the other end of the scale.

Loving you felt like the ocean.

In the morning when there’s a hazy screen covering your lenses, clouding the soft sunlight in a muted, white-washed filter. It’s more gray, yet still golden as the shining mass of fire lazily rises from its slumber. It’s calm, clouds stretched apart like cobwebs in the faded blue sky above, waves leisurely, almost too relaxed, crashing along the bleached shore then disappearing back into the horizon. Still sleepy, still new, an entire day ahead of you.

In the afternoon when the sun is at its highest and hottest, radiating down ultraviolet rays that burn your skin, causing alarmingly red shoulders in need of aloe that soon progressively heal and turn into a bronzed exterior. Speckles of light dancing upon excited waves, similar to a neighborhood of children dressed in pink polka dots and orange overalls running towards the ice cream truck filled to the brim with dreams of sugary stomachaches. It’s saturated, every color its brightest and loudest, pops of cerulean and coral. It’s a blanket of comfort, a suffocating scarf. It’s sweet. It’s sour. A cool glass of lemonade sinking into a bed of quicksand. Annoying and astonishing.

In the night, when the yellowing presence is long gone in the awakening of the moon, the deepest indigo swirling in between pockets of stars dotted and flecked into the atmosphere like freckles. It’s black and blue. You don’t know where the earth stopss and the water begins, familiarity lost as the waves erase each new footprint in the sand. The tide is an abuser, sweet as it sings you in, terrifying as it pulls you under. Skinny dipping, vulnerable, exciting, adrenaline, heart thumping, diving, sinking, drowning.

The morning, the afternoon, the night. The happening, the honeymoon, the heartbreak.

Ever since it ended, everything Harry had ever known was cast aside, thrown out like a Gucci jumper from last season. For the first time in his twenty-six years of living, fourteen of those juggling the obstacles that relationships can and will bring, Harry was irreversibly numb, a pair of frozen, gloveless fingertips blue from the icy wind. Not only did he linger in the gut-wrenching grief, he was absorbed by it. Instead of waking up each morning tucked into the bare side of your body diffusing innocent warmth, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee received by hands much smaller than his own, he woke up with a stranger laying on his chest, cold, with a pounding headache the bottle of whiskey had gladly supplied from the night before. The days felt as if they lasted an eternity, time stuck in slow-motion, tick, tick, ticking, one second, one and a half, one and three quarters, two. He watched the seasons pass, the grass dying and regenerating into its natural emerald shade from his bedroom, dust pocketing in the corners of a picture frame containing two pairs of sparkling eyes and genuine, toothy grins sitting on the windowsill. Nights consisted of him lying sleepless on his back, eyes wide awake, thumbs twiddling as the echoes of helicopters overhead drone in and out. Dozens of missed calls remained unanswered: Mum, Gem, Mitch, Mike, Adam, Sarah, Mum, Mum, Gem, Mum, Mike, Mitch, Gem, Mitch, Mum…

He was stuck, a pancake glued to an ungreased pan, charred. It was when this melancholy had prolonged for nearly its sixth month, and all at home remedies (which included drinking, writing, drinking because he was writing, and writing because he was drinking) failed to provide any peace that he decided to give in to the recommendations from almost every single one of his friends: therapy. After the first session, he was ready to book it and sprint off to a deserted island with nothing but a coconut filled with rum to accompany his solitude. Turns out that one session was the mento to his coca cola of bottled-up emotions, exploding months’ worth of buried feelings and memories in an hour. It took the will of God (and Gemma purposefully lying and telling him they were going to get lunch) to get Harry back in the baby-pink-painted interior of his therapist’s office. After months of talking, sorting, compartmentalizing, yelling, crying, healing, unpacking, and reflecting, Harry tackled down the closure he had been chasing. A year and an album later, when he heard your name, he no longer felt trapped, heart beating rapidly, trying desperately to break apart his ribcage, he felt unchained—a prisoner uncaged, pounds and pounds of metal unlocked from his wrists, free.

Before, your name was paired with a colorless photo album, snapshots of vibrancy draining into black and white, frozen, lifeless, still.

Now, your name resembled a film reel of the best moments, your sweater hanging in his closet, your arm thrown around his mother’s shoulder in a polaroid candid, your laugh echoing in the acoustics of his shower after you nearly slipped on the lavender bubbles coating sudsy toes, your hands massaging his scalp, twisting curls into detailed plaits, your foamy lips smushing against a stubbled cheek, leaving remnants of peppermint mocha in the winter air, your satin skirt contrasting from his purple flares in his backyard, playing thumb war and whispering confessions in the moonlight. The good memories built a brick wall to block out the bad, dimming the light of your downfall.

“Have you ever been in love?” The question echoes again in Harry’s ears, causing a grin and a dimple to pop into his cheek. The fuzzies. Once, twice, three times. Click, shake, tape.

“Yeah, I have.”

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little-diable · 4 years

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Shakespeare - Klaus Mikaelson (angst/smut)

Request by anon: Love❤ can you write for Husband!Niklaus Mikaelson & Reader? They had a fight over something and now she is very upset with him. She is not talking to him, sulking and moreover 'ignoring' him. And he is very sorry about his behaviour and craving for her attention. So he does all the cute efforts to propitiate her(made a painting of her, write poems and love quotes for her to read) {add loads of fluff in his efforts} so she finally gives in and please make it an eventual romantic smut 😊

God, I loved writing this, I think that's one of my favorites, hope you like it just as much as I do. Enjoy my loves. xxx

“Don’t,“ (y/n) whispered, Klaus slowly pulled away his hand, his arms were now loosely hanging by his sides, a devastated expression on him as his eyes wandered across the tear stains down her face. He watched her leave the living quarters, sunk down onto the couch, head buried in his hands, a sob left his lips. Klaus couldn’t believe the words he had screamed at her, just seconds ago.

Regret began to fill him, his throat was tightening up, it felt as if somebody was cutting off his airway, tightly squeezing his skin, crushing his windpipe, making him suffer, for the profane words that had left his mouth.

Hiccups rumbled through her, (y/n) grasped the sink in her and Klaus bathroom, her knuckles were turning white at this point, she was watching herself through the mirror, she was a mess, not being able to let go of his, “I should have left you centuries ago.”

The way he had so aggressively screamed it at her, wouldn’t leave her mind, his eyes had been pitch black, empty pupils were staring at her, watching her crumble, fall apart as he kept on screaming and screaming. She needed some time to breathe, to calm down and overthink the whole scenario.

Their fighting had been going on for weeks by now, every time they’d visit Mystic Falls, all hell would break loose, Klaus would switch his focus onto something ‘rather important’, would leave her hanging and turn his back on her, as if he was a completely new person.

She had been going through thick and thin with him, had picked him off the floor, had pulled him out of his darkest holes, they had been married for centuries by now, (y/n) probably should be used to all the stresses and strains by now.

(Y/n) would hide away in their bedroom, desperate for some time alone, she couldn’t get herself to talk to him, every time she’d think about him, bile would rise in her throat, tears were welling up in her eyes, making her cry out over and over again.

She wasn’t noticing, that he was sitting across of their door, out in the hallway, tears would fall from his eyes as he listened to the sound of her crying. He was suffering just as much, but for complete other reasons, this had been the first time Klaus had felt terribly anxious, scared that she’d give up, finally realizing how bad of a person he was, turning her back on him.

He knew, that it would be on him this time, to make things right, so he did the only thing he could think of, Klaus began to paint, he’d stare at his canvas for hours on end, trying to come up with any idea. A tight smile would tug on his lips as he’d finally start painting, faint brush marks would graze the white fabric, slowly turning into a beautiful memory Klaus was trying to project onto the canvas. The small clearing, where they had gotten married centuries ago, was slowly beginning to take form, transforming single movements with his brush into a bigger picture.

But it was obvious to him, that a painting wouldn’t fix anything, it would need more convincing than that, so he sat down and began to write a poem for her, murmuring her favorite lines out of Shakespeares ‘Romeo and Juliet’. Klaus was too focused on his writing, to hear her nearing, he began to whisper. “Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and-” he whipped his head towards the door, as her sweet voice interrupted him. “He will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”

“I can still remember, the day we met him for the first time, the way he was sitting in the tavern, writing down those words. You smiled at me, told me that our love was eternal, what happened to you, Klaus?” Her voice was hoarse from all the crying.

“Love,” (y/n) walked towards him, her naked feet were tapping against the wooden floor, she grasped his hand and sunk down in his lap, nuzzling her head against the crook of his neck. “I love you. I’m so sorry, I can’t even put into words how sorry I am, (y/n), trust me-” she placed her pointer finger onto his lips, silencing her husband. “Show me, prove to me, how much you love me.” His eyes were staring at her, burning right into her soul, trying to swallow down the guilt, that was eating him alive.

Klaus carried her towards the bedroom, smiling down at her, he moved some of her hair out of her face, slowly dipping his head down to kiss her. The loving kiss soon turned into something else, something much more passionate, fueled by their rage, their sadness, that had been clouding their minds for the past days. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, Klaus pressed his forehead against hers, his hands were moving along the sides of his white dress shirt she was currently wearing.

A shaky breath left (y/n), he began to unbutton the shirt, kissing her skin every time he popped open another button, followed by a sweet “I love you.” He attached his mouth onto her boobs, taking his time as if he was exploring her body for the first time, Klaus pressed loving kisses all over her chest, her eyes fluttered close the moment he finally sucked on her nipples, making tingles erupt in her lower belly. “Beautiful.“ The original whispered against her skin, moving his hands down to her panties, he rubbed her clit through the fabric, slowly teasing her, he didn’t want to rush things this time.

“Please, Klaus.” His ring felt cold against her hot skin, slowly he pulled her soaked panties down her legs, Klaus kissed down her upped body, to her hipbones, where he placed his hands. He ran his tongue across her clit, circling it, eyes finding hers, a faint smile began to spread on her lips, she reached her hands out and tangled them in his locks, getting pulled back into the pleasure he was currently providing her with. Klaus plunged two fingers into her heat, pumping them in and out of her as he sucked on her sensitive nub, one moan after the other fell from her lips.

Her release was nearing, Klaus curled his fingers upwards, teasing her sweet spot, “Does that feel good, my love?” He groaned out, his pants were getting tighter, he couldn’t get enough of her. She could only moan a small “yes” tugging on his roots, telling him that she was close, her orgasm would wash over her any time soon now. His name fell from her lips, the familiar warmth began to spread through her, the knot in her belly exploded for the first time that night, leaving her breathless for a few moments.

His eyes wouldn’t leave hers, Klaus pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned upper body to her (y/e/c) eyes, he ripped his trousers and boxers down his legs, his length was standing proud and tall, throbbing in his touch. He crawled up her body, Klaus ran the tip of his length along her folds a few times, coating himself with her slickness. (Y/n) grasped his necklace and pulled him down for a kiss, moaning against his lips as he sunk his length into her heat.

Klaus completely filled her, she could feel ever inch of him, buried in her heat, fully stretching her, he wrapped her legs around his middle, slowly pulling out of her before he thrusted his hips against hers. “I love you,” he whispered again, his eyes were closed, he was building up the speed of his thrusts, he didn’t want this to end too soon, this wasn’t about him, it was all about her and the love he felt for her.

“Look at me,” (y/n) whispered, she was still holding onto his necklace, “I love you too.” A smile began to spread on his lips, his hips were thrusting against hers more easily by now, excitement was flooding through the both of them, relishing in the feeling of being as close as possible. “Faster, please Klaus.” Her toes were curled, he began to put pressure onto her clit with his thumb, while he was pounding into her.

He kept on calling out her name, one hand was placed on her right thigh, the other one next to her head, her walls were clenching around him, trying to pull him even closer. “Shit,” (y/n) tugged on his necklace once again, pushing his lips against hers, deep moans rumbled through her as her release washed upon her. Her whole body was tingling, the heavenly feeling overcame her for the second time that evening, a tear fell from her eye, she truly loved him and would never let him go, no matter what.

Klaus pressed his forehead against her neck, moaning into her skin, it took him a few more thrusts, till he released himself into her heat, his sweat was dripping down onto her skin, his hands had left some marks on her thighs, displaying the deep emotions he had felt a few moments ago. “I’m sorry.” The original breathed out, he pulled her into his chest, his fingers were dancing across her skin, trying to remind him, that this was indeed real, she had forgiven him, once again, hadn’t left him on his own.

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chunhua-s · 3 years

Text

FOR THOSE WITHOUT THEIR SOULMATES ➽ HAJIME IWAIZUMI x READER

requested by: @aiiishiiiteru

➪ hmm mayhaps i could request some iwa fluff 👉👈 (ofc hehe), mmm maybe of him finally being able to confess how he feels to his best friend or anything fluffy with iwa please mwah 😚

genre: fluff

soulmate au: among the general population, only a select handful are born with soulmates. how do those without find love?

warnings: uhhhh this is my first time writing for iwa and i hope i did well for my darling wife nona 🥺 this reader insert will be neutral in appearance since it’s a request!

hajime iwaizumi isn’t one of the chosen few who are born with a soulmate. there’s no writing on his body, or special birthmarks, and he doesn’t hear whatever song his imaginary destined partner listens to. but that doesn’t stop his heart from racing whenever he thinks of you.

the you who put the stars in his night sky and danced under the moonlight with everything made of joy and happiness and unadulterated laughter. the you who sang the graces of the morning sun to him and played melodies of lavender meadows, where he could lose himself in everything that you had to offer. thoughts of you spin his world on its axis and pulls it along to a sweet tune that he can’t get enough of — the tune is every single word that falls from your lips, he latches on to them and drinks them up like the gospel itself. he considers, more than once, whenever he gets lost in your starlit eyes as you excitedly laugh about whatever you’re telling him; this must be what it’s like to have a soulmate. it must be the way your eyes shine with mirth and joyous laughter, the way it all sends bolts of electricity through his body. each and every part of him wants to hold you for longer than he’s allowed to as your best friend, and there are nights where he pictures himself crossing that blurred line and stepping into your court to kiss your hands, your cheeks, your nose and your lips. he’s hungry for everything that you’ll give him, but he hesitates, locks his hands in metal binds and ties them around his heart because he’s so afraid that if he does step into your court, that you’ll step away and put a divide between you. hajime iwaizumi loves you too much to consider losing you on his feelings, and so he seals them behind his lips and never dreams of showing them to your eyes that shine like midnight stars.

he exhales on a heavy breath, his body falling back into his mattress as the sappy kdrama’s credits play on. next to him is you, laying on your stomach to turn around and look back at him with a familiar grin that forms crescent moons on your eyes.

“so??” you urge eagerly, “what’d you think??”

he sighs once more, gazing at you from his comfortable place on his bed with his hands folded behind his head. he tries to ignore the fluttering of his heart at the sight of your smile, though it’s a losing battle as he sees you waiting for his answer. “i think,” he begins, lets his word hang in the air for dramatic suspense before he grins teasingly, “that you’re a hopeless romantic if you really enjoy stuff like this.”

he easily catches the pillow that you chuck at his head, his grin growing wider as he takes in your look of mock offense from his words. “it’s true!” he laughs, “it’s not like it’s anything new— you’ve always been like that!” he watches the way that you push your lower lip into a pout and tries his best not to let his heart run out of his chest. hajime iwaizumi wants to keep his affections for you a secret, but you make it harder for him to do so without even trying.

“well i take pride in my hopeless romantic lifestyle,” you huff, groaning with the effort it takes you to sit up and face him, legs folded beneath your body and arms pressing down into the mattress.

“oh yeah?” he rumbles with a chuckle on his lips. his gaze softens in something like a sleepy daze that causes your heart to flutter in your chest. he looks handsome like this, you think; he looks at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world, and it causes the affections that you’ve been fighting down since high school to stir around inside your stomach and threaten to pour from your lips. iwaizumi’s right about you — you are a hopeless romantic, and you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend.

you pout, feigning annoyance as you turn your head away with a ‘hmph!’ hajime’s quick to recognize the beginnings of your pettiness and shuts it down quickly by wrapping his arms around your midsection, pulls you into his chest as your laughter rings out inside his room. he revels in the sound of it as his fingers dance around your sides, drawing more sounds of innocent happiness from you as you topple on top of him. “what was that?” he hums over your giggles, easily thwarting your playful resistance and turning you over on your back. he straddles your lower body with his legs and resumes his attack. “still wanna catch an attitude with me? hm?”

tears form on your eyes from your laughter as you push at his stomach, admiring the hard feel of his abs in the back of your mind as your cheeks begin to redden with all your giggling. “i wasn’t—” you gasp, “i wasn’t having an attitude!”

iwaizumi paused momentarily, allowing you to catch your breath beneath him. your face is flushed and your hair’s a mess; your lashes are wet with your joyful tears as you desperately swallow what air he’s allowing you to. the thought that comes to him is intrusive and causes his mind to hit against a sudden wall: you look absolutely blissed out.

he recognizes the danger and quickly tries to withdraw, moving to lay next to you instead of straddling your waist as naturally as he could manage. “uh-huh, sure—” the words are lost on his tongue, stolen by a moment of surprise when you suddenly push against his shoulders, climbing on top of him with vengeance gleaming in your eyes. confusion sounds dull beneath the sound of blood rushing through his body when your hands try to mimick his earlier ministrations on his sides, though as he recognizes what you’re trying to do, he grows a smug grin when your own smile falters slightly.

“huh?” you sound out. your fingers pause when you don’t get the reaction you sought for. there’s no panic or uncontrolled laughter that comes from the man beneath you, no pleas for mercy like you imagined hearing. there’s only hajime’s wide lipped smile that’s full of all the confidence that you’ve seen on the court, when he knows a set comes directly to his open palm for him to steal a victory. “huh??” you complain again.

“(y/n),” he smirks, propping himself up on his elbows, pretends that his face isn’t as close to yours as it appears to be in that moment. he feels the hunger and yearning for you turning in his chest like giant waves against the ocean cliff, but for these few seconds, hajime iwaizumi wants to be selfish. he wants to believe that the light shining in your (e/c) eyes isn’t just an illusion; that the reflection of the years he spend pining over you isn’t just a figment of his wishful imagination. in this moment, hajime can pretend that you love him too. he realizes too late that his broad grin has melted into something tender that pulls at your heart, and his next words come out on a whisper that he’s so scared to let out, for fear that it would break the fragile air that had settled around the pair of you. “i’m not ticklish.”

“you’re not?” the question you give to him is redundant, though every intelligent thought has long since faded from your mind, leaving behind nothing but the sight of the boy you love looking up at you as if gravity’s pulling him into you. right now, the green colour of his eyes are like emeralds in the darkness of his room, the light from his laptop causing them to glow so beautifully that you forget how to breathe. when your mouth opens, you’re certain that he can hear your heart crying out for him beneath the breaking in your voice as you breathe out a helpless “oh.”

the world slows, trickles until it stops, leaving the both of you in a pocket of time where the only thing that the only thing you hear is your hearts beating in tandem. the bump, bump, bump that bounces from your chest to his, the rushing of blood that sings on ballads and romance melodies, his eyes that pull you in and tangle you up in red strings, it’s enough to overwhelm you and drown your senses. it’s so much, it’s too much that it causes your eyes to sting behind unshed tears that blur his face beneath you. you don’t know why he’s leaning forward, but you don’t think too much of it when you meet him halfway — you can’t think about how’s of why’s when your lips are touching his, just like you’d imagine them doing so many times before. you feel your world tilting on its axis and something explodes inside your chest, your entire body feels as if it lights up with an all consuming flame as his mouth moves against yours. your breath vanishes on winter’s winds and leaves you desperate for air, desperate for more of him when your hands reach out for his face to pull him even closer. everything you’ve felt, every moment you’ve spent loving him is poured out from between your lips and he drinks it up like a man whose walked through the desert, like you’re the oasis that he’s been reaching out to for so long that the taste of you burns him deliciously. his heart sings your name in praise and glory when he pulls away from you, and he finds himself wanting so much more from you when he catches the sight of (e/c) fire that burns on embers in your eyes.

“oh...”

he can’t fight the smile that takes over his face at your weak voice. it’s hard to build his thoughts into anything comprehensible when he’s struggling to breathe again, basking in your weight on top of him and his arms locked unto your waist. your gaze on him is dazed, as if you’re wrapped up in a dream, wrapped up in him, and you look so perfect, so unreal, that he wonders if it’s a dream. “oh,” he echoes; his voice sounds deeper and rumbles with something that makes your body tremble. you burn with the feeling of it, you let it erase logic from your mind as you melt into his searing gaze.

“so, uh,” you stutter, “are we—” the words trap themselves inside your throat, hiding behind your lips as if speaking them would break you from this moment in time and cast you out from an illusion you don’t want to wake up from.

iwaizumi lifts one hand to hold your cheek, he runs his thumb across the reddening skin and smiles when your own hand comes up to hold on to him. the picture is so tender, so sweet and filled with the love that the both of you feel for each other; here in his room, nothing exists outside of the both of you, your world becomes iwaizumi and (y/n). “do you want to be?” he asks you gently. he hopes that you don’t notice the way he holds his breath and anticipates the words that you’ll say next, fearing that he’ll hear a rejection despite the way that you’re looking at him right now as if he held your heart in the palm of his hands.

he feels his breath escape on a single sigh when you nod, tears glistening in your eyes as you squeeze his hand. it’s so surreal to him, how within these passing seconds, he’s suddenly acquiring everything he’s ever wanted. it’s as if he only blinked and you’ve somehow become his on a single breath, and it causes his head to spin, he feels as if he’s been swept off his feet and tumbles past the softness of his mattress. he’s holding you so closely, the world in his hands and he can only laugh when you press your lips to his again. everything feels right, as if it’s all slotted into place around him and built a universe out of star-kissed dreams and galaxies that shine brighter than the sun. you are his galaxy, the woman who spins his world on its axis and pulls him into her each time.

he decides, as he holds your body and falls with his devotion, that even if he doesn’t have someone’s name printed on his body, or even if there’s no red string that connects him to someone halfway across the world, that he wouldn’t want a soulmate if it wouldn’t be you.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

tadaaa!!! so i added a small twist to the original request to add it to the soulmate universe but for the most part i stayed true to it! writing for iwa like this made my heart a lil softer for him ngl 🤧 nona you have excellent taste in men. honestly iwa would be such a sweet boyfriend — i picture him as a place of comfort and someone who would always be there no matter what, like i don’t know how to explain it but.......... he’s quietly reliable? he won’t always declare it like someone like daichi or asahi would, but you’re always aware that he’ll be there for whatever you need him for, like he reminds you in small ways without actually meaning to push that point. he reassures you without trying to!

this is part of a series, so please send me an ask or dm if you’d like to be apart of a taglist! i’m currently taking request for haikyuu characters and soulmate au’s, so please come and leave your requests for those as well! thank you for reading! ♡

taglist: @nishiya-is-baby @aiiishiiiteru

previous: wakatoshi ushijima | next stop: atsumu miya!

ps: even if the next spot is taken by a character, you can still send in requests! don’t be shy :D

#haikyuu!! soulmate au 💕✨#iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu!!#hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu soulmate au #nona!! 💐#iwaizumi hajime x reader

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wooziujidoots · 3 years

Text

Daisy (l.sm)

genre: heart sickening fluff

pairing: DK (lee seokmin) x reader

series: Song Fic Series! - Pretty U

word count: 1.6k

summary: seokmin builds up courage to ask you something

author’s notes: are posted separately!! take a look if you’re feeling bored LOL

MASTERLIST

He smiled brighter than the sun and he gave you all that you wanted. Seokmin was the living sun in your life and you couldn’t ask for more. And when he sang- you can feel your heart explode. He made you feel full, your heart swelling in the love that he gave you and the radiating smiles from him were more than enough for you to last a lifetime.

You took my heart and attracted my eyes… I want to show you myself without hiding anything

Running through the rain with him or tackling him into a cuddle, laughter can only be heard from the two of you. Giggles and bright smiles shining from the both of you, breathless kisses being shared until broken by fits of laughter.

Seokmin sometimes felt the need to run down the streets and declare his love for you to let the whole neighborhood know how much love his heart felt for you. His tears no longer had to be hidden from the world, his fears and secrets were now told to you as yours told to him. You trusted each other and came to learn and love each other’s quirks and ticks. You were there for each other and loved each other fully.

I want to pick and gather all the pretty words for you

Breathless kisses, flowery smiles, and heart sickening gazes to each other, the boys hated every second the two of you were together but were overjoyed to their friend to find and receive the sunshine that he always gave to others.

It’s breathtaking to see how much the two of you loved each other. Shared laughter, nose kisses, his sharp nose poking your eye, there was so much to say, too many words to describe your relationship.

I can’t take it no more; I’ve got something to say,

Now Seokmin was aware that the two of you have been dating for years now. The two of you knew each other like the back of your hands, but a question had lingered in his mind since the day you moved in with him.

Seokmin looked over to your beautiful figure who was simply watering the happy house plants the two of you kept inside the apartment together. He smiled brightly; Seokmin was absolutely smitten for you.

You felt his eyes on your back and you smiled gleefully before shooting him a closed eye grin at him before giggling. Serotonin was flowing throughout your body as you waddled over to where Seokmin was sitting after giving the last plant some water for the day. Placing down the mini watering can, you snuggled up to your boyfriend resting your head on his chest a wide smile blooming on both of your faces as you looked up at him. Seokmin leaned down and softly touched noses with you, soft giggles erupting from your chests at the contact.

Seokmin looked at you with heart eyes, admiring how your eyes sparkled at that moment, soaking up the energy and happiness radiating from you. He raised his hand to smoothen out the stray hairs, to which you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes to enjoy the moment the two of you were sharing. Seokmin planted a warm kiss on your forehead, before squeezing you closer to him. His question to you grew louder inside his head.

I can’t take it no more; right now, I’m gonna try

Seokmin’s chest tightened while he was walking down the city streets with you, hand in hand. His eyes lingering on a certain jewelry store as the two of you window shopped. You bathed in the Seoul sunlight, Seokmin watching you lovingly for seeing the happiness and good in everything and everyone.

While trying on hats with him and taking silly photos in the department mirrors, he couldn’t help but to cradle your face in his hands. Seokmin softly squished your cheeks together, a scrunched smile making its way onto your face causing the both of you to giggle. The two of you recreated the scene with both your phones in hand, your matching phone wallpapers came to be.

The two of you still went on dates like this even after years of being in a relationship together. Dates to the arcade or just a walk in the park was enough for the two of you. You made each other happy no matter what, each day bringing a new and precious memory to remember.

Seokmin turned to you who was gazing into the sunset, the two of you seated on a bench in the park. He was enraptured in your beauty, a taut blush forming on his face when he thought to himself that he would live to do this with you forever. His grip on your hand was firm when his question pounded in his head once more.

I can’t take it no more; I was about to write a letter

Seokmin sat silently at your dining table, a piece of paper and an open pen taunting him. The written ink on the paper stared back at him while he read over the words his heart spilled out. He felt his face heat up when reading over the question that he’d been wanting to ask you for a while now. The words teased him, Seokmin felt like a coward. Why couldn’t he just tell you already?

The door to the apartment opened, Seokmin scrambling to hide the paper as quick as possible. You sluggishly walked inside, your work bag in hand and a tired expression morphing into a smile at the sight of Seokmin and a meal waiting for you next to him. You gave Seokmin a greeting peck before hurrying your way to wash up, excited for the meal on the table.

Seokmin exhaled the breath he was holding and slowly took out the now crumpled paper out of his cardigan’s sleeve. A sigh escaped from him once he saw the fresh ink ruin the rest of the words on the page. Seokmin didn’t want to present the messy letter to you, he wanted it to be perfect just as the way he saw you. Seokmin shoved the destroyed letter into his pocket and waited patiently for you to join him at the table.

His question will have to wait for now.

I can’t take it no more; I can’t stand it

Seokmin found himself staring at you one night, the way how even in the night you were still so beautiful to him. He felt his heart swell in the love he held for you as he pulled your sleeping self closer to him. He stroked your hair, a soothing reagent which Seokmin grew to love doing to you. A smile appearing on his face when you snuggled deeper into his chest after the action.

Seokmin couldn’t believe he was able to find someone like you in a life like his. The both of you worked so hard to get where you were and above it all, you still loved each other with the same heart from when you started dating. Seokmin felt loved by you, his light, that he found himself holding back tears. He felt his chest tighten for the nth time that night, his question was at the tip of his tongue, but he bit it, not wanting to disturb the peace of the night.

Beautiful words like the lines in a movie

Seokmin smiled a bright smile at you as the two of you danced barefoot to the ballads of your time that were playing on your Bluetooth radio. He spun you around slowly, your clumsy feet not used to dancing with a partner. But even if you were to stumble, Seokmin was sure to catch you not caring how many times you softly stepped on his toes. The two of you laughed and waltzed all night in your apartment.

The words I’ve prepared overnight for days

Seokmin tucked a single daisy behind your ear before pulling you down to lay with him on the spread blanket. He cracked jokes at the different cloud shapes he spotted, enjoying how your laugh tickled his ears. The daisy flower crown you made for him sat on his head, Seokmin who sat in awe while your nimble fingers created it, wore it proudly with a smile on his face. The two of you continued to cloud watch and bathe in the sunlight of another beautiful day you spent together.

I want to say them to you tomorrow with my clenched fists

Seokmin leaned against your chest while sitting in between your legs with his arms around your torso. He listened to your steady heartbeat and relaxed to your touch as you stroked his hair, trying to help him fall asleep. Seokmin’s breathing leveled and his inner peace was restored, his racing thoughts were no longer running, and his heartrate slowed to match yours. His ears perked up to listen to you hum one of the ballads that the two of you danced to a few nights before, one that quickly became your shared favorite. Seokmin felt at peace with you, the courage needed to ask his question was filled.

You are pretty.

Seokmin stood in front of you in the park the two of you watched the sunset in and handed you your last 13th daisy, the other twelve handed out by his friends who helped him with his plan.

And with one shaky breath and you nearly in tears, he dropped down to his knee and revealed a hidden ring to you, finally asking you the question he’s been thinking about the whole time.

“Will you marry me?”

#seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen x reader fluff #svt x reader fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #dk x reader #lee seokmin x reader #dk x reader fluff #lee seokmin x reader fluff #seventeen dk #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Fifteen people who found out about James, Sirius, and Remus and the one person who never did

To clarify: James, Sirius, and Remus are queerplatonic partners in this case, or QPP's. This means that they're essentially special friends, ones who indulge in physical and emotional connections that are typically thought of as beyond platonic.

ONE: Peter Pettigrew

By fourth year the Marauders are legends. Everyone knows them as the fun-loving band of brothers without any cares in the world. Only the four of them know the true nature of the Marauders - bloody, battered, and bruised.

One day Sirius and James are fighting, an explosive sort of argument where Peter hides behind his curtains while peeking out through a crack in them and Remus reads calmly on his bed. Then suddenly the shouting stops, and Peter’s jaw drops open while Remus looks up from his book.

There, in the middle of the room, are Sirius and James, Sirius’ hands on James’ face and his mouth on his lips. Sirius pulls away before James can respond, covering his mouth with his hands and tearing up while James blinks in shock and Peter stares.

Then, Remus starts laughing, and James drags Sirius into a crushing hug, pressing kisses all over his face before finally pecking him on the mouth and then letting go. Peter squeaks out a garbled question when Remus rolls his eyes and says, “What, no love for me?”

Immediately, Sirius and James tackle him onto the bed, the three of them collapsing into a mess of laughter and kisses while Peter stares and stares and stares.

TWO: Marlene McKinnon

In an act of drunken desperation to forget her own confusing sexuality (girls are super hot but the idea of being in love makes me wanna throw up, for reference), Marlene flirts with Sirius at a party. His eyes are dark and alluring and he’s addicted to dancing, so it’s not exactly difficult. But just as her hand snakes up his arm, Remus appears, wrapping himself around Sirius and kissing him happily, Sirius melting against him.

Marlene steps back in her shock, creating just enough room for James to stumble over tipsily and start making fun of Sirius’ ears; that is until Sirius leans down and kisses him too just to shut him up, pulling back with a laugh so loud it rings in Marlene’s ears as she runs for the comfort of Dorcas, who simply smiles and slips her hand through Marlene’s blonde curls and kisses her until she can’t feel anything anymore.

THREE: Minvera Mcgonogall

In fifth year, Mcgonogall is awoken by a bawling James Potter at her door, sobbing uncontrollably and blubbering about something she can’t really understand. Eventually he calms down enough that she manages to get that he’s upset because he just found out that Sirius and Remus are dating.

Mcgonogall is terribly confused - haven’t the three of them been dating for years?

“No,” James says. “We’re just friends. Friends who kiss and love each other more than anything but aren’t in love with each other. I know… I know that doesn’t really make sense. I’m just… I’m just scared that since they’re boyfriends, or whatever, they won’t… they won’t…”

Mcgonogall opens her mouth to respond when Sirius’ voice cuts through the chaos -

“Won’t what? Love you? Because if you think that my being in love with Moony means I’m going to stop snogging you at every available opportunity then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought, Jamie.”

James looks up with a grin even as the tears still stream down his face, taking in the sight of a grinning Sirius and Remus, whose hands are tightly clasped between them. Mcgonogall watches, blinking in shock, as James bounds over to them and laughs as Sirius dips him in a kiss and Remus rolls his eyes.

“Come on, you morons,” he says, dragging them away as Sirius tries and fails to kiss him silly, laughing.

FOUR: Severus Snape

Sixth year is when shit first hits the fan. The Prank is a tear in their carefully cultivated tapestry, one that sends all three of them exploding in different directions. Severus is on his way to the infirmary for some more dreamless potion from Madam Pomfrey (and to check on Remus after the traumatic mindfuck that was last night’s full moon) when he sees the shitshow begin.

Remus is lying in a hospital bed, confined by bandages and fatigue but looking no less terrifying as he bites insult after insult towards Sirius. (The only one of these Severus remembers is “I thought you loved me, asshole!”, and only because Sirius had fled the room in tears after it was spoken.) James tries to sit down at Remus’ bedside, but before he can Remus breaks down in tears.

James reaches out to hold him, but Remus shoves him away, screaming until James leaves, his head hanging low in defeat. Severus approaches carefully, holding out one of his bottles of dreamless sleep.

“Here,” he says softly. “So you can forget, for a little while.”

Remus looks up at him and smiles weakly.

“Thanks,” he rasps, and Severus leaves with a nod, deciding it’s better to quit while he’s ahead.

FIVE: Lily Evans

Despite all of the horror of the Prank, it is less disastrous than one might think. There is a war coming; Severus has sworn to Remus himself that he will never tell and has also started searching for the cure for lycanthropy while he’s at it (not that he’s found it; he never will); and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin love each other more than words can say and will no matter the consequences, everybody knows that.

And Lily, she misses Severus - no one else understands that, but she does. She loves him.

She’s studying with Remus one day, their backs against the wall and knees to their chests, and ends up asking him how Severus is doing, eventually winding them down a conversational path about lost love and finding hope anyway. Remus, however, collapses into tears talking about Sirius and how much he misses him and loves him, still.

Lily doesn’t know what to do; Remus Lupin does not cry, at least not in front of anyone. Before she can panic too badly about it though, James is there, on his knees in front of Remus and whispering quietly to him, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles in between murmurs of affection. Sirius stands behind him, hands clenching in and out of fists as he tries desperately not to touch, but that only lasts a few moments before Remus is laughing through his tears, making grabby hands for Sirius.

Sirius squats down hesitantly, gently wrapping his arms around Remus, who pulls him down by the neck and jaw and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him as James smiles tiredly, passerbys whoop and stare, and Lily looks at James and feels her heart flutter in her chest. He smiles at her, and she flushes, then stands and heads for the opposite corner, where Severus is leaning against the wall, his nose in a book.

No words are needed between them. She pulls him in by the tie, and there’s a single feeble whoop for them, too - Lily smiles at the sound of James’ voice, hope sparking in her chest as her eyelids flutter closed.

SIX: Regulus Black

Regulus, struggling under his parents’ stifling regime alone since Sirius left, can’t say he’s not shocked when Sirius drags him up to a Marauders sleepover in the Gryffindor dorms one night. Peter isn’t there - Remus says he’s staying with a Hufflepuff named Max he’s into - but Remus, Sirius, and James all gravitate towards one bed, Remus lying on his back with James’ head on his stomach, running his fingers lazily through James’ curls.

Sirius beams at the sight of them and jumps in beside them, and James leans up and pecks Sirius on the mouth, who smiles. Regulus’ heart twinges at the sight - his brother has so much more love than he does, and Regulus won’t deny that he’s always been just a little bit in love with James Potter - but then James smiles at him with those twinkling eyes and Regulus’ heart calms.

Sirius draws him close by the hand, pulling him into his side and kissing the top of his head. They laugh and wrestle and joke around until eventually Remus falls asleep in James’ arms, and James is not long to follow. Regulus lies awake long after, nestled into Sirius’ side, the silence comforting like a warm blanket. Until Sirius murmurs, “I love you, Reggie,” and drifts off, and Regulus is left staring at the ceiling, alone.

He knows, Sirius’ hand over his heart, that this is his brother’s way of saying goodbye.

SEVEN: Hope & Lyall Lupin

“Criminals” is not a word Lyall Lupin would use to describe Sirius Black and James Potter, but maybe it should be. Because they break into his house on Christmas Eve the boys’ seventh year, the moon already rising in the sky. Lyall tries to stop them, but Sirius Stupefies him with cold eyes and transforms into a hulking dog right then and there, trotting down the basement stairs as James follows, breaking Remus’ chains with his human hands and ushering him out the door before taking his stag form.

Lyall and Hope watch in shock from the kitchen as Remus turns and Sirius and James tame him easily, the wolf nuzzling them like old friends. By morning, they are still out in the yard, the sun rising, now fully human. At first Lyall worries for his son’s modesty, but Sirius has already wrapped his shirt around Remus’ waist, and Remus, barechested in the sun, is holding James’ head to his, muttering in Welsh as James tries desperately to breathe, apologizing over and over for a gash on Remus’ chest put there by his antlers. Remus smiles, and Sirius hums a Queen song under his breath, and Lyall can’t hear everything his son is saying but he catches just enough -

“Mae'n iawn, fy nghariad. Shhh, annwyl.” (It's alright, my love. Shhh, dearheart.)

EIGHT: Albus Dumbledore

The news that Regulus has died comes on a Wednesday. Dumbledore is the one to deliver it, with a heavy heart and a heavier theory in his head. He notices that James is there, in Sirius and Remus’ home, but does not question it, only offering the story of the Horcruxes to Sirius, who sits on the couch. As the words pour out, dry and frail, Sirius’ face pales to ghostly white. Remus emerges from the kitchen with tea just as the final phrase leaves Dumbledore’s lips -

“Your brother died a hero.”

The tea clatters to the floor as Sirius reaches for his wand on the table, pointing it towards his head and getting out “Avada -” before James and Remus are on him, James wrenching his wand away while Remus locks Sirius in his arms, gently coaxing him down onto the floor and rocking him back and forth as he breaks down. James returns from hiding the wand and wraps himself around the both of them, breaking down with Sirius and pressing tearful kisses to every inch of skin he can find. Remus looks up at Dumbledore with glassy eyes and says -

“Please take your leave, Professor.”

Dumbfounded, Dumbledore does.

NINE: Dorcas Meadowes

Dorcas has lived with Marlene since school - Dorcas was in love with her, and Marlene liked sex and liked Dorcas in a “we can be best-friend-partner-lovers forever, mkay?” way. But no one else can understand that - the fact that they’re physically intimate but not a couple, that they’re married by law and spirit but not in love, that’s not something anybody gets. So when Marlene dies, Dorcas locks herself in their home, for grief and madness alike.

One day, Sirius comes to visit her. She doesn’t know why - Lily is about to have a baby, Voldemort is specifically targeting the Potters, their husband Snape is a fucking spy, and Remus is undercover amongst the wolves. All this and there’s a traitor in their midst - Sirius has no business visiting a grieving woman when there’s a war on.

But war there is, and visit he does.

Dorcas makes him tea, and they converse quietly about Marlene for a time. It’s when Sirius’ apology comes that she snaps -

“You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to lose her. She’s - she was my everything. My other half, a part of me, my - my wife. Not just a friend but not a lover… well, not in anything but the physical sense anyway, but - she was my life.”

Sirius stands, throwing his hands out to the side.

“You think I don’t understand?” He says, laughing and running a hand through his hair. He blinks back tears, then thrusts his left hand her way. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. That grief, that fear, I - I feel that every day.”

Dorcas shakes her head, batting his hand away.

“Remus is the love of your life, not your - your, I don’t know, partner? You can’t -”

“James,” Sirius interrupts, desperately, and Dorcas shuts up. “Jamie. My Jamie. Well - Remus and I’s Jamie, really.”

He smiles - a broken, broken thing.

“I understand, see?” He says, twisting his wedding ring around so instead of a moon it shows a black set of antlers. “See? I know. I understand. I do.”

Dorcas stares, quietly, and then starts laughing. It’s a foreign, unwelcome sound, and Sirius reels back in shock. They stand there, opposing each other, until suddenly the laughs ebb out into sobs, and Sirius pulls her to his front and doesn’t let go.

TEN: Mary MacDonald

The day Harry is born, Severus isn’t even there. He’s deep into Voldemort’s forces by now, only holding contact with Dumbledore out of necessity, and James and Lily are both exhausted, missing their husband with a newfound intensity and knowing Voldemort wants to kill their newborn son. Sirius and Remus are there, Mary too, and as Lily sleeps with Harry on her chest and Mary holds her hand, Sirius and James fight.

Loudly.

(In the hallway, of course, but still.)

Remus is helpless in between them - Mary hears very little of what is actually said. Bits and pieces here and there -

“You can’t protect him by -”

And “We need you, dipshit!”

And “I swear to fucking Merlin, Jamie -”

But nothing really solid. She watches through the window as they scream, until suddenly Remus reaches out and pulls James into a kiss. Mary drops Lily’s hand in shock, and watches with a gaping mouth as Remus lets go of James to pull Sirius into him, kissing him passionately and without reserve. Finally, when he pulls away, he glares at the two men and seethes something just loud enough for her to hear -

“Listen up, you idiots. That child needs our protection. That means hiding. We know fuck all about the future but this is war. Our baby is not gonna die because the people who love him can’t let him go.”

Sirius and James both nod sagely, James leaning in to peck Remus on the mouth - “Sorry, Remy.” - before he wanders back inside the hospital room. Outside, Remus collapses into Sirius’ arms, the two of them holding each other and rocking back and forth. James looks up at Mary from the other side of Lily’s bed and smiles wryly.

“Shit, huh?” He mutters, and Mary, speechless, nods.

ELEVEN: Fleamont & Euphemia Potter

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter go into hiding when James and Lily do, knowing they could be tortured for their whereabouts despite not knowing them. Remus comes bursting through their fireplace on Halloween, covered in cuts and bruises and coughing with baby Harry cradled against his chest. Through hacking breaths and with glassy eyes, he tells them their son is dead with his wife and Sirius has been arrested for their murder, along with Peter’s and some Muggles’. He kisses their foreheads and tells them to take care of themselves, leaving with the last words he ever says to them -

“I loved your son. So did Sirius. We - I will do everything I can to protect Harry. I promise.”

He disappears through the fireplace before they can respond, leaving them to grieve.

TWELVE: Walburga & Orion Black

After leaving Harry with Dumbledore, who assures him the child will be given to the custody of his living father as soon as he’s emerged from his undercover work (a lie, Remus later learns), Remus makes his way to Regulus’ grave. There’s no body there, of course, but Remus never got to say goodbye to the boy he considered something of a son, and he figures now, when he’s lost everything, is as good a time as any.

It turns out he’s not alone - Walburga and Orion Black, not yet locked up in Azkaban for their crimes, are there already, and spit in his face for daring to grieve their son when he’s a werewolf who supposedly turned their other one queer and heady. Remus stares them down, and in a calm voice with his hands in his pockets tells them -

“I loved Regulus like a brother. As for Sirius… well, he married two blokes. Oh -” He smirks. “And he was damn good in bed, too.”

Walburga lets out a shrill scream, turning her wand on Remus, and he holds his head high as he disarms both her and her husband and promptly kills the two people who made his husband’s life a living hell for sixteen years. As he stands there, staring at their still-warm bodies and always-cold eyes, he can feel no remorse - only a deep ache, loss and regret plaguing him with age long before his time.

THIRTEEN: Molly & Arthur Weasley

Twelve years pass without so much as a breath from Sirius or Remus. James is six feet under and Harry is thirteen, and after the havoc that occurs at Hogwarts his third year, they settle at Grimmauld Place, together. Molly and Arthur are tasked with bringing them essentials and information, and take notice of the fact that the two rarely leave each other’s sides. They’re wearing their wedding bands, which Molly does not fail to notice are marked with antlers as well as moons and pawprints, and Remus has another ring around a chain on his neck with only a pawprint and a moon. They look tired and worn out, Sirius more than Remus, and one day Molly pulls him aside to ask him privately if they’re doing alright.

Remus gives her a wry smile, his eyes twinkling just the slightest bit as he answers, “Yes. Of course.” Molly asks him again, saying she’s worried, and Remus shrugs, looking through doorways to Sirius, at the table with Arthur.

“I’ve had twelve years to grieve. Getting Sirius - getting my husband back was the greatest happiness I could ever ask for. But Sirius, he… he was never allowed to truly mourn. He’s still…”

He gets this distant look in his eyes and startles when Molly touches his arm, offering a small smile.

“I’ve had time to grieve our partner, is all I’m saying,” he murmurs. “Sirius needs time before he can even begin to forgive himself for what happened to James.”

Molly keeps her shock inward, squeezing Remus’ arm once before ushering her husband out the door. Watching from outside as Grimmauld Place folds back into itself, she thinks she sees two silhouettes in the window, melting into one.

FOURTEEN: Nymphadora Tonks

Nymphadora Tonks falls in love with Remus Lupin almost the moment she meets him. He’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s kind and smart and brave - what else could you want? And she thinks he likes her too - even if her cousin is desperately in love with him, which she would have to be blind not to see. But she knows this the way she knows the rhythm of her heartbeat in her chest - Remus Lupin was born to be hers.

So imagine her surprise when his response to her confession is to shake his head and laugh.

“I’m a married man, Dora,” he drawls, standing and flashing his ring towards her around a glass of whiskey. “I thought you knew that. I am sorry to say I cannot return your feelings… beyond my marriage, age, and lycanthropy, you must have noticed that women are not… my area.”

Tonks flushes red, jerking back in shock. So her cousin…

“Is it Sirius?” She blurts, and Remus turns towards her again, his eyes twinkling. He nods.

“Yes,” he answers. “Though, I had a second husband… long ago, and a partner more than anything…”

With a distant look in his eyes, he leaves her heartbroken at the dining room table, but not before she sees him slip into a waiting Sirius’ arms, holding him close to his chest as they dance, their eyes closed and two rings bearing antlers hanging between them.

FIFTEEN: Hermione Granger

She starts to wonder, right around the beginning of her fifth year, why Harry seems to have no interest in hanging out with anyone besides her and Ron. Now, she and Ron, they’re in love with each other; Hermione’s neither daft nor blind. But Harry’s in love with them both too, she realizes, and his closest relationships outside of that are past platonic but far from romantic: she can’t call what he has with Luna or Draco “normal”. The summer before her sixth year, she travels to Grimmauld Place, needing some time alone to think before the war envelopes them all. But she finds, when she arrives, that she’s not alone - there, at the dining room table, is Remus, holding a glass of whiskey and wearing three identical rings on a chain around his neck.

“Professor Lupin?” She asks, and Remus smiles wryly. “What’re you doing here?”

Remus sighs, leaving his glass on the table as he stands and grabs his coat.

“Just a bit of reminiscing, my dear,” he says. “No matter. Off we go now, this place belongs to Harry and we have no right to…”

He trails off, his eyes glistening, and Hermione watches his Adam’s apple bob and averts her eyes to the rings, each holding a different two of three symbols: a pawprint, a moon, and a pair of antlers. One of them is the one Sirius used to wear around, always a little loose on his finger from all that malnourishment… Remus must have just grasped it before he fell through the Veil. At the thought, her breath catches in her throat.

“Sirius was your…” She says, and stops when Remus flinches. He gives her a kind smile and nods.

“Yes,” he says. “And James as well, though that was different. More of a… friend, partner - soulmate? -” Hermione coughs. “- than a lover. But, yes. Not that it matters now.”

Hermione’s heart stops in her chest.

“Of course it matters,” she fires back. “You loved him. You loved him, and he’s dead.”

Remus looks down at her, his smile gone, and shrugs.

“All things end, Hermione,” he murmurs. “Especially good things.”

He opens the door and has one foot outside when he turns back to her and says, “Miss Granger?” She looks up at him from her hands, shaking and devoid of rings, and nods.

“Yes?”

Remus smiles, his eyes sad.

“Tell your Harry we love him. All seven of the Marauders, even if some of us never really got to meet him. And tell him… tell him that even if he didn’t die for him or raise him, his father loves him.”

Hermione’s brow furrows, but she nods.

“Of course,” she promises, though she has no idea who the other three Marauders are and could not even begin to guess what Remus means by his comment on Harry’s father. “I will.”

Remus smiles one last time, tips his invisible hat to her, and disappears out the front door and into the night.

ONE: Harry Potter

Remus marries Tonks, but doesn’t love her. Teddy is an accident, and only his in name. Remus will only ever have one son, and his name is Harry Potter.

In the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin dies with three rings around his neck and a secret in his chest. He does not tell Harry. He doesn’t want to burden him.

Their love, along with them, is dead and gone anyway. But when he sees Sirius and James in the white light, for the split second between life and death -

He wonders.

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love-patient-0s-writing-world · 3 years

Text

A Well Deserved Break

Shuichi x Reader

Class: SFW

Word Count: 2.2k

CW: Some blood and brief mention of death

Note: Skip the bold area if you are triggered by anything above.

It was like any other day, waking up beside you the sunlight that peaked through the window dancing around the room. He felt at ease in your arms, but you both have work so he slowly tries to wake you up with soft kisses on your face and shaking you gently “Hey it’s time to wake up”. You slowly opened your eyes letting out a yawn “Good morning my love”. A smile spread across his face; it doesn’t matter how long you two have been together he can’t help but feel a bit bashful whenever you call him yours. Your morning together went the same as always, both of you rolling out and getting ready for the day as he cooked breakfast you made your respective morning drinks. Once finished you both grabbed your stuff for work and got into the car, the radio playing some new pop songs while you two talked about the dreams you had last night. You pulled in front of the agency Shuichi works at, before he got out you gave him a quick kiss wishing him good luck. He watched as you drove off to your office, he walked in to the building ready for another day of sorting through various cases. Eventually it was time to go home as he walked out the building looking for your car but it was nowhere to be seen, ‘maybe they’re stuck in traffic or had extra work’ he reassured himself trying to lessen the pit that started to form in his stomach. He walked back inside heading to his office calling your phone only to reach voicemail “M-maybe their phone is dead or it’s on vibrate yeah that has to be it”. Suddenly, an officer walked into his office “Saihara a dead body has been reported downtown, you’re being assigned this case so get ready and get in the car waiting outside” before he could respond the officer walked out. He sent you quick text telling you the situation and to just head home, he hopped in to the car; as they got closer and closer to the crime scene, he realized how close they were to your office. His heart started to sink he felt so sick but he couldn’t back out now, he was already outside the taped off area. As him and the other officers walked up the body started to come into view…’why does their outfit look so familiar’ his pace quickened until he was sprinting towards the body shoving past the officers standing around. When he looked down at the body his suspicions were horribly proven correct there on the cold ground in a puddle of blood was…you, the love his life gone. Your throat was slit, fear was permanently etched on your face. All of your stuff was gone your bag, phone even the jewelry he bought for you. He fell to his knees staring at your lifeless body, he didn’t care about his co-workers or media workers hearing him sob loudly over your body. How will he be able to go on, how will he live alone with all your stuff there reminding him every day you’re no longer there. He can’t go back to sleeping without your arms around him, a cold incomplete bed waking up alone.

He woke up in a cold sweat, his face wet with tears, heart pounding so hard like it was trying to escape his ribcage. He must have been so absorbed into the chaos his mind and body that he jumped when he heard your voice gently ask “Hey what’s wrong?” his head turned towards you; eyes full of tears he desperately tried to blink them out to see you but after failing to clear his vision a waterfall started to pour out. He lunged himself at you burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder sobbing harder than before his arms and hands having a death grip around you as if you’d disappear at any moment.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly one hand going up to comb through his hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on his back, you could feel the way his body shook gasping for air, tears soaking through your shirt onto your skin. Gently shushing him, whispering that he is safe and that you’re there. Eventually his sobs quieted down to sniffles and his body stopped shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, his grip around you loosened as he pulled away to face you. His face was flushed covered in dry tears the dark circles under his eyes looked much more prominent than usual he was well…a mess.

You gently slot your hand with his, intertwining your fingers together “Do you want to talk about what happened?” you ask “I-I had a nightmare.” he replies his head hanging down slightly, eyes downcast. You gently cup his face lifting it up so he can meet your eyes, your lovingly soft patient gaze made his cheeks warm up a bit, a stray tear escapes due to your kindness towards him. You wiped away the tear with your thumb lightly rubbing his cheekbone his eyes closing while melting into your touch, his free hand coming up to lightly place it on your hand.

His head turns slightly into your palm pressing a soft kiss on it, smiling gently at his little show of affection he moves his head back and lightly sighs takes a deep breath in trying to steel himself “It felt so real” he then explained his nightmare becoming more and more emotional; when he finished his eyes went back to being red and watery as he buried his face into your hand. You squeezed the hand you had interlocked a while ago snaping him back into reality, he opened his eyes to meet your gaze.

You removed your hands from his body much to his confusion only to lay back and open your arms for him to come cuddle he very quickly takes your invitation laying himself on top of you resting his head on your chest one hand coming to intertwine with yours again. Your free hand combing through his soft hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp; reassuring him that both of you are safe and that you’ll protect him no matter what.

“You can hear my heartbeat, right?” he nods against your chest “That proves I’m here with you, that I’m real.” you smiled gently at him. His face started to heat up ‘how did I get so lucky to have you in my life’ his thoughts died on his tongue but was able to choke out “Th-thanks for dealing with me and my stupid fears.” “I don’t think they’re stupid.” you replied looking down into his eyes “I also don’t think I’m ‘dealing’ with you; I chose to have you in my life.”

His eyes widened, as they started to fill with tears but this time, it was not tears of fear or pain but tears of joy. “Aww come here my love.” cupping his face with the hand that was buried in his hair, he scooched up your body, but he didn’t expect for you to roll over, so you were on top of him, not that he minds of course. He felt his face heat up as he looked into your loving eyes, he felt so small under your gaze but in a good way like he was safe or being protected, it’s impossible for him to fight off the shy squiggly smile that crept onto his face.

“You’re too cute, Shuichi.” you leaned down peppering all over his face until finally your lips met. Soft and tender, he could feel all the love, care and patience you have for him burn through your lips like the sun, warming him up. Just like ice cream left in the heat he started melting, his arms wrapped around your neck pulling you down as he becomes a puddle underneath you. You pulled away smiling at his slightly pink cheeks, you gently pinch one “Seriously though you’re way too cute.” an airy laugh came out too.

You pecked his lips again before rolling off him, landing right next to him you sat up and grabbed the blanket that had been tossed around while he was crying. Covering you and Shuichi in its fuzzy warmth you both rolled onto your sides facing each other, you pulled him closer so you could see him; resting your hand on his waist. “You’re amazing y’know, it’s like you’re this bright ball of light that somehow knows how to make me feel better when it seems the world is caving in.” he started to spill his guts to you, all thoughts he’s kept inside “You’ve changed my life so much, that nightmare made me realize how sad and lonely and empty my life would be without you in it”. A shy smile made its way onto his face, eyes full of love for you.

“Wh-what I’m trying to say is that I love you a lot, so much so that I don’t think I could measure it even if I tried.” An uncontrollable smile overtook your face, you grabbed his face and pulled him close for a passionate kiss. Every single feeling both of you have for each other translated into the kiss mixing all the unspoken words and unsaid emotions, it was like thousands of supernovas exploding as your bodies molded against each other as if you were always meant to be, if the one before was the sun this is the Milky Way, you could feel him smile into the kiss. As you pulled away you quickly went back to give him a quick peck.

“I love you too, Shuichi.” his squiggly smile came back his ahoge curling into a heart, he shoved his head under your chin nuzzling into your neck. You let out a little laugh at his sudden bashfulness, you wrap your arms around him holding him close. Shuichi let out a little yawn “Aww are you sleepy my love” he nodded against you, looking over to the clock on the nightstand ‘4 am it makes sense why he’d be tired especially after crying so hard’.

“How do you feel about both of us calling in sick tomorrow and spending a relaxing day inside together?” you whispered not wanting to accidentally wake him up. “That sounds really nice” he mumbled into your neck, “Alright then, goodnight my dear Shuichi.” “Goodnight (Y/N)”. You stayed awake until you heard quiet snores, a small smile silently appearing ‘I hope he sleeps well and doesn’t have anymore nightmares; he deserves at least a good few hour of sleep’. As you fell asleep you focused on his light snores ‘So cute’.

The sunlight dancing around the room woke you up, feeling the warmth of Shuichi’s body against yours. You pulled back from him slowly taking care as to not wake him, looking at his serene face cupping it lightly and peppering it with soft kisses. “C’mon my dear it’s time to wake up.” pressing a kiss to his forehead, he let out a sleepy groan as he snuggled back into your neck “mmm can we stay like this a little longer…please.” his voice thick with sleep.

You let out a light chuckle “We can but we’ve got to in sick first…I can call in for you and tell them you’ve been in and out of sleep with a fever.” “R-really?” he pulled away a little bit to look you in the eyes. “Of course, if anything I think it’ll be more convincing” a sly smile coming up on your lips “What about your job” “I’ll tell them I’m taking care of you because you can’t be left alone” “O-ok” he rolled onto his side back facing you while he held himself up with his elbow while he reached for his phone, taking the opportunity to hug him from behind pressing quick kisses along his neck and onto the shoulder that peaked through one of your oversized sleep shirts. “Haha that tickles (Y/N)” he let out a snort “Awww your snorts are adorable just like the rest of you” you grab his phone pulling him down as you flopped back into bed.

Unlocking his phone “Which one is your job?” “Ah here.” he scrolled down the list tapping one that says ‘Workin 9 to 5’ you had to stifle a laugh “I didn’t know you listened to Dolly Parton.” he just playfully glared at you. You tapped the messaging button swiftly typing up a message and sending it, handing his phone back then reaching for your phone to message your boss. Both replying that they hope he feels better, “Success!” a smile spreading on your face “So what do you want to do today my dear?” before he could answer his stomach growled loudly. “Breakfast it is.” laughing as cheeks turned pink.

So, the morning went as usual except you both stayed in pajamas, ate breakfast on the couch turning the TV on and putting on a cheesy detective movie. He laid his head on you shoulder as you grabbed the blanket covering both of you in its warmth. That’s how you spent the day, cuddling on the couch talking about whatever thought came to mind, when it started to rain you turned off the TV listening to the rain. It was a break long overdue for both of you, truly a wonderful day.

I hope you enjoyed reading this! Remember to drink water, eat something and get plenty of rest! Feel free to return whenever you want traveler, take care!💜

~Love Patient 0

#🌹x reader rose🌹#shuichi saihara #shuichi x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #killing harmony #slight angst #mainly fluff #domestic fluff #shuichi saihara x reader

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writingsfromhome · 4 years

Text

Invisible Load

A/N: This one deals with your heavy past and a very annoying (but tempting) present

T/W: Mentions of abuse

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"You're in my space," you huff as Harry, once again, crowds you.

"Well we're trying to fit into frame!" Harry points to the automatic camera just as the flash goes off. "Great, look what you've done."

It's hard to take him seriously when he wears a blonde wig and a fake moustache. You move your elbow in front of him and pose in time for the last picture. The group rushes to the laptop to see it.

It was July 4th weekend and you were invited to your one of your friend's big weekend party she was throwing. You didn't realise a particular English artist would be in attendance. If you knew, you would have come up with at least five solid excuses.

You've worked with Harry professionally in the past, helping write some of his songs. But he had a habit of rubbing you the wrong way, having a counterargument for everything you said or thought just because he was a good looking member of the male species, he thought the world revolved around him.

You go over and look at the photos. They're funny except for the one where Harry and you are glaring at each other.

"I think it's cute," Harry says from behind, directly into your ear and you can't help but flinch. If he notices, he doesn't say, he just continues. "The way the camera caught us flirting like that."

"If this is the way you flirt," you look over at him. "It's no wonder you're single."

That sets Harry off laughing. You make eye contact with your friends and they give you the look like cut the tension and just sleep with him already. You roll your eyes. All your friends were convinced the constant arguing was just sexual tension but you disagreed. You just hated cocky guys like Harry.

***

The sun beats down on the party late afternoon and everyone crowds in the shade. For someone who was stuck in studios most days and nights, you relished under the sun. You let the cotton dress slip off as you undo the buttons and lay on a lawn chair, your skin warms under the sun.

"What a vision," you hear Harry say, you can feel his eyes on you. Ugh, you hated the way he made you want to cover yourself immediately.

"That would be a compliment coming from anyone but you," you mutter back. You don't realise how close he was because he actually hears you.

"Maybe you can't take a compliment."

You squint against the sun, Harry sits on the chair beside you. He'd also taken off his shirt and mimics the way you lay. Couldn't he leave you alone for a second?

"Maybe you need to give better compliments," you lay back down. You could ignore him.

"This is nice!" Harry says. "It's like we're in our London studio all over again,"

"This isn't nice and I don't miss it," you remember all the bickering and him wanting to change anything you suggested. "You shitted on everything I suggested."

"Because it didn't fit my brand," Harry says simply. You sit up again, leaning on your elbows to stare at him. He was being serious.

"Your brand," you scoff.

"Yeah," Harry finally sits up himself and eyes you. "Mysterious, sexy, yet fun."

"Sounds more like a magician," you say.

"A magician?" Harry swings his legs to the floor. "A magician?!"

You shrug.

"A magician..." he mutters to himself. You smirk, you managed to get under his skin. But you wipe the smile off as soon as he asks, "Well how's your work going?"

You think about how you haven't written a decent thing in months. "Okay."

"What does that mean? You miss me and my magic?"

The way he could take your insults and turn them back into jokes on you irritated you. But you don't show it. You just lay with your eyes closed and respond, "You're the last thing I miss-get that clear. But I haven't really written anything I like recently."

"Writer's block?" Harry asks.

"No, I don't get writer's block. I've been writing for as long as I could remember."

"You've never had writer's block?" Harry didn't believe you and his accusations force you to sit up and face him.

"No, and I don't have it now." You would never admit it but those two words scared you. "I'm just...stuck."

"Well I can help you through 'being stuck'...say, over dinner?" Harry offers.

"How about over my dead body?" You shoot back. You weren't about to spill your heart out to him just to have him argue everything you say and humiliate you.

"Waste of a good body if you ask me," Harry smiles like he knew exactly what his comments were doing.

"Why do I even bother," you glare.

"I heard the best way of getting over being 'stuck' is just relaxing. I know a few ways to help you relax."

"Oh I bet you say that to all the girls." You cross your arms over your body, suddenly conscious of how much of you Harry was eyeing.

"I've got plenty of songs written about me. It's proof I've unstuck them."

"The talent's all theirs Styles, don't take credit."

"I only take credit where I'm owed." Harry shifts from his chair to yours. You use your feet to push him off.

"Harry!" Someone from the pool calls out. "Come here and show Ben the thing you did earlier."

"Duty calls," Harry lifts your hand to his lips but you manage to snatch it away before he could kiss it. You don't admit the thought had sent your heart racing.

***

Later that night on the beach, your group of friends, plus Harry, watch the fireworks. They move closer to the show going on down the beach but you stay closer to home for now, just taking in the night.

You stare in awe despite seeing them every year, you imagine soaring up to the sky like they did, just to explode in a kaleidoscope of colours. How freeing it seemed. A burst of temporary colours for people's enjoyment, then fading into dark. It was also sort of sad. You wouldn't mind being one of them.

"I thought this was a happy moment," Harry somehow finds his way to you.

"Who said I'm not happy?" You ask, the crackling in the sky above.

Harry turns his camera to you, he'd taken a sneaky photo of you. You never thought of yourself as photogenic but he managed to capture the exact mood you were feeling in the moment. Your head is tilted to the sky, a thoughtful expression on, the can in your hand pressed against your chest, your other hand draped across your waist. The sky above is flecked with colours.

"You've got a good eye but please delete that," you still say. You didn't want your pictures on his phone, who knows what he did with them.

"It's an amazing shot," Harry compliments himself. "And I'm keeping it. It's not like this is the only picture of you on my phone."

"What does that mean?" You try to snatch the phone but he dances away.

"I have loads of you on this," he holds his phone up high. You try to grab his arm to bring it down but he switches arms and begins scrolling.

"You don't have!" You jump for it but he's too tall. "My permission!"

"This isn't the bloody Oscars I don't need a disclosure," Harry laughs as he finds what he's looking for and shows you. It's a photo of you sleeping, a close up of your open mouth. You see red.

"Harry!" You give one final warning before launching at him to grab the phone. He twirls away and dodges your every move. "When did you even take that!"

He's too busy laughing as he runs along the waterline. You'd like to push him into the water to get rid of those photos.

"At the studio, last year," he continues dodging you. "You fell asleep after a late night. I had to! In case I needed blackmail. I also have this!"

He pulls up another and from where you stand it's your face mid-sneeze. The cocky bastard!

"I am going to shove my foot so far up your ass!" You charge at him and he continues running away.

"Didn't take you for the kinky type!" He has to stop as the sandy beach gives way to the forest. He bounces on his feet, his eyes on your approaching figure.

"You're one of the most self-centered, egotistical, pieces of shit I have ever met!" You make a final lunge for him and crash into his body as he stays in place. Although you manage to grab hold of the phone, your loss of balance sends you tumbling back and the phone is flung from your hand into the forest behind him.

The breath leaves your body as it connects with the sand and Harry barely catches himself over you as he falls on top. His hands are on either side of you, your heaving chest touches his everytime you take a breath. Being under him like this made it harder to breathe normally.

"I've dreamnt about this," he grins down at you. You shove him but he's rooted in place. He untangles your legs from his. "Now where is my phone?"

In the fall you forgot you'd accidentally tossed it. You look up wide-eyed and he stares. "Y/N! My phone?"

"I sort of...maybe...accidentally tossed it that way?" You point to the dark shrubbery. He turns and swears. Your heart pumps intensely, the blood rushing to your head as you anticipate his rage. He turns around, his eyebrows drawn and he raises his hands above his head. You flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

But nothing comes.

"Hey," Harry says softly. You feel the pressure of him leave your torso and you peek one eye open. He's sitting next to you, a look of concern on his face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, mortified as you realise how triggered your response was. You see the pity in his eyes and feel the pinpricks in your own.

"I'll help you look," you mumble, standing up to brush the sand off of you. You didn't want to wait for him to pretend to be nice. You just whip out your phone's flashlight and watch your step.

"Y/N," Harry calls out to you. You hear him approaching, hesitation in every move he makes. "I'm not angry at you. At all."

"That's great," you put on your tough face again—that was the only way people couldn't find out what a broken mess you were inside. "That's not going to help me look for the phone."

"The phone doesn't matter just wait, look at me for a second."

"I have to look for the phone," you repeat, your eyes searching the bushes.

"Y/N," he says sharply. You curse your own reflexes as you flinch again, finally turning to look at Harry with what you hope looks like a death glare. You raise your eyebrow when he just stares. "Sorry I didn't mean to call your name like that. I was just surprised. And...I wasn't going to hurt you or anything."

"Thanks," you dismiss him with an eye roll. You turn back to your search. You were glad the flashlight was pointed to the floor and not your face because you could feel the tears slip down and make trails proving how weak you were. In front of a dick like Harry Styles.

You finally see the glint a little further in and go to it, using the time to wipe your face before returning it to him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to toss it." You sound distant, even to your own ears.

"I'll delete the pictures," Harry says from behind you as you speed walk down the coast towards your friends.

"Whatever," you say over your shoulder. It didn't even matter anymore.

***

You wake up early, before anyone was up. It’s not like your racing mind let you really sleep at all.

The cool morning breeze is a welcome feeling on your tired body, and you brew a pot of coffee, the rich smell adding to the morning ambience.

You decide to take your coffee down to the beach but realise a figure swimming in the waters. You recognise Harry's worn out tshirt and shoes on the sand. He doesn't seem to notice you so you settle down and watch the sun slowly make it's way over the horizon.

"Where's mine?" Harry walks up to you after his swim, dripping wet and making sure he splashes you with the droplets from his hair. He lays out the towel he brought and collapses on top of it.

"You could dry your hair instead of dripping all over me," you glare at him. You see the sparkle in his eye—he was going to turn your words into something dirty. But when you make eye contact, he knows you know and that seems to be enough for him. He just grins and holds out his hand, you pass him your cup.

"Holy hell Y/N, this coffee's pure sugar," he hands the cup back. "How the bloody hell do you manage that?"

"That's because it's as sweet as me," you shoot back. "I don't know how you drink yours without it."

"The only way to enjoy a good cup of-"

"Do you want more or not?" You cut him off. He knows what's best for him, cutting his monologue short and accepting the cup. You decide to give over the whole thing and just enjoy the sunrise, surprisingly, Harry stays silent beside you. The two of you watching in silence.

Eventually, you lean back onto the sand and close your eyes, the morning rays kissing you good morning. When you open your eyes, Harry is propped up watching you.

"Do you mind?" You ask, but for once he doesn't look like he's going to bother you. You remember yesterday, cringe, he was probably just taking pity on you again.

"I do actually," he gets off his elbow and sits up. "I do mind."

A minute passes, then another. "Just spit it out!" You finally say. "I'm not taking part in your dramatics."

"Okay," Harry stares right into your soul. "I mind that a wonderful woman like you thought I was going to...to hit her yesterday when I was just showing my exasperation. I mind that someone as strong as you has to put on a brave face like you do.”

Oh my god. He really said that. You were mortified but also, touched. Then the thought creeps in again...he just felt sorry for you.

"Exasperated," you quote. "That's a big word coming from you."

He frowns. "You don't have to make a joke."

"You don't have to worry," you sit up. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm not some pet project you have to pity alright? I flinched! People flinch all the time! Don't read into it."

“Okay I know I push all your buttons," Harry's words come rushing out. "I like to banter with you and tease you and watch you roll your eyes at me or try to come up with a good comeback. But I respect you enough to recognise you probably been through some shite. And I would think you respect me enough not to feed me some BS story.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you knew how cruel your words sounded but you couldn’t stop. “I don’t have any respect for you! You’ve never given me a good reason to. You are always pushing my buttons and every time I’ve ever worked with you, you’ve just made me feel small and shot down every single one of my ideas. The way I react is none of your damn business, you don’t need to psychoanalye what I’ve been through and I don’t need any of your pity. Even if you mask it as respect or whatever.”

You run out of steam as Harry’s face slams shut. You never wanted to be cruel, it was a toxic cycle to get roped into but all you could do now is just turn back to the house. You’d said more than you meant.

***

You push around breakfast, claiming a stomach ache and stay in your room for most of the day. Actually, the guilt of what you said eats away at you. You knew what it felt like to be shouted at like that, taunted, and broken down. Maybe your flinch was a reaction from broken relationships. Relationship. But the way Harry treated you, reminded you of someone you knew.

But you knew deep down you couldn’t project your past onto everyone. And that’s the one thought that pulls you out of bed and down to the pool.

“Anyone see Harry?” You ask as you scan the crowd for him.

“I think he’s still in bed. Said he had a killer hangover,” someone lets you know.

You go up to his room and knock lightly but no response. You knock again, try the lock, but still no response. You go back to your room.

You collapse under the weight of the guilt, shame, and misplaced anger. It wasn’t fair, just when you think you moved on, you fall into the same patterns.

Something pushes you to get your notebook and begin writing; page after page you pour out everything you’d been supressing for the last year. Your hand cramps and the ink runs out but you move to your phone and continue the onpour of everything you’ve ever wanted to say. By the end of it, the sun is starting to set, and you smile through the blurry vision and the aching hands. You had so much to work with—you were finally writing again! Now It was time to try Harry.

His room door is ajar when you walk past, maybe he joined the party down on the beach. You grab some of the pizza laying on the kitchen island and make your way down.

Harry stokes the bonfire, talking to a few friends around him. You sit opposite him and just watch as he listens attentively to what someone else is saying, how he throws his head back and laughs. How he wasn’t a bad guy—the villain you painted him out to be in your head. He was just human, and so were you. And...there was something between you two that you were afraid of diving into again so you just let your past take over.

Harry finally looks up and notices you. He hesitates and you tilt your head to the right. He understands.

You walk over away from the light of the bonfire and sit down. Harry joins you a few minutes later in the sand.

“I’ve started writing again,” you say to break the ice.

“That’s good.” Harry doesn’t give much. You take a deep breath, he wasn’t going to make this very easy.

“Yeah...so, Harry, I said some shitty things and I’m really sorry.” You take a deep breath. “I was scared, and projecting my past onto you. And you didn’t deserve that. Even though you’re a a jerk sometimes, you didn’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Just staring out at the setting sun glimmering on the water. Finally, he bumps his shoulder into yours and you look at him, curious. But he just smiles, unguarded and unusually kind. “I did sort of deserve it. I give you a hard time so But you don’t deserve whatever happened in your past. And you don’t deserve carrying it around all the time-“

“Tell me about it,” you huff. “My back aches carrying it with me all the time.”

“Let me help,” Harry gets on his knees and pretends to lift something off your back. He struggles, groaning as he leans back with it.

“I should unstrap it from my shoulders first,” you state.

“Oh, duh!” He watches you unstrap the invisible load. Then he stands up and pretends to lift from the bottom. “Some help?” He asks.

You go opposite him and pretend to lift from the bottom. As you two straighten out, you can’t help the grin you give him. “The ocean?” He asks as you suggest: “the ocean?”

The two of you make an exaggerated show of staggering to the shore and tossing it in. He shields his eyes, watching the load drift off to sea.

“How does it feel?” He turns to you. It felt like a whole new world, it was silly but you felt lighter. Just inviting him into your world, made you feel a little less alone.

“Like a fresh start,” you finally say. “I’m letting go.”

“Didn’t I tell you I knew ways to make a girl relax?” He grins. You push him but it’s playful, the smile on your own face never leaves. When his face grows serious, you freeze.

“What?” You ask.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blink, he’s still standing waiting. And you didn’t realise how long you’d been waiting for this. You just nod, your body pumping every ounce of blood straight into your head. When he steps forward, he doesn’t do anything too sudden. He just wraps his arms around you, keeping eye contact, his nose gently bumping against yours. You smile, suddenly wanting to hide, he kisses the corner of your smile before making sure you were okay with it. Then he grabs your face, you close your eyes and let him kiss you. It tastes like wood smoke and pizza and the sea. But most of all, it tasted happy.

“You’re okay?” He asks.

“I am,” you drape your arms around him. “Finally.”

“Is it finally time?” You hear a shout from your friends. It felt like your own private world so you forgot everyone could see you two. But when you turn around everyone is just as excited as you felt.

“Finally no more sexual tension!” One of your friends says.

“We’d all better find some earplugs for tonight.”

“The Y/N and Harry train can finally leave the station.”

“And it’s riding all night long,” the group laughs.

“I think that’s enough,” Harry laughs, leading you back to the group but you’re both thoroughly embarassed, Harry just does a better job at changing the subject.

“I told you so,” my friend winks when you walk to up her.

“You did,” you say as you look out to Harry. He’s talking to someone else but his eyes never leave you.

He finds you later, kisses you without a care to what anybody would say. Then he whispers in your ear, “what do you say about starting the train ahead of schedule?”

The blood rushes to your face but for once you don’t scold him, instead you grab his hand. “We should go while everyone’s distracted.”

As the two you inch towards the house, Harry says, “See what happens when we put our minds together?”

“The way you like it?” You ask. “According to your brand?”

“Yeah, you called me a magician. Now I’ll show you how I make the magic happen.”

You groan at his joke as he runs the rest of the way in, racing to the bedroom. You stumble behind and feel weightless as you collapse into bed and finally give in to everything you ever wanted.

It was liberating.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #fic #writingsfromhome #tw: abuse #one shot #?

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

Thunderstorms ||Jasper Hale x Reader||

This one was requested by @deathaffection666 and after some umming and ahhing I finally came up with an idea. I hope you enjoy :)

Words: 2420

Warnings: A little angsty near the start, implied PTSD, but it ends nice and fluffy.

Summary: Jasper has never liked thunderstorms, they don’t bring anything good with them, so when the storms start raging in his head you hold him up to make sure he doesn’t drown in them.

The Olympic Peninsula was said to be one of the wettest places in the continental US. Cold and grey, the sun was such a rarity that it sent humans flocking into green spaces, hands outstretched as if they could grasp the golden rays and hoard them for their own personal use when the rainy days came again. They always came far sooner than any of those humans would have liked; it was the one thing he still had in common with them. Jasper didn’t clamour to be in the sunlight of course but he relished in the days it did come, for they were days of intense relief, relief only Edward could half understand. He saw but he never felt, had no true comprehension of just what sunny days meant to Jasper.

Sunny days meant days at home with his family, where there were no humans to make his throat burn with thirst and bitter rage. Better yet, they sometimes meant hunting to, where he could douse the flames and keep them gone for longer without human interference stoking the fire once more. Sunny days meant the freedom to be himself at home since he didn’t have to be so tightly wound. There was no more constant watching of his surroundings, no lingering tension as he scanned for exits and tried not to exert too much strength onto school equipment, no last second changes in direction as an avoidance tactic or listening to the irritating whispers of those high schoolers who spoke in hushed whispers of his oddness.

I am odd, more different than you will ever perceive until it’s far, far too late…

There was no caging the beast inside of him on sunny days, because these were the rare occasions that the beast felt tamed. He didn’t dislike the overcast gloom that constantly hung over Forks, per say, on the contrary it gave him great freedom of movement compared to the half life he’d lived in the shadows of other cities in other states. The gloom was welcome, even a light drizzle was since it dampened human scents and had them scurrying for their homes, keeping them far off of his radar and lessening his temptation to devour them. No, no Jasper longed for these sunny days to keep away what came after. Sunny days were almost always followed by a thunderstorm or two, and they were torturous in their own way to him.

He had been able to taste it in the air since early that morning, the damp and stagnant smell of water rolling in on the clouds above. The wind had picked up just a little, shifting from the gentle breeze of yesterday into a more ferocious gust today, one that nipped at soft flesh and riddled it with goose bumps. The sky had darkened gradually, more cloud cover coming over and weaving together to form armour above the Earth that refused to let the smallest drop of sunlight through. It had all set him on edge before the day had even really started, the crackling feeling of lightning dancing on the gusts of wind that were undeterred by their failure to permeate his skin making him grind his teeth so hard he was surprised he had any left.

You knew of course. Your relationship with Jasper had built steadily, slowly, but in all the time you’d known him you had built a policy of honesty between you both. It was an unspoken rule that you never lied to one another, and over the decades that you had passed together that honesty had brought up stories you were sure he’d never tell anyone else. If there was anything to know about Jasper Hale you knew it and vice versa, you simply didn’t see the need for secrets, so when the first drops of rain fell onto perpetually sodden earth, you knew where his mind took him. Vampirism had its perks, but sometimes the enhanced senses were more of a curse than a blessing.

Jasper was rigid by the window of your shared bedroom, a place he had retreated to the moment he had tasted the lightning in the wind. With his arms folded over his chest, he stared out at the forest through unseeing eyes, the golden irises already being taken over by black, like ink spreading across old parchment. His jaw clenched so hard you were surprised it didn’t crack, his expression twisting as the rain came down in first a few drops, then in sheets. Gallons poured from the sky, mother nature openly weeping for the state of the world in this quiet, private corner of Washington state. His fingers curled into fists, nostrils flaring. The problem with thunderstorms is they were strong in such heightened senses, and when you hated them, having them take over your every sense was like an invasion you were too powerless to fight.

Every raindrop that shattered against the soil was a clattering, ricocheting gunshot vollied across a battlefield straight into his ears. Where lightning struck and scorched the ground, the faintest smell of smoke was a shell that had exploded amongst comrades too far away for him to reach. The rain that spun in dizzying patterns on strong winds blurred his vision, shadows moving erratically in his line of sight, enemies coming to get him and all he held dear. Jasper had spent many a thunderous night staring from the rooftop barn of Maria’s stronghold reflecting on his days as a soldier, on what was right and what was wrong, and as with all things the more you think of them the more easily they are called to mind. Jasper had associated thunderstorms with war ever since, and to his scarred heart war was a painful reminder of every shameful thing he had ever done.

As if he needed any of that! He didn’t need the gut-wrenching anxiety or the shame or the guilt, or the fear. He had enough frustration in his day to day life, watching his adopting siblings’ swan about with restraint he could only dream of while he felt the disgust and trepidation others felt towards him. They all revered his family, oh how the masses adored the pretty and polite teenagers that they longed to be but be nowhere near, but him? Nobody had ever felt anything good about him until you came along, and you always came, especially when the storms began raging in his head. You were distinct, unique. You could be lost in a crowd of a million and one people and Jasper would always find his way to you. You were his lighthouse on stormy nights like this.

His body tensed as your hands slid around his waist, and up his abdomen, but some distant part of his brain recognised the gentle touch as your own. Then came your lips, soft and sweet against the back of his shoulder, moving upward slowly to the nape of his neck as you squeezed him back against your body.

“Stay with me.” You whispered. Jasper swallowed back the venom that had pooled in his mouth without his knowing, the dark thoughts bringing forth his darkest nature. Hesitantly, he unfolded his arms and placed a single hand over one of yours, feeling the smooth skin and the cold ridge of metal that graced your ring finger.

“It’s loud.” He ground out through clenched teeth. The hand he wasn’t holding drifted up into his hair, setting off every instinct he had. They’re going for your head, they’re going for your head, they’re going for your head. He stayed frozen in place, breathing in and out evenly through his nose in the hopes your sweet scent would overwhelm the dampness of the storm, those muddy battlefields beyond the glass slick with rain and blood and venom.

“Then let’s make it quieter.” You suggested lightly, hand carding through his hair rhythmically. Jasper leaned into your touch, the soothing feeling a complete contrast to his agitated mind. He welcomed it, embraced you whole heartedly as your scent made his head swim a bit, his thoughts wavering. When you pulled, he followed, body turning away from the window so all he could see was you. His vision was filled with your gentle smile, your liquid gold eyes so full of love it almost hurt his heart. With his focus on you it was easier to tune into your emotions to, the calm adoration and quiet confidence that this moment would pass and peace would be restored. They washed over him like waves gently lapping at the shore, ebbing and flowing, pulling him out of the darkness and into you.

It took him a few moments to realise you’d lead him to the family bathroom. It was right in the centre of the house and given the private nature of the activities that occurred in such a room, the windows were smaller here. You’d sealed them shut, and steam had clouded them over, steam that rose from a bathtub full of bubbles. Jasper blinked, eyes flickering about the room to the lamps dragged in on extension cords that cast soft, warm light over the porcelain and tasteful grey tile. No candles, no reminders of the fires he’d lit with innocent people as kindling. The room smelled floral, not a sour note in the air to be found, and the radio you cherished for it’s retro look was playing the gentle, plucking guitar melodies he loved to listen to in his spare time.

You had already taken three of his five senses back, so when you began to undress him Jasper let you take a fourth to – touch. Your fingertips idly caressed his skin, brushing sometimes on accident, sometimes on purpose, against him as you worked buttons free of holes and pushed the fabric to the floor. He focused in on the feel of your hands, soft and warm against his own marble flesh as they glided over his pectorals up, up, up towards his jaw. With his face cupped in your hands he was helpless to do anything but lean in when you pulled his mouth to your own, a soft, sweet kiss lingering on his lips just briefly before you pulled back again with a smile, brushing your thumb over his lower lip and inclining your head to the water waiting for you both.

“You’re wearing one too many layers for a bath, sugar.” He murmured, not taking his eyes off of you yet as he lowered himself into the water. It was like velvet against his skin and he knew you must have used the fancy bath oils Emmet held so dear for this. He made a quiet vow to protect you from his wrath later. Your only answer was a smile, and with a few quick movements you stripped yourself down for his hungry eyes only and settled yourself behind him in the tub.

It’s a trap, it’s a trap, it’s a trap, they’re coming at you from behind…

He drew in a deep lungful of air, your scent mixing pleasantly with all the oils and soaps in the bubbles surrounding him. Your hands cupped water and poured it over his shoulders, massaging gently as you went down either side of his spine, tugging him back so he was forced to rest against you. Your lips played along the column of this throat as he stared up at the ceiling, the soft lighting leaving no room for shadows in any corner of the room.

“Done a lot of things that I’m not so proud of took a lot of turns, that turned out wrong, it’s a worn-out song.” Your voice was like honey in his ears, drowning out the rain he could still faintly hear pounding outside with your singing. Jasper willed himself to close his eyes, leaning his head back against your shoulder and letting himself sink into your strong embrace. With his head a little clearer it was easier to train his senses one by one on the room you’d set up, focus in on one thing at a time to chase away the last vestiges of panic that hadn’t had a chance to settle and burrow in thanks to your quick actions.

“I will survive, I will endure, when the goings rough, you can be sure.” He sang along quietly to the radio, feeling you smile against his skin as you kissed his temple.

“Letting go of my bad habits, hanging onto hope, for better times, I’ll be fine.” You continued, pouring some shampoo into your hand to massage it into his scalp. Jasper hummed, focusing on the feel of your fingers in his hair, the lingering smell of coconut.

“Tear drops, no one sees but me, I won’t stop, I’ll always believe.” Jasper rumbled, smiling slightly as you used your hand to shield his eyes from the soap washing away from his hair. You were everywhere with him all at once, your scent in the air, your body against his. You were real, and solid. You were hope incarnate. When the darkness came for him you pulled him back into the light and renewed his faith in himself. Your gentle actions and the outpouring of love and devotion and all things good he felt from you would always keep him buoyant when the storm threatened to drown him again.

“I’ll tough it out, I won’t give in, when I’m knocked down, I’ll get up again.” You sang along, nuzzling his wet hair. Jasper squeezed your thighs that rested either side of his waist, turning his head slightly to lean into you. You were his everything in moments like this, and he wished they never had to end, that reality never had to seep in like it did.

He wanted more for you, to be better for you, to live a life where he was free of the pain he carried so it would stop hurting you to. He could see that future, so tantalisingly close yet so far away when his demons came back to haunt him. He would be better tomorrow, when the storm had passed, but for tonight he was safe in your embrace to dream the beautiful dream of a life without struggle, where you could both just be, together and whole and happy.

So, he sang the last line of the chorus to you as a vow, a promise that better times were coming for you both.

“As long as my dreams alive, I will survive.”

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #oneshot #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #emmet cullen #the cullens #request #yes I did steal the song from Holes but it was a good song #mentions of maria #tw ptsd

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

Every Now and Then - Chapter 5

Summary: “It’s a simple case of not enough versus taking what you can get. Sometimes she sees him for a day or two, then not again for almost half a year.” Relationships are hard. When one person is a world-wide superstar and both people are idiots, they get that much harder. They both take what they can get, but eventually that may not be enough.

Warnings: Two large dollops of smut, a half-cup of angst divided, several pinches of language, dash of loneliness, and a good sprinkle of lack of communication. Fold ingredients together gently, bake at 200c fan for 20 minutes, then serve piping hot from the oven.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: So many, many thanks to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield for endless cheers and edits and more cheers. I love you both. Thank you to @there-must-be-a-lock for the lovely image (and all the many wonderful choices you gave me to pick from). Please excuse my slang terms if I got them wrong. I did a lot of internet research but was too self-conscious to ask an actual British person for advice.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

…

Every Now and Then

Chapter 5

They have an agreement of honesty and disclosure but as few outside personal details as possible. She gets all the information she honestly needs about his love life from the tabloid press, and she answers any questions he has about anyone she bothers to date in his absence, though his questions are near to non-existent. As are her other dates, to be honest. It’s impossible to find anyone that measures up to him in his absence, and she’s mostly given up trying.

She doesn’t see him for the whole of one winter and then only sporadically through the spring. Then the internet and tabloids explode over videos of him dancing and kissing and all manner of things she honestly does not want to see, and she thinks…

Well, she doesn’t know what to think. Jealousy, obviously. Disappointment. A deep, unexpected emptiness. But really, what did she expect? They aren’t married. They aren’t dating or really even committed. They certainly can’t have an official relationship. She has no claim and should really have no expectations.

She does her best to avoid tabloids, to turn the other way at the market when she does her shopping, and she avoids all but the most necessary uses of the internet. She buries herself in work and her friends and family and continues on with her life, just as they both always say they should when they aren’t together.

Because they are very obviously, very much not together.

And, yet, she misses him all the same.

When the “news” of his break-up hits, she refuses to allow herself to be glad. He’s always wanted someone he can be with publicly, have a real, open life with, and she will not hope for or be excited by the prospect that he has lost something so important to him.

And, yet, she listens for his call all the same.

It doesn’t come.

Autumn has firmly set in and is toeing the line with winter. She is in for the evening, too tired to go out with her friends, feeling just melancholy enough to let herself sulk into a mug of hot chocolate as she surfs shit television, wrapped in giant cardigan, sweatpants, and a fleece blanket to boot. Her flat is conspicuously empty of him tonight, and she feels his absence in every fiber of her being.

“Fucking pathetic, ridiculous, and absolutely stupid.”

She groans and finishes her scalding drink in one go, heaving herself off the sofa with the intention of making another one with extra whipped cream, when the door buzzer goes off unexpectedly. She stares at it, perplexed. It’s too late for deliveries, and most of her mates are off on a mini holiday that she didn’t feel up to joining. No one should be coming over.

The buzzing stops before she can answer, and she waits for a moment, staring hard at the box mounted in the wall. Maybe there was a short in one of the wires. There’s a long minute of silence before she finally shrugs and turns to the kitchen. She’s just pulling the milk out of the fridge when a short, definitive series of knocks comes from the door.

He’s just as tall as she remembered, but he seems a bit deflated as he stands in her doorway, a ridiculous hat on his head, thick sweater obscuring the sharp edges of his body, looking as unlike himself as she’s seen in a long time. She steps back automatically to let him in, but he hesitates, his eyes nervous and sad behind his thick, black-framed glasses. She knows what he’s waiting for, but, as much as it pains her to pain him, part of her is the barest hint of vindictive tonight, and she needs to hear him say it.

“I missed you.”

She waits.

“It was too long.”

Yes, it was.

“I won’t apologize, because you told me not to, but I…”

She cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Try again.”

“I tried, she and I both tried, and it didn’t work. I didn’t want to make you my rebound, so I waited until I thought I was settled again. I should have called, at least checked in, but I didn’t want you to think...I didn’t know what you would say, and I’m afraid I was a bit of a coward. That’s why I came instead of calling first tonight. I was afraid you’d hang up. And then I buzzed, and you didn’t answer, and one of your neighbors was coming in and didn’t recognize me, so I thought...I just wanted to see…”

She gives him one more chance, knowing instinctively he’ll get it right this time.

“I just wanted you.”

There it is.

...

“Where did you even get that ridiculous hat?” she asks him later, tilting the accessory in question over her forehead as she lounges across his lap. He leans back against the wall behind her bed, hands folded behind his head, watching her with a faint smile of amusement lighting his face.

In all those tabloids she hasn’t looked at even a little (not once, not at all) while he was gone, she definitely did not notice how little he was smiling. And all those interviews she didn’t watch on the internet. Or read about on the gossip sites.

“I’ll have you know someone told me I look rakish and edgy in that hat.”

“But how does it even fit over all that hair? Really, darling, you’re getting quite shaggy.” She turns to face him, kneeling with her legs on either side of his thighs. Her voice, though teasing, is lower and quieter than normal, and she still feels a little raw around the edges.

She needs to reassure herself he’s really here and not some desperate, late night fantasy conjured up by her loneliness. Her fingertips trace over the faint lines around the corners of his eyes, the ones that deepen so beautifully when he smiles. She runs her fingernails lightly through his beard, ghosts a faint touch over his lips, looking everywhere on his face but still managing to avoid his eyes.

“Tell me.” It’s a request, and she knows it, but they have an agreement, and she feels compelled to answer.

“I was jealous, more than I want to admit. And sad. And lonely. And everything I’d imagine you felt after you broke up with her, as well.”

“You have nothing to be jealous over, you’re so much-”

“Shut up, you great git.” But there’s no sting to her words. “I don’t want to be compared to her, even if it’s favorably. I’d never believe you, anyway. You asked, I answered. I missed you, I hated every mention of the two of you together, and I had every vitriolic thought conceivable, none of which I will ever let reach your ears no matter how much you convince me I need to be open and honest and blah blah blah about my feelings.”

“But you can tell me, you know.”

“I can, but I don’t want to. First, I am done to death with your ex-girlfriend and would love nothing more than to never think of her again. Second, I have gone nearly eight months without a single stupid Shakespeare recitation or dramatic reenactment of my favorite chef, so if you aren’t going to put your tongue to better use, go get that recipe book and get to reading.”

“Darling, I don’t need a recipe book anymore. As the good lady herself said, ‘Once you have mastered a technique, you hardly need look at a recipe again and can take off on your own.’ I think my tongue can be put to much better use pleasing you without resorting to recipes.”

…

She watches him silently from the sofa again, her feet encased in thick, cozy socks and fingers wrapped around her perpetual morning coffee mug, as he sips his tea and scans the newspaper. The sun slips a little higher in the sky, hitting his ridiculous halo of hair in a burst of bronze, and a knot in her chest she didn’t even know was there loosens suddenly. He looks up at that moment, as if sensing the change, and their eyes lock in one of those silent looks they’ve shared so very often. She feels the sting of tears, but she fights them. Yes, they agreed to honesty between them, but there is honesty and then there is idiocy.

“You’re a terrible arse, you know that? The worst kind, and you know I can’t bear the sight you.”

His smile, though sad and knowing, is entirely genuine when he gathers her into his arms and buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“I never claimed to be otherwise, darling, and I can’t stand you, either.”

...

The End

#tom hiddleston rpf #rpf #tom hiddleston #unnamed original female character #reader insert #smut #angst #loneliness #lack of communication #idiots #I love my idiots #romance #every now and then #some language #bad slang usage #I've apologized #and i will do so again!

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peakyswritings · 4 years

Text

The London Air Raids

Requested by: @writerdream22

Based on the song “The London Air Raids” by Vian Izak

Warnings: war

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

And we sit here so close in the dark

And we're so close to being torn apart

Ever crash I can feel in our foundation

It runs through my veins and I hate the sensation

You sighed as you laid with your back on the tree behind you, the soft breeze lightly ruffled your hair while you looked up at the starless sky, sat on the cold grass. You were away from the city, from the smoke and the fires and the dirt. It was a quiet night. It was unfair, you thought, how peaceful everything was when there’s was nothing to be peaceful about. When so many young lives where about to be broken because of somebody’s hatred, when so many people where mourning their loved ones. When somewhere, in that very moment, thousands of soldiers were fighting to stay alive, to see another day, to come back to their families, without the warranty of actually making it. Yet, the flowers kept on blooming, the wind kept on blowing and the sun kept on rising everyday, unaware of the carnage that didn’t seem to want to reach its end. It was like the earth was mocking you, laughing at men’s foolishness, showing that it didn’t matter how many people died, the world would keep on turning and life would go on, with or without them.

It was definitely unfair.

You turned your head to the guy next to you, trying to memorise every single detail about him, every freckle, every line, the way he frowned, the way his lips curled into a smile. That beautiful smile, would you be able to see it again? To hear his voice, his laugh?

“They say it’ll be over before winter comes” he stated, taking a drag from his cigarette “it won’t last long”

You stayed in silence, not quite knowing what to say. It didn’t change anything, a lot could happen in a couple of months.

“Don’t go” you whispered, hoping that you could change his mind.

“I have to” he affirmed “what kind of man would I be if I didn’t fight for my country?”

You gently stroked his cheek, looking him in his beautiful blue eyes. They were filled with life and spirit and you knew by the look he gave you that nothing could change his mind.

“Promise me that you’ll come back to me”

He placed his hand on the one that rested on his cheek, giving you a soft smile.

“You know I can’t. But I’ll try. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you, it’s a promise.”

But I know that I'm safe here with you

Cause we made it through everything the old and the new

Just wake me up when all this is over

Wake me up and tell me it's not true

“Dance with me” he said as he stood up and held out his hand of you to take it.

“But there’s no music”

“We don’t need it” he suddenly pulled you towards him, making you giggle. He put his hands on your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your heart ached at the thought that that could be your last dance with him. You tried to take in the way he held you, how his hands felt on your waist, how you felt when he was close to you. You placed your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and letting it comfort you. You inhaled his reassuring smell, it was a mixture of soap, whiskey and tobacco. That was the one thing that you knew you would never forget, it didn’t matter how much time passed.

My sweet love watch the air raids

As the streets of London are not safe

And I wish that we could escape

As the beat of the drum keeps on its play

And I long to feel the rain on my face

So I wait, I want the bombs to fade away

Contrary to what people thought, the war didn’t last a few months. It was supposed to be a brief war, but the weeks became months and the months became years. You didn’t spend a day without thinking about your fiancé, about how close he was to death and danger. The thought of him in the trenches, surrounded by mud and blood and destruction kept you from sleeping at night. How could you sleep in your warm bed while he was out in the cold and the rain? Your exchange of letters was slowly decreasing, because it took them a lot to arrive, but you didn’t lose hope. You waited for them like a child waits for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve and you kept them in a box placed on your desk, reading them again when his absence was too much to bear.

Under the bombs, the shooting and the cries of the hurt soldiers, Tommy thought about you. In the middle of chaos and destruction, the photograph that he kept in his pocket was his only comfort. Whenever he felt like it was all too much, like he wanted to give up, he looked at it and your smile gave him the motivation to go through another day. When the cold penetrated his bones, when the noise made him feel like his head was about to explode, when the rudimentary masks weren’t enough to protect him from the toxic gas, when he crawled in the mud, your memory made him go on. When your letters arrived, he ran his fingers on your handwriting, finding comfort in it. You wrote a letter and you sent it to him, it meant that there was still hope.

And the hum of the airplanes is such a sweet sound

As we're coming up from underground

Coming up to see our ruined state

Coming up to see those ruins that you made

And in the east I hear a nation shout

And we wait for the day that we can sing it out

Four years later, the war was finally over. You stood next to Polly, Ada and little Finn at the train station, your heart beating like crazy in your chest while you looked through the flow of people, hoping that the Shelby brothers would make it home safe and sound. Polly sighed with relief as John and Arthur got off the train, walking towards them with her arms open. You hugged the men who were like brothers to you, happy to see them safe and sound, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off the train, waiting for the one person who was missing to show up.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his familiar face standing out of the crowd. He didn’t see you right away, the multitude made it difficult to see clearly. It took him a moment to notice you, but when his eyes found yours, it felt like everyone around him disappeared, leaving just the two of you. You literally ran in his arms, holding him like your life depended on it. He tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent. You moved away a little to take his face in your hands, looking at him as if you wanted to make sure that it was not just one of your dreams, that he was really there.

“You’re here” you whispered, feeling your eyes starting to well up.

“I’m here” he nodded with a soft smile “and I’m not going anywhere for a long time”

He leaned in and kissed you, gently stroking your cheek. In that moment, everything fell back into place.

My sweet love watch the air raids

As the streets of London are not safe

And I wish that we could escape

As the beat of the drum keeps on its play

And I long to feel the rain on my face

So i wake

Two months later, you finally got married. You were so happy to be together again that you didn’t care if it was rushed. You had been apart for too long, it was time to keep your promises.

The guy who went to France never came back. You could see it in his eyes, that had lost their spark of youthful happiness, you could see it in his smile, that wasn’t as natural as before. His laugh was still the same, but you rarely heard it. Nevertheless, you knew that he was still your Tommy. Sometimes, when it was just you and him, you could see the boy he used to be through a spontaneous laugh, or a sarcastic remark, or a joke.

You saw him the day you got married, when he watched you walk down the aisle arm in arm with your father with tears in his eyes. That day, you promised to stick together for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. You had never realised the importance and the worth of those vows until you found yourself pronouncing them, meaning every single word you were saying. You would always be by each other’s side, no matter what.

Till death would do you apart.

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine

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kerra-and-company · 3 years

Text

spiral

The first three months after Zhaitan’s defeat. (Or, the story of how the person widely considered “the best at emotions” was once absolutely horrible at managing her own.)

Warnings: depression, self-harm (in a very Kerra-specific way), feeling worthless, cognitive distortions (Kerra gets an idea into her head that is just...inaccurate)

Word count: 4466

I’ve been trying to work on this fic for a while, and it’s been really hard because Kerra’s my OC whose mental health issues are closest to my own. But it’s done now, and I’m sure it’s not perfect, but I’m proud of it, and it means a lot to me. So, here you go; hopefully this speaks to someone else, too.

(and @mystery-salad because forever ago you mentioned that you’d be interested in seeing this fic concept if I ever wrote it!)

It happened in the span of a single moment.

Trahearne had finally, finally joined the party. Rel had gotten his lute from who knows where and was taking song requests. Destiny’s Edge was talking and laughing, and she even saw Caithe smile. Everywhere Kerra looked, her friends and the rest of the Pact were drinking, chatting, relaxing, or dancing.

And, for once, no one was watching her.

So she tilted her head back, letting the sun and confetti (who brought confetti?) cover her face, giggling at the unfamiliar touch of colorful paper scraps. She spun around, arms outstretched and eyes closed and, miraculously, managing not to hit anyone.

It was pure, utter joy combined with I’m done, I did what I was made for, I’m done and I can just be me—

Kill the dragon.

Kerra stumbled. That couldn’t be right. Zhaitan was dead, and her Hunt was—

Kill the dragon, her mind insisted.

The world didn’t stop. It would have been easier if it had. Instead, the celebration continued, with laughter and Rel’s music as omnipresent noise.

It took everything in her not to scream.

****

The Pact wanted to lift her up on a pedestal for what she’d done. And she didn’t deserve it, so she had to leave.

She wrote notes to each of her friends and left them near their things, going mostly unnoticed as she slipped out of the party. Thank you for everything you’ve done, she said. I am going to where I can help the most, and that’s not here right now. I’ll come back.

I love you.

****

Her first stop was Caledon.

Cern was pleased to see her and told her stories of his new recruits taking down a particularly large troll in the swamps. Tatli and Cueyatl welcomed her into the Hazupl camp, and a few sylvari were there, too, talking to the hylek young. Llew gave her updates on Astorea—the defenses were holding, though Nightmare Court attacks had increased of late.

The only place she stayed overnight, though, was the Weeping Isle. Eona hugged her, congratulated her, and asked after Rel. She gave bare-bones information, took care of some wave riders, and fell asleep in the same guest room she’d taken earlier that year.

In her dreams, she walked a bloody battlefield, utterly alone. She saw so many dead faces, along with the living who mourned their losses. With each one she spotted, a memory flashed. Minei and Cio screaming and fighting to get back into the fortress on Claw Island. Ceera calling her “Commander of death.” Elli’s expression as she tore into the Risen marksman. Tybalt imploring her to trust him. Trahearne asking the Pale Tree for forgiveness as they closed the gate to Fort Trinity. The hate in Tiachren’s eyes slowly turning to fear as he died.

And above it all, the incessant drumbeat of this is your fault, your fault, your fault. You were Commander and this wasn’t what you were meant for and so every death is on your head and yours alone because you made a mistake. You pursued the wrong Hunt, and you will look at what you’ve done.

The land and the bodies went up in smoke, and she welcomed the flames even as she burned, too.

Come morning, Eona found Kerra’s bed neatly made and the Commander herself long gone.

****

In Kessex, the bandits put a price on her head.

In Sparkfly, the krait learned to flee from her on sight.

In Brisban, the Inquest cursed her as their labs exploded.

Sometimes, those she helped asked for her name. She began introducing herself as Lin. It felt…maybe not right, but right-adjacent, and it gave her a sense of distance.

Sometimes, they asked her to stay—an asuran krewe who appreciated her particular brand of dragon expertise, a rough-edged gladium who saw a kindred spirit, and a small human boy who watched her train the Claypool militia with wide eyes, to name a few.

She never stayed more than a few days. It tore her apart each time.

She slept less and less.

****

Felix worried more about her with every passing day.

Kerra could feel it, and she wished he wouldn’t, but she didn’t have the words to calm him.

“You can leave, dearheart, if this is too much,” she said once, softly. “You can leave if…if I’m too much.”

Not too much, never, Felix insisted, bumping his head into her thigh and letting out a deep purr. But you’re hurt. I want to help.

“You can’t.” It came out too sharp, and they both winced. “It’s…I’m not scratched, or stabbed, or corrupted. I didn’t break a bone.” I wish I had. I wish this pain was visible. I wish I had scars for all of them.

Some nights, she considered giving herself those scars.

That doesn’t make you not hurt, Felix insisted.

Kerra had nothing to say except but I deserve it, and she knew Felix wouldn’t want to hear that. So, she just pulled him onto her lap and against her chest, burying her face in his fur, eyes dry.

****

Her thoughts wouldn’t stop chasing each other in circles. Her Wyld Hunt pulsed at the back of her mind constantly, like the beginning of a headache.

Kill the dragon.

WHICH dragon? she’d scream back. It never answered, no matter how many times she asked.

But she could function on two hours of sleep a night. She could fight. She could help.

That’s all that mattered.

****

She stopped at the Black Citadel for provisions. She’d intended to avoid Rytlock, but one of his subordinates spotted her at a vendor’s stall and (as politely as possible) dragged her to his office.

“Commander!” Rytlock said, happily standing up and pushing his paperwork to the side. “Thought you were back at Fort Trinity.”

“I was,” Kerra said, just a little too shortly. “I’m on my way to Hoelbrak.” Not entirely false; she was indeed heading in that general direction.

“On foot?” Confusion. “You didn’t waypoint or take an airship?”

“I wanted to take the scenic route.” A small smirk, and, again, not entirely a lie.

“Fine by me.” Rytlock grinned, his smile very full of teeth. “Don’t suppose you’d care to help me take out a Flame Legion post before you leave?”

“I’d be happy to,” Kerra said, smiling back and inclining her head before turning on her heel and walking out the door. Felix followed close behind.

“Commander!” Rytlock shouted after her. He muttered something about “I was saying we’d go together,” but Kerra was halfway down the stairs by then and barely heard him.

The outpost was empty within three hours. Kerra was gone in four.

****

She’d stopped shielding her mind somewhere along the line. She couldn’t remember exactly when.

Emotions swirled through her, positive and negative and in-between. Most of them left, but their imprints remained.

She kept fighting. She kept killing, when necessary, and the pain grew and grew and grew. Her burden. Hers. Deserved, she thought.

She racked up invisible scars by the thousands.

****

As much as she told herself the pain was necessary, it also was exhausting—which is how she got her first serious injury since leaving Orr, forcibly bringing her spiral to a halt.

She was at Victor’s Point with a man named Gareth and his three children. Said children had performed some sort of ritual to summon a bear. The ritual instead managed to summon several dozen bears, and soon the homestead was overrun.

While Felix helped Gareth take down a particularly large bear, Kerra heard a scream from the nearby shed and whipped around, running as fast as her legs would carry her across the snow.

A child she hadn’t met yet, a small one with short white-blond hair, was cowering under a workbench. They held a pen in their right hand like a dagger, jabbing it in the direction of yet another bear trying to stick its head under the table. It growled at them, showcasing its set of sharp teeth.

Not wanting to risk hitting the child, Kerra unsheathed her dagger and leaped on top of the bear. But she’d underestimated its ferocity and overestimated her remaining strength, and it threw her off, slamming her into the stones of the nearby fireplace.

Holding her head, she tried to get up, but its claws gauged deep marks across her chest, and she dropped her dagger at the sudden spasm of pain. She scrambled backwards, shielding the child with her own body as they screamed. Felix roared somewhere in the distance.

She struggled to stay conscious as the bear reared up on its hind legs, trying to figure out if she could muster up enough energy to kick it in the stomach. But she didn’t have to.

A blue shield appeared around her—guardian magic, she thought deliriously. Logan? The mace that whacked the bear in the head was decidedly not Logan’s, though, and Logan wasn’t that tall, and his skin wasn’t that dark. But whoever this was, the child was safe.

“Hey, stay awake!” a voice called out urgently as her eyes slid shut. She heard a distinct crack in it and felt the owner’s concern for her. Funny, she thought in an unappreciated moment of irony, for them to care so much about someone they’ve never met.

****

Kerra must have dreamed, then, but all she remembered was what woke her up—yet another whisper of kill the dragondeep in the back of her mind.

She sat up with a jolt, nearly whacking her head on the beams above her.

Her savior was talking in hushed tones to Gareth nearby, but whatever they were saying was immediately drowned out by Felix, who meowed loudly and started purring at the top of his lungs. He gently butted his head against her shoulder. Thank you for staying. Don’t leave.

“I’m—” she coughed, clearing her throat and trying to ignore what felt like the worst headache of her life. “I’m okay, ‘Lix, I’m okay, I’m still here.” She gently laid a hand on his flank, and he turned his head and licked it with his rough tongue, making her laugh weakly and then wince as the action sent a flare of pain through her body.

“You sure you’re okay?” her mysterious savior said, approaching her bedside. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“I heal fast,” Kerra said, meeting their eyes. They were tall, but their face was young. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem,” the tall child said. “I’m Braham, he/him. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lin. She/her is fine. It’s nice to meet you, too.” A memory slotted into place, and she gasped, frantically looking around for her weapons. “Are the children all right? How long was I unconscious?”

“Easy!” Gareth said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture as he approached. “Yes, all the children are safe, and you were only out for about an hour or so.” He coughed meaningfully, and a snow-blond head peeked out from around his legs. “Mikkel is a bit shy, but he wanted me to thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mikkel,” Kerra said, her eyes softening as they met the child’s. “You were very brave, you know.”

The boy squeaked and hid again behind his father’s legs. Gareth just laughed. “I daresay he was! But that thanks comes from me as well, young one. We were lucky to have you with us today.”

“The thanks is appreciated, but unnecessary, Gareth,” Kerra replied, dipping her head a few inches. When she lifted it back up—slowly, struggling against the pounding in her head—she found Braham looking at her curiously. But he shook his head, seemingly dislodging whatever thought he’d had, and nodded.

“I’m glad you’re okay and that I could help, but I gotta get going,” he said, standing up.

“Where are you headed?” Kerra asked, leaning back slightly against the pillows.

“Hoelbrak,” Braham answered, frowning. “I need someone to help me defend my hometown, Craigstead—it’s been invaded by some group calling themselves the Molten Alliance. I figured asking Knut Whitebear was worth a shot.”

Kerra frowned, too, both at Braham’s words and at the implication of his tension and fear. “Who else did you ask?” And why didn’t you try Hoelbrak first?

“Tribune Brimstone. He didn’t believe me.”

“What didn’t he believe?”

Braham’s face closed, but she could feel his flare of anger; it wasn’t directed at her, though, not really. “With all due respect, sylvari, it’s not really your business—”

“I know Rytlock,” Kerra interrupted, ignoring Gareth’s shock and the way Mikkel’s eyes lit up. And though the last thing she wanted was to go back to Rytlock or any of her friends and hurt them again… “I can help; I’ve convinced him to get off his…behind…before. Let me help. What didn’t he believe? That your town was under attack?”

She could tell Braham wasn’t quite convinced that she was being honest, but he sighed and shrugged. “That, and the fact that my full name is Braham Eirsson. My mother—” He said the word with a disgust Kerra didn’t understand. “—is Eir Stegalkin.”

Kerra blinked. “Your mother is who?”

Braham crossed his arms. “You heard me.”

“No, I did, and I believe you—sorry. I just…” She trailed off, took a breath, and continued. “I know your mother, too, then. And I’m aware that I can’t move much at the moment, but if Whitebear doesn’t agree to help you, come back and find me. Either I’ll convince someone to help you, or I’ll do it myself.”

Surprise mixed with persistent disbelief and gratitude. “Okay, then. You’re an odd one, Lin.”

She laughed, dry and short, absorbing the flicker of pain that came with it. “So I’ve heard.” As he headed to the door, she added, “You better come back and at least let me know how things go, okay?”

It was Braham’s turn to laugh, though his was more sincere. He did a goofy half-bow-half-salute and said lightly, “You’ll be on my way, so sure thing, boss.”

****

Kerra wanted to leave. Gareth and his wife and his children were absolutely lovely, and she didn’t deserve any of it. But she was trapped in bed, healing. Careless.

She slept most of the time, waking up only to eat and pet Felix and thank Mikkel for bringing her water. Part of her wished she could just stay asleep, and part of her was absolutely desperate to move, to get out, to go anywhere but here where she was a burden and could do nothing. Always, constantly, back and forth.

I need to move.

You can’t.

I need to help.

You can’t do that, either.

I need to be worth something.

But you’re not.

I need you to shut up.

But I won’t.

I…I need my friends. And I need Trahearne and Caithe.

But you left them. They’re probably all angry with you.

You don’t know that.

And even if they’re not, you don’t deserve them.

…

Am I wrong?

****

On her fourth day at Victor’s Point, Kerra received a visitor.

Raised voices outside woke her. She rolled over to face the door, bringing her knees closer to her chest under the blankets.

“—asked you to state your business, sylvari.” Gareth’s voice. He was on edge and slightly angry.

“And I told you, I’m looking for Kerra. Is she here or not?”

Kerra’s eyes flew open in shock and recognition.

“There is no one by that name staying here,” Gareth replied. “I strongly suggest you try the next homestead.” A feeling of preparedness, as if his hand was on the hilt of his weapon.

Before she could think it through, Kerra called out, “Nisha?”

A brief scuffle and a shout, and the door banged open. Nisha’s clothes looked wrinkled, though still passably clean, and xe stood as tall as ever. And xe was scared and upset and relieved and so many other things that Kerra didn’t have the brainspace to work through.

Felix, however, didn’t have that problem. He leapt forward, and a very startled Nisha caught him in xyr arms. Xe stumbled backward into Gareth, who burst out laughing, animosity gone.

“Well, all right then! Lin, I see you know this person. Is it fine if I leave you two…” He glanced at a very loudly purring Felix, eyes twinkling. “Or you three to catch up?”

Nisha’s gaze caught hers and locked in, like the sight on one of xyr rifles.

Say yes.

Say no.

Say yes.

Say no. Say NO.

“Yes,” Kerra choked out, quiet but audible.

“Wonderful! I’ll be outside if you need me.” The door softly clicked shut behind him.

Silence for a few beats. Three, two, one.

Kerra took a deep breath and straightened, sitting up fully. “Hey,” she said tentatively.

Nisha gently set Felix down, a fierce edge in xyr eyes. Felix curled up next to the bed, eyes darting between the two.

“Hey?” Nisha repeated incredulously. “Hey?!”

Kerra flinched, and Nisha snapped xyr mouth shut with an audible click. When xe spoke next, xyr tone was flat. “Where have you been, exactly?”

“Helping people,” was all Kerra could say.

Nisha exhaled, frustration seeping off xem in waves. “My apologies. I should have phrased that better. Why did you leave Fort Trinity?”

“To help people,” Kerra repeated, helplessly.

“Why couldn’t you help people there?! I-I—” Nisha’s face twisted, though Kerra could see xem struggling to hide it. “You left us! And you didn’t say where you were going, not even to Trahearne or Caithe or my brother.” Xyr hand clenched into a fist, gripping and bunching up the fabric of xyr pants.

She had let them down. They were mad—at least Nisha was, and if xe was, probably everyone else was, too. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she started, “I’m s—”

“Do you have ANY idea how SCARED we were?!” Nisha shouted.

Kerra’s world screeched to a halt.

Wait. What?

“We could have lost you, and we would have had no way of knowing! You could have died, or disappeared, and none of us would have been able to do anything to stop it! We were terrified for you! And not because you’re not capable,” xe added hastily, brushing away tears on xyr own cheeks, and she’d made Nisha cry, she’d done that to xem, she’d hurt xem— “You are perhaps the best fighter I’ve ever met. That doesn’t mean you can’t die.”

Something cracked in Kerra’s heart.

“Why do you—what about all the people who died because of me?” she shouted back, her voice breaking. She threw herself out of bed and onto her feet, the blankets falling in a disorganized tangle behind her. “What about them?”

“What—we were fighting an Elder Dragon! People were going to die!” Both of Nisha’s fists were clenched now. “And I hate that, but it’s the truth! If you’re saying that you think we could have made it all the way to Zhaitan with no casualties—”

“No, no, I’m not, I—all their deaths are my fault!” Kerra’s tone made Felix’s ears flatten, and she ignored Nisha’s rush of utter shock. “I don’t understand why you’d want to find me!”

“Why in Tyria would they all be your fault?” Xyr brow furrowed, and xe took one step towards her. “I disagree with the basic principle, but even if the deaths were entirely on the Pact leadership, shouldn’t they also be Trahearne’s—”

“NO!”

“Why not?!”

“BECAUSE I WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE THE COMMANDER!”

The room went dead silent. Kerra abruptly realized she was breathing hard and sat down on the edge of her bed.

“I was given a Wyld Hunt to fight and kill a dragon, Nisha,” she said, staring down at her hands. “The Pale Mother and Caithe both told me that the dragon was Zhaitan, but it clearly wasn’t, because Zhaitan is dead, and my Wyld Hunt is very much still there. Which makes this the wrong path for me, and therefore every action I’ve taken that’s led to where we are, with so many dead, is my fault. I should have figured out I was targeting the wrong dragon, I should have done better, I should have…” She trailed off, overwhelmed.

Silence again. When Kerra looked up, she met Nisha’s eyes, staring directly into hers. Sadness. Anger. Frustration.

Xe cleared xyr throat twice before speaking. “You write your own future, Ker. You’re not beholden to that one.”

“But Mother told me—”

“Mothers can be WRONG!” The fabric of Nisha’s coat tore with a soft ripping sound. But just like with Braham, the anger wasn’t directed at Kerra.

“I was given this Hunt by the Dream!”

“Shoots and thorns!” Nisha yelled, xyr voice cracking. “Why are you so certain you chose wrong, that you made some sort of mistake? You can still complete your Hunt! You can go after all the dragons! And you know why you have that option?” Desperation. Determination. “Because of everything you’ve done, because you’re the Commander, whether or not your Mother and the Dream originally thought you should be! You took down Zhaitan! You proved that Elder Dragons can be defeated, and now you don’t have to fight them alone!”

Xe took a deep breath. “Yes, people died, and it’s horrible.” New tears pooled in xyr eyes. “I…I still miss Sieran. But their deaths are not all your fault, and you saved so many lives, too, and…and I brought these.”

Xe shrugged off xyr pack and fiddled around inside it, pulling out a stack of papers and dropping them on Kerra’s lap. She just blinked.

Nisha sighed, more out of frustration with xemself than with Kerra. “Can you just look at them, please?”

Kerra spread out the papers, making sure to catch a few stray sheets before they fell to the floor.

They were notes, every single one of them written in a different hand. In a quick scan, Kerra saw Caithe’s graceful but clear cursive, Elli’s “i's” dotted with little hearts, and Minei’s deliberately blocky print. She looked back up at Nisha.

“What…what are these?”

“It was Rel’s idea,” xe said, now looking anywhere but Kerra. She could feel xem trying to rein in xyr emotions, though it was a bit late for that. “You gave us all some, so he thought that, if I could find you, I should give you some from all of us.”

Words upon words upon words. Her eyes were drawn to them as if by a magnet.

From Demmi: Thanks for believing in me.

From Cio: You saw past the fire, and you’re one of the few.

From Trahearne: You are the reason I didn’t give up, little sister.

From Shashoo: Quaggan believes in you, Commander!

From Riel: You do good work, agent. Keep it up.

From Elli: Keep fighting, Kerry. You’re damn good at it.

From Minei: They’re not saying why we’re writing these, but you better come back so I can thank you in person.

From Caithe: You showed me new purpose, Valiant. Thank you.

From Rel: You’re my best friend, Ker, and I love you. Stay safe.

And there were more, from soldiers she’d talked to once or sparred with or comforted, and some from people she’d never met. They said thank you and you led us to victory and you saved me and you were a friend when I needed one and many, many variations.

Nisha coughed, and when xe spoke, xyr voice was thick. “I didn’t write one. I’m not a writer. But thank you, Kerra. You’re the third friend I’ve ever made, and I’m so glad I met you.”

“Can I hug you?” Kerra blurted, nearly cutting xem off. She didn’t expect xem to say yes, but she desperately hoped—and then the notes were being carefully placed on the desk, and Nisha was next to her on the bed with xyr arms around her, and Felix was purring loudly from his spot on the floor as he told her I love you, too.

Kerra hugged xem back tightly, hiding her face in xyr shoulder, and they stayed that way until both their shirts were soaked with tears.

****

An indeterminable amount of time later, Kerra pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I can’t do this on my own, you know,” she said, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards. I can’t go back alone. I won’t feel better if I’m alone. I need help, and I need my friends, and maybe that’s okay for me, too, just like it’s okay for everyone else. She met Nisha’s eyes. “Will you stay with me?”

“I just found you,” Nisha said, quiet but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kerra smiled in earnest, then. “Good. Because you can’t do this alone, either.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nisha said, eyebrows raising. Surprise. Indignance. Acceptance.

“Neither of us are okay,” Kerra said, thinking of Nisha shouting about mothers (and Nisha shouting at all, when xe always stayed so composed). “And we have other people—other friends, our siblings—but…” She felt her glow flare, warming her face. “I’ll help you, when you need it, and you’ll help me when I need it. That’s the deal.”

“I wasn’t aware we were making a deal.” Amusement. Warmth.

Kerra dipped her head slightly, never breaking eye contact. “We are.” Her smile grew. “You know,” she said cheekily, “you really shouldn’t question your Commander—”

“You are aware that I’m not technically part of the Pact, right?” Nisha interrupted.

It was barely even a joke, but it shattered whatever tension remained. Kerra burst into slightly broken (but still genuine) laughter, the calm after the storm. She felt Nisha’s happiness and saw xyr grin, and it pushed back the flood farther.

It was just enough. For the first time in weeks, she pulled up her shields, shutting the world’s emotions out. It was a relief and a letting go, and she almost started crying again, but Nisha’s presence held her together.

She was far from okay—the drumbeat of it’s all your fault and the Hunt’s repetition of kill the dragon were still very much there in her head. But people cared about her. She had proof of that, though she still didn’t understand it. She was important to them, so she had to keep herself safe.

Maybe someday she’d be able to do that just for herself.

For now, she’d take the help, and she’d start to heal. And when Braham came back, she’d leave, with Nisha.

But it was all right to stay here, just for now. She was safe, and she was loved.

And she felt like she was home.

#gw2 #my fics #kerralind #nishannai #please do heed the warnings folks #guild wars 2

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