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silverhallow · 1 year

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This Means War: part 2

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett

Mafia AU

Rated: M - Gun Violence, Murder, Gun fights, swearing.

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: You gotta fight for your family, and if you pick a fight with the wrong family then you may not live long to regret it…

Author's Note: Part 2 of the Mafia Au where they never went legitimate…

Written for the Anon Ask for time and @ambitionspassionscoffee who provided the picture

Enjoy

Time.

Time was precious.

Time was sparse.

Time was running out.

Anthony had given Sophie and Benedict the news that they had a lead on their little boy and they’d took off towards the main meeting room, they weren’t waiting for the men to come to them.

It was time for action.

Sophie was not about to sit around idly whilst someone had her little boy. Whoever had taken him had pissed off the protective lioness in her and she was out for blood.

Benedict could see the look in his wife’s eye, it was feral and frantic and it both scared him and turned him on at the same time.

His wife was one of the most powerful women in the country and she was not to be fucked with and those bastards were about to find out what happens when you fuck with the Bridgerton and Penwood Crime families…

She strode into the room, her tears from an hour ago long forgotten and looked every part the Queen ready to take control of the situation. The men in the room all jumped to attention, Sophie saw Emily, the bruises she had, the wounds from her fight back being tended to by Mary and she thanked her for trying to protect her son after she’d broken down in tears for not being able to stop them taking him.

The news that worried Sophie the most was that John and his team had learned that there must be a mole in the family.

there was no one else who would have known that Emily was walking Charlie, that the guards were behind her, outside of the family on that day as they changed the route, the walkers every day.

The guards had been taken out first, both of them shot before they’d attacked Emily so by the time the call was made to John and the backup arrived, Charlie had been taken.

Thomas, one of the guards, had remembered the licence plate of the car that he saw stopping and grabbing Emily and where Charlie was eventually bundled into. Unlike his partner, Steve, who had been killed instantly by the bullet, Thomas’ reaction to his partner being shot meant he’d taken it in the shoulder, rather than the head so he’d been able to witness a lot of what was going on but not able to move and stop what was happening in front of him.

John had run the registration through the databases with the help of Eloise and Edwina but had found that it was registered under a fake name but CCTV in the area had meant they’d been able to track the car through the CCTV network to a warehouse and the car was still there.

“Do we know how many people are in the warehouse?” Benedict asked

“No sir, without doing a scoping mission with thermal radar we won’t know, but I’d make the assumption based on the cars that are there there are at least a dozen if not more…” John said. “Emily had some hair from the attacker and has given a description to Eloise who has gone off to try and find out more so we may be able to find out who he is and who he is working for. Basset reached out to say they don’t know anything but are using their resources to help, something about crossing the line with a child…”

“How do the Basset’s know?” Anthony asked

“Not sure sir but it’s possible they had someone in the area who saw Emily attacked…” John explained. “But as far as I am aware the only people who know that Master Charlie was taken are the Bridgerton and Penwood’s directly and all communications have been blocked, other than to Lady Penwood and Mr Bridgerton’s phones in case of a random call”

Anthony frowned, he knew Simon Basset and the Hastings family well having gone through school with him but as far as he was aware there were no affiliates within the family and whilst Colin and Daphne weren’t home, he knew Colin was in Italy on a job for them and Daphne was with her friends and was coming straight home after getting the news.

“I’m not waiting around for them to harm Charlie, Ben we need to move, John, get Jones’ team ready… Anthony…?” Sophie said turning to her brother in law

“Graves and Humboldt are on their way with their teams, Kate offered to come but she can’t walk…” Anthony said.

Kate was further along in her second pregnancy than Sophie with only a few weeks to go before she was due to give birth whereas Sophie was only 12 weeks along and they’d only just started telling people so Sophie understood “it’s fine, having the three best teams will make me feel better. I want everyone ready and in the prep room in 20 minutes, is that understood?” Sophie ordered.

John nodded as did Anthony and the two men left, “i’m going to change” Sophie said to her husband and left before he realised what she meant to do.

“Soph, you can’t…” Benedict said but his sentence was drowned out by Sophie’s glare from the stairs.

“If you think I am not coming you’ve got another thing coming, they have my baby Ben! MY BABY. I am able to move, I know I am pregnant and I will wear a vest but I am coming and that’s final…” she said in her most commanding voice and Benedict knew it was pointless to argue, he knew she would want to be there and he just figured if he went in first then he could protect her.

“Fair enough but you better wear the vest, I am not losing any of you today” he said as he followed her upstairs to change.

20 minutes later they were in the prep room and Sophie was walking between them giving orders.

“Graves, you’re team will go in at the rear, Humboldt from the right and Jones’ team, along with Ben, Anthony and myself will go in from the front, Eloise and Edwina will be providing us with communication and CCTV, they’re attempting to break into the warehouse security to give us cover, once we have the word that that has been done then we will going in, your orders are simple. I want the person in charge to be kept alive, anyone else kill them, but do not harm my son. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded “Edi, El, i want regular updates on the drive over, get into that system…”

“Of course Soph, i’ve got the headset linked so we will be in direct contact with you, Ben and Ant all the way through, you will hear everyone and us, and everyone will hear you but only us two can get through to you three” Eloise explained as she walked over and gave Sophie, Ben and Ant a new earpiece.

“Right, everyone out, make sure you’re fully loaded and you’ve got spare bullets, I don’t want anyone caught short” Anthony bellowed.

Mary was on standby with the medics for any injuries, Nicholas and Georgiana Rokesby were nearby should they need more serious care.

Sophie was just hopeful they wouldn’t be needed.

Sophie and Benedict got in their own car, they didn’t want it to be too obvious that there was nearly an army battalion on it’s way, they had the element of surprise. It had only been a few hours and the kidnappers hadn’t been in touch for a random yet which worried Sophie.

She knew from experience you normally get in contact quickly but she had to wonder if Emily fighting back and the back up arriving had scuppered their plans and they had to rethink, but either way they had the element of surprise, they didn’t know they were coming.

Benedict drove them as Sophie was too worked up, he had managed to keep his cool a lot better than Sophie had. Sophie felt like an emotional wreck but for Benedict, he’d been able to detach himself, this was just another job, yes it was his son and he was filled with adrenaline like he’d never known but he knew what he had to do, get his wife and his son safe, everyone else would take care of everyone else.

The car pulled up just outside of the compound of the warehouse and radioed Eloise and Edwina “are we in? Do we have the all clear to go in?”

“We’re just recording a loop to play over the top so they don’t see you coming” Eloise said “two seconds… yeah… yeah… good. Great, you’re good to go. The car and everything is still there, we’ve got the live feed, we can see in, there are about a dozen people there”

“Recognise anyone?” Sophie asked

“No, they’re all just… waiting around for something?”

“Maybe whoever gave the order to take him isn’t there yet, or they’re waiting for instructions” Benedict offered

“Perhaps but now’s our time, everyone in position, no one move until I give the say so”

There was unanimous agreement through the ear piece as Benedict parked the car up and he and Sophie got their guns out, checking them to make sure they were okay. “Ready?” he asked her “you can just stop here if you want… I don’t want you getting hurt”

“Ben, they’ve got our boy, there is no way in hell am I stopping here i’ve got my vest on, I’m getting our son back” she said holding out her gun alongside his, “they picked a fight with the wrong family”

Benedict saw the steely determination in his wife’s eyes and knew there was going to be no talking her down so he nodded “let’s go get our son”

They got out of the car, looked over and saw the other team in positions and Anthony with his team, they got the radio message that the two other teams were in position and with that Sophie gave the all clear.

It was like a tactical operation, all three teams entered at the same time and there was pandemonium inside, the two back teams took out the crew at the back without them even having a chance to get a shot off.

Sophie came in behind her husband, her gun held aloft as the two men nearest to the door looked shocked to see her and went to grab their guns but she and Benedict, in a swift motion killed them both, single shots to the head.

Sophie heard her baby start to scream with all the noise, his wails of Mama, having been able to see her from the doorway nearly had her running over to him immediately but as she looked a man popped up from behind the cot he was in and fired a shot which narrowly missed her, but Benedict got the shot off and took the man out.

One by one the kidnapping crew was taken out, it was clear there was no ringleader, each one of them had no idea what was going on, just waiting around and within minutes every one of them were dead and Sophie ran over to her son and wrapped her arms around him “it’s okay my sweet prince. Mama is here… she’s here… she’s got you…”

Benedict wrapped his arms around his family and hugged them tightly pleased that his son was safe and they sent the crew around to ensure they’d gotten everyone and there was no one left to ambush them so they were alone. Anthony had agreed to wait at the door.

“Well… well… well…” came a voice that Sophie recognised and it made her blood crawl as she moved her son to his side and Benedict took a step in front of his family instinctively as he felt Sophie stiffen in his arms.

He had no idea who this woman was but clearly whoever it was made Sophie uncomfortable

“Look what the cat dragged in” the woman sneered

“I could say the same thing about you Rosa… how the fuck did you get out of jail” Sophie snapped

“Well i’ve got particular talents and they tend to get me out of trouble… and I had revenge to take…”

“Revenge? I did fuck all to you Rosa. you’re delusional”

“You had my mother killed…”

“Your mother put a target on her own back for killing my father and trying to take over the Penwood family… and for killing Edmund Bridgerton and then trying to kill the Basset’s as well”

“That’s your opinion of what happened…”

“No its the fucking truth Rosa but it still doesn’t explain why the fuck you took my son! He’s a fucking innocent child…”

“He’s your brat… you took everything from me when you didn’t stop my mother being killed…”

“Why would i? she’s just lucky I didn’t get to her first, i’d have made sure it hurt more than a fucking single bullet… after all the fucking misery she put me through…”

“You deserved it. You don’t deserve to be happy. You ruined my life!” Rosamund said

“No Rosa, i did nothing. This was my father’s family, this was his, he loved me. Just because he wasn’t married to my mother doesn’t make it any different! Your mother just stopped them being able to marry by taking my mother out!” Sophie yelled back.

Rosa snorted “it doesn’t matter now anyway. I’ve got all three of you here… I can make sure that you lose everything… everything you’ve ever loved…” she said getting her gun out of her pocket and pointing it at Benedict who pointed his own back at her.

Sophie just rolled her eyes “if you wanted to kill us, you’d have done it before now…”

Rosa cocked her gun “want to test that?”

“You never were a good shot Rosa…” Sophie snorted as she got her own gun out, handing Charlie to Benedict, so his face was not looking directly at Rosamund, “and you hesitate too much” and before Rosamund could do anything Sophie had already fired hers.

Her aim was true and she hit Rosamund right between the eyes.

There was a stampede of people running in with their guns held up and looking around as they saw Sophie holstering her gun “the threat is done. It’s over… she can’t hurt us anymore…” she said looking around.

“Edi, can you let Mary know it was Rosa and i’m gonna need to see Posy if she can call her. And we’re gonna need a clean up crew. I want these bodies gone never to be found”

She then turned to her husband and her son, taking Charlie back off her husband and kissed his temple “let's go home little man shall we?”

Charlie giggled and tugged his mama’s hair “‘ome mama”

“Home” Benedict said, wrapping his arms around his wife and son, not sparing a glance to the woman who had tried to take everything from them, she was gone, never to harm them again.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benophie #sophie beckett #benedict x sophie #benophie mafia au

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adminbryantsaki · 3 years

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ASK EVENT Open until July 31st

Hello people. I am just throwing this event out there to help bring more activity to my blog. I will be giving a list of prompts that you can pick from. Here is the list of my rules and characters I will write for. this event will be open for a month. It will be closed after July 31st

Most of the prompts are NSFW. So minors don't interact. There can be multiples of the same prompt. That's ok. Combos of prompts are ok too.

Prompts:

1. "Don't make me take you home and punish you."

2. "I never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly."

3. "You're not going out in that outfit."

4. "Don't give me that look."

5. "You're more than a one-night stand."

6. "Would you just shut up and kiss me already?"

7. "You want me to give you your book/phone/ item back? Make me."

8. "Like what you see?"

9. "Try to stay quiet, understand?"

10. "We're in public, you know?"

11. "I didn't know you were so sensitive."

12. "Don't be so brought, there can't be any marks."

13. "I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying to kiss/fuck you senseless right now."

14. "Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop."

15. "No, I'm supposed to be making you feel good."

16. "Make me."

17. "Stop teasing me so much."

18. "You're in trouble now."

19. "Take off your clothes."

20. "I'm waiting."

21. "First one to make a noise loses."

22. "Mine."

23. "We can't do that here!"

24. "Behave."

25. "What did you just say?"

26. "Come here."

27. "Watch me."

28. "I don't want to hear your excuses anymore."

29. "If you can't sleep... then how about we have sex?"

30. "Put that thing away!"

31. "Don't kink shame me." (Add what kink you want the character to have please.)

32. "If you interrupt me one more time, so help me God."

33. "I'm going to put clothes on before you say anything else."

34. "Tell me what you want."

35. "Bite me."

36. "If you insist."

37. "Could he make you feel as good as I do?"

38. "You're n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?"

39. "Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?"

40. "You fucking taste like candy."

41. "The only way you're getting off is on my thigh."

42. "You make a sound and it's game over."

43. "Just let me finish this/ this level and I swear I will go down on you until you cum three times."

44. "If I have to stop what I'm doing, you won't be able to walk for the next week."

45. "I could just push your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice."

46. "I haven't even touched you and you're already this wet."

47. "Were you just masturbating?"

48. "U-uh...no, I was just..."

49. "Want some help?"

50. "Shut up."

51. "Why don't you come over here and make me."

52. "You're so fucking hot when you're mad."

53. "We're not just friends and you fucking know it."

54. "C'mere, you can sit on my lap until I'm done working."

55. "What? Does that feel good?"

56. "I'm not jealous! It's just... You're mine!"

57. "If we get caught, I'm blaming you."

58. "We have to be quiet."

59. " Tell me again."

60. "You have no idea how much I want you."

61. "Say it." ( This is another 'choose the kink' option)

62. "If you don't like my teasing, then why are you moaning?"

63. "Wow, I didn't realize you were that... flexible."

64. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you even met that asshole."

65. "You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, love."

66. "I think that's the first time I've heard you moan... It was like a fucking melody."

67. "I really want to kiss you right now."

68. "Then do it."

69. "You're not taking me to bed, ever."

70. "Who said it had to be on the bed."

71. "She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but I bet behind closed doors, she's latex and whips."

72. "Ah, he's playing hard to get. That's cute."

73. "For the love of fuck."

74. "Yep, that's me. I love to fuck."

75. "How do I look?"

76. "Would you reconsider if I was sober?"

77. "I'm sure I can get some kind of sexual gratification just from staring at him if I try hard enough."

78. "Don't fucking touch what isn't yours."

79. "You don't need to cover up the bruises/hickeys."

80. "I'm not sure if it's a sexual thing or not."

81. "We're.......Just friends."

82. "Friends don't do this kind of shit!"

83. "How quickly can you cum?"

84. "There's people here."

85. "I know."

86. "I don't care what you do, just fuck me."

87. "Fuck you."

88. "I'm up for it if you are."

89. "Don't ruin the sofa."

90. "I'll just have to cum inside you then."

91. "Stop dancing like that of I'm going to cum my pants."

92. "I'm not going to touch you unless you beg."

93. "You can't tease me like that and expect not to be punished."

94. "I'm gonna strangle you."

95. "Is that a promise?"

96. "You look a bit tied you, want me to come back later?"

97. "Stop distracting me."

98. "Were you touching yourself?"

99. "I know their stuffed animals but doesn't it feel weird? It's like they're watching us."

100. "That's probably the faster I've ever done that."

101. "Please, remind me again why we're having sex behind a tree."

102. "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that."

103. "We've been at it like rabbits, How are you still horny?" (ABO ish ask)

104. "It was so worth the injury though!?

105. "Saddle up, love."

106. "Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip? 'Cause If you did, we're having sex. Right not."

107. "Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt."

108. "God dammit, now all i can think about is you licking my cock like that ice cream cone."

109. "If I have to pull over, you won't be able to walk for the next week."

110. "Do you think they can hear us through the tent?"

111. "Yes we can."

112. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?"

Tagging: @i-panic-at-the-disco

#Yall try to find the bundle prompts #admin writes #ask me #I swear most of these are meant to be written in a bundle.#Bnha asks #Its hot and i'm bored.

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parchmentedpetrichor · 3 years

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➳who cursed the bludger? ♡

in which the reader's dominant hand is injured badly after a rogue bludger slams into it and none other than fred weasley is behind it. who cursed the bludger?

fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: ± 2k

tw: serious injury, a little bit of swearing

drop a follow if you wanna see more of this content!!

my masterlist:D

ft. penny clearwater

who cursed the bludger?

y/n was currently draped lazily over her broomstick, haven given up trying to teach penelope clearwater how to fly. said prefect was on the grass, smirking as y/n embarrassedly looked around.

"penny that's not ok to ask!"

"fine, fine," she pondered for a moment, "hey, what's up with you and fred weasley, huh?"

"nothing at all," y/n answered a little too quick for penny's liking.

"c'mon, y/n, you're younger than me, i should know all that happens. you two are very...flirty."

"yeah well, my dear pennysylvania, we have flirty personalities. duh."

"no, you don't."

"okay, i don't. he does."

"but he seems like he means it."

"of course he means it? he says it in a joking way? y'know, he means it as a joke."

"hmm, nope, i don't think so, y/n. he's looking your way right now."

"i'm probably blocking the space, let's move outta the way."

"you're not gonna play with them?"

"already play in matches, why now? let's chat."

fred was silently eavesdropping on their conversation as he heard his name.

"sooo you and perceeee??" y/n dragged out, grinning as she did loop-do-loops with her broomstick.

penny blushed, but looked disappointed, "he likes oliver."

"oh. well, f percy, what about marcus??"

"he's just marcus. we're best friends, y/n."

"my fav trope of romance is best friends to lovers," y/n wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and penny shook her head in amusement.

"my one is the opposites attract."

"hmm yeah, that's a good one too, it's really cute! say, aren't you and mar-"

"i was meaning you!"

"huh?"

"you and fred."

fred smirked as he listened, flicking back the bludger harshly at angelina.

"oh yes because we are totally meant for each other," y/n sarcastically replied.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"yes."

"you're doing this on purpose!"

"hmm? what?"

"oh my goodness, merlin you're stupid bro!" penny said exasperatedly.

"and you just realised. congrats, penny."

"anyway, what i'm saying is you and fred are rather like opposites. although he's extroverted and you're extroverted, you're a cute little nerd," y/n huffed at this 'i am n o t a nerd for the last time!' "and he's a class clown in the most charming way. you like reading and he likes pranking people and quidditch. you're a goody two shoes, an adorable one, but he's this foolish jock," penny looked proud with her argument so y/n laughed, "you're modest and he's very confident. and you're both hot."

y/n smiled, "i am not hot!" she giggled, "that's stupid."

"oi, ange!" penny called to angelina who looked over at her in amusement.

"yeah?"

"is y/n hot?"

"oh, totally!" angelina casually threw the quaffle into the hoop, "10/10."

"guyyys you flatTer me," y/n stretched out as the three of them laughed, "i'm bLushIng."

"you actually are," angie quipped.

"it's a command thing. if she wants to blush, she'll blush," replied penny.

they burst into giggles again.

fred watched y/n. a rosy pink, sure enough, had spread across her cheeks. that was enough to get her blushing?

"oi, l/n!"

y/n's head snapped his way, her eyes narrowed as if expecting an insult being thrown her way.

"your lips are pretty!"

her form relaxed, "thanks! yours are too!!"

penny giggled as angie rolled around laughing.

"what?" y/n looked around.

"the way you return flirting is hilarious."

"a compliment for a compliment, isn't that what they say?"

angelina snorted, "no one says that."

"oh well i say it, so deal with it."

"hey, i have an idea!" penny brightened up.

"let's hear it!"

"let's teach y/n pick up lines, ange!"

"oh you're a genius, penny!"

"okay, so-"

a bludger came whizzing at y/n as she screamed, trying frantically to dodge it. it hit her hand and a crack was heard.

luckily she immediately hopped off calmly, taking out her wand shakily and stunning the bludger, before penny and angie helped her over to the hospital ward, fred lagging guiltily behind.

she was ordered to stay in bed rest and with drowsy eyes she drifted off.

fred watched her feeling so terrible as he saw her heavily bandaged hand, imagining how he was going to tell her that he was in fact the one that had charmed it.

the next day, she was out and about, gently cradling her hand which was broken.

"um, hey, y/n," he nervously approached her.

"oh, hello!"

"i might have jinxed the bludger to go wild," he confessed abruptly, "i'm really sorry i didn't mean to-"

"no, it's fine, really." she gave him a reassuring smile and walked off.

he noticed that she couldn't write in class. usually she was scribbling away, but she just sat awkwardly at her desk, trying frantically to get anything legible down with her non-dominant hand. the fact she was so courteous and forgiving about everything just made it worse.

by now, y/n was dying inside. she couldn't write notes, and even though she wanted to ask any willing person for a duplicate of their notes, she'd have to explain the whole broken hand thing.

"ange?"

"yep?"

"do you have history of magic notes?" y/n did puppy eyes.

"nope, you forgot i dropped out."

"oh."

"do you want mine?" fred asked, smirking as he looked y/n up and down.

"you take notes?!!!" y/n was shook.

"only for you, 'cause i felt bad."

"you didn't need to!"

"i did. you want them?"

"yes please, thank you so much, you're a lifesaver!!"

"you're acting like you're not the one the bludger hit," angie quipped and y/n frowned, completely forgetting fred was still there, browsing the notes.

"c'mon, it was just an accident. and i've always wanted to be ambidextrous."

"lovely, you were struggling. i'll take all your notes. my handwriting isn't neat but i owe you."

y/n ducked to hide the light blush she could not control at all.

immediately she got a confused look from fred.

and instantly she thought of something that might make the blush go away. he didn't mean it, it slipped out, she thought and she felt her face cooling down, a slight frown appearing on her face.

"o-okay, thanks fred."

"no problems, darling," he flirted.

"that's good, darling," she flirted graciously back, bravely tilting her head up and looking him in the eye.

he took it well.

"where did you learn how to flirt so well, my little love??"

"why, freddie," she joked flirtatiously, "from you of course!"

he coughed and excused himself.

"he should really be careful with who he's flirting mindlessly with," y/n rolled her eyes.

angelina laughed, "flirting mindlessly? do you see the way he looks at you?"

"personality," y/n stated simply.

"or not."

true to his word, notes in fred's flurry of handwriting appeared neatly stacked every day. they were far too thorough and consisted of stupid flirty notes by the side. sometimes a little note, written in class, was jammed in there probably by accident:

hello freddie!

i have a crush on you 0-o, hogsmeade at 7pm on sunday?

-jamie <3, boy who sits in front of you in arithmancy

jamie,

i already have my eye on someone :) not you, sorry, y/n cringed at the bluntness of his words

you are very nice, perhaps try trera rivera if you swing that way? or illinois ann if you swing all ways?

oh i'm so sorry, i didn't know that! i'll talk to both. was the gracious answer

-jamie

and again! the lucky boy! this time from a girl.

weasley-

i know we hate each other but give me a chance to explain myself? broom closet at 9 tomorrow ? it trailed off to something that y/n didn't even want to think about.

k.o

fuck off. i don't fucking like you, i like someone else, ffs.

was the reply as y/n laughed and made sure to give the note back to fred.

it wasn't everyday someone confessed to you, right?

she underlined all the words that simply weren't legible to ask fred about.

and aNOTHER ONE?? how did this boy have so many admirers? y/n had received 0 love letters from any boy, let alone people of the same gender. you knew you were good with the ladies (and the gentlemen) when everyone sent you these letters.

dearest frederick-

it droned quite sweetly on about him and loving him and the writing was really magnificent.

margaret perrer

hi marg

i'm really really sorry. you seem like such a nice person, and it's not you, it's me. i, however, have a friend who really adores you: kenneth. he'll be an amazing friend and maybe more.

i also already am interested in another girl, so it really isn't you. thank you for your beautiful letter, hopefully we can be friends!

fred

oh he was very nice. feeling like she had overstepped the boundaries, she put them aside, discovering more and more but putting them all in a stack. she felt slightly insecure, especially when they all looked relatively neW?? the perfume on the flowers still smelled fresh?? who was this guy?

she sighed, finishing her read through and being thoroughly impressed with the sheer quality of the notes.

but there were around 100 words she had underlined. she skipped down into the great hall where she spotted two gingers. as soon as one (she couldn't see which one) saw her, he got up, whispered to the other something, and left.

when she approached the one that was left behind, she saw it was george.

"hi georgie!" she greeted him and thrust the papers into his hand, "where's fred?"

george shrugs, "left, for a date or something."

"oh, okay, could you translate these for me, the underlined words?" if y/n was disappointed, she didn't show it.

"oh yeah, sure, his handwriting's rubbish, isn't it."

"yes it is, i can barely read half of it."

george finished scribbling words next to the underlined ones.

"oh! and give these back to him? i'm pretty sure he dropped them in, probably got mixed up." she gave him the pile of letters, now neatly bundled in rope she had found.

"oh, yeah sure," george smirked, "of course."

"nice, well that's it, thanks for the help!"

"anything else?"

"tell fred good luck."

"right, right, mhm."

"yea."

once she'd left, george took out his walkie talkie.

"got that, freddie?"

"crystal clear."

"you're pining, pffft, hahahahah," george smirked as fred sighed.

"it didn't even work?"

"which plan?"

"the one to drop the letters in."

"i'm pretty sure she read like two, she didn't seem that disappointed?"

"exactly."

"you're an idiot. just tell her."

"but that's boringggg."

"well drop the hints then, merlin fred you're terrible at this."

"i haven't dated a billion girls like you!"

"then learn how to date my goodness."

"true."

"come fucking back."

"hickies or no?"

"eh go for it. i wanna see her reaction and then we can decide whether she likes you or not."

fred strided handsomely in, neck littered with little hickies and his top had two buttons open, freckles and pale broad shoulders showing.

george rolled his eyes, muttering, "drama queen," as he subtlely watched y/n. she managed not to look so surprised, her eyes widening then looking down quickly at her hands.

he would have thought she felt nothing for his twin if a light pink had not dusted over her face and if angie had not nudged her with a concerned look on her face.

y/n was wondering what the hell happened, disappointment rising slowly in her.

"okay, she's into you," george whispered as fred began removing the spell, leaving the unbuttoned shirt unbuttoned.

"cool beans."

"oh and she gives these back," george smirked.

"oh look at how she bundled it! so adorable georgie!"

"you're disgusting."

y/n hurried to the library at 6pm. she had heard the book she had waited for was finally available.

as she settled down with it, a paper aeroplane hit her.

"ahh!" she screamed as she caught it.

it read:

forbidden forest, 8pm.

huh? was this meant for her? it was in neat handwriting and on the smoothest parchment, with a single flower that smelt like fresh rain.

322 notes · View notes

golden-van-fleet · 2 years

Text

cabin fever

(I want Josh to take me to a cabin)

summary: It’s Josh being cute in a cabin. That’s it.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: a lot of fluff, swearing

please be aware this is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written, I'm not all that sorry about it

for my loves @stardustdanny @gustingirl love u both very much <3

____

“Josh, please, just get in the fucking car!”

You were 100 percent, thoroughly and completely over it. This was Josh’s idea, but you were designated the one in charge. The semester had completely kicked your ass, and as a congratulations-for-making-it-through-the-semester-alive surprise, Josh had planned a week long getaway to the mountains for the two of you. For the first time since you’d known him, you had Josh totally to yourself for longer than a night, no Jake, Sam, or Danny to share him with. You had been ecstatic, overwhelmed by the thought of Josh caring so much that he would be willing to secretly plan a trip just for the two of you.

That was, until you remembered Josh was a hurricane on legs. He loved passionately, with his entire being, and that reflected in everything he accomplished; through that, it meant he wasn’t the most organized man you’d ever met. You were by no means a control freak, but you had your system and you liked your system. His mind ran in circles and his body followed suit.

Packing with the man was a nightmare. He threw whatever he could into his suitcase, occasionally with a scream of “Kobe! Oh, shit, rest in peace.” It was funny the first time, endearing the second, but you’d be lying to yourself if by the sixth time you weren’t a little homicidal. Half of the time his clothes would land on the other side of the room. And the weather didn’t apply to him, apparently. Half of your suitcase had spare sweaters just for Josh, knowing he wouldn’t pack them himself. You had to double check everything before the two of you left, making sure you both had what you needed, all while Josh spoke every word he’d ever heard into your ear.

“Baby, I love you dearly, but if you don’t get your ass in the car I’m going to date your sister instead,” you threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare, I’m the pretty one, you know,” he quipped, shooting a wink in your direction. “I love you, I’m going, I promise!” With a quick peck to your cheek, he hopped in the driver’s seat. “Now who’s not in the car? C’mon Y/N, get with the program,” he teased.

He’d be lucky if he made it out of this week alive.

His teasing lasted through the entire three hour car ride, grating your nerves and stretching your patience so thin it threatened to snap. You’d taken over the aux and forced him to listen to bubblegum pop the entire ride, belting along to your favorite songs in an attempt to get back at him. He couldn’t care less, his attention instead honed in on how happy you were. Bundled up in his favorite sweater and shielded by your favorite sunglasses, you gestured wildly along with your over dramatic singing and occasional successes at harmonizing with the original artist.

The mood shifted when Taylor Swift’s invisible string floated from the speakers of Josh’s Jeep. His fingers drummed along the steering wheel to the beat, his right hand locking with your left.

“Every time I hear this song, I think of you,” Josh said, throwing a quick smile your way. His grin was so genuine, eyes twinkling with adoration.

“Since when do you listen to Taylor Swift?” You asked, choking back a laugh.

“Since I found out you liked her.”

Your heart could’ve burst from your chest and you had to physically fight the urge to throw your arms around his neck and pull him into the back seat. His grip tightened, his thumb dancing reassuringly across the back of your hand.

As much as Josh had the tendency to act like a child, he also had the capacity to be the most caring man you’d ever met.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” And it was. You’d had a handful of partners, but none of them had a love as selfless as Josh’s love. He did everything with his entire heart, and loving you was no exception. The smallest details that even you would have forgotten about yourself were permanently burned into his long-term memory. He knew your favorite flowers and would surprise you with them every chance he got. He’d never admit how many songs were written with images of you dancing in his mind. He loved how you’d cry at sappy movies, whereas other partners had rolled their eyes and scoffed in disbelief. Josh knew you better than you knew yourself, and you only hoped you were half as good to him as he was to you.

“You did the same for me, I don’t even think you knew who John Denver was before you met me.” He earned the light swat on his arm for that one.

“I absolutely did, you asshole, I just wasn’t obsessed with him like you are.”

____

Josh outdid himself picking out the cabin. It held an inviting glow, one that immediately wrapped itself around you in the warmest hug. From the second you walked in the door, you never wanted to leave.

Josh made quick work taking your suitcases to the bedroom while you perused the cabin. It was bigger and more modern on the inside than you’d expected. The living room boasted a grand fireplace and an even more grandiose couch in front of it. Well, as grandiose as a couch could be, but it looked like it would swallow you whole if you got too close. The greatest part, perhaps, was the entire wall of windows, a picturesque display of the mountains and the sunset beaming through the glass. Josh met you in front of said windows, his arm secured around your waist.

“This is incredible, Josh, honestly,” you breathed, your arms snaking around his neck.

“I’m glad you like it, mama,” he murmured, kissing you gently. “You deserve a break. You worked your ass off this semester, the least I can do is sneak you away from the rest of the world and keep you all to myself for a week.” He smirked before kissing you again, his hands trailing down your back to rest just above your ass. “Hey, your ass is still there!”

Josh’s head fell back as he laughed when you swatted him again.

“I love you, I can’t thank you enough for this.” The pressure on your lower back increased as Josh pulled you tighter to him. You rested your head on his shoulder, face pressed into his neck. While you had the chance, you pressed a soft kiss into the skin under his ear. He shivered slightly, a delicious shock racing down his spine.

“You don’t have to thank me at all, babe. I promise. I wanted to do this.” He pulled away first, taking your face in his hands. His eyes bore into yours, soul-to-soul. “You deserve this. I missed you while you were finishing your finals, and now I get to be selfish,” he grinned.

____

The dreamy glow of the sunrise dragged you from your slumber, a slight breeze floating through the bedroom. The air was still and far too quiet for your liking. It was then you noticed how cold the bed was without Josh’s heat radiating under the duvet. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you squinted in the sunlight, searching for Josh’s form. The balcony doors were open, alabaster drapes rustling in the wind. Throwing Josh’s discarded sweater over your torso, you slipped on a pair of sweatpants before attempting to find your lover.

Josh’s hair was illuminated beautifully by the sunlight, a cup of coffee nestled in his hands. The same hands that would seek out the small of your back, the same hands that tangled in your hair, the same hands that your own sought comfort in. His hands might have been your favorite part of his body if there wasn’t so much else of him to love. You leaned against the door frame, taking in his peace. Even with his shoulders hunched over the railing and his back turned to you, he could still exude the same confidence he had on stage every night. You could imagine his eyes scanning the mountains, the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and the gears turning in his brain. Silently, you crept up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Good morning, mama,” he mumbled, turning his head as best he could to see you.

“Good morning,” you responded, fighting a yawn. “Why are you up so early?”

“Couldn’t resist starting another day. I love it out here.”

You could only hum in response, instead choosing to nestle your head into his neck just a little more. You gave him one good squeeze before breaking away, his warmth instantly missed as the chill in the air hit you fully.

“I’m gonna get some coffee. It’s fucking freezing out here.” The wind seemed to pick up just to spite you.

“It’s good for the soul, you wimp,” he teased, shooting you a cheesy wink.

“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, kissing his cheek.

“Is that an offer?”

____

Josh made sure you didn’t lift a finger the entire trip.

Breakfast? Covered, coffee’s still on in the kitchen. Need to run to town? Josh’s keys were thrown into his hand while he stood by the front door like the sweetest Golden Retriever. As someone used to doing everything your way and without the help of others, the extra mile (that he insisted was the bare minimum) meant the world and then some.

“I know you’re used to your independence, and I adore your independence, but you’re allowed to sit back and let someone pamper you every once in a while.” He was right. He knew it as well as you did, but you hated telling him he was right. As sweet as Josh was, it was your job to keep his ego in check, after all. He placed a mug of his “special” hot chocolate in your hands before tugging your blanket tighter around you. He’d insisted on making good use of the fire pit behind the cabin on what was probably the coldest night in the last five years.

One sip of the hot chocolate told you it was about 90% Kahlua, exactly as you’d anticipated. Its warmth flooded your body, a true sense of tranquility washing over you for the first time in a very long time. The past semester hadn’t crossed your mind once in the four, no five? days you’d been in the mountains. Josh had insisted upon a strict rule only checking any of your devices once a day, long enough to check in with family and make sure the outside world wasn’t burning down around you. The rest of the time was spent with you glued to each other’s hips, perhaps in the hopes that you could absorb the other person.

“I like being pampered by you, I just feel like I can never repay you for it,” you responded. “You treat me like I’m the only person ever worthy of your time, and I love it, I just worry I’m not doing enough to make you feel the same way.” Your gaze bore down into the steaming mug in your hands, too bashful to meet Josh’s eyes.

Josh took your face in his hands before responding. “You accept me for who I am, the good, the bad, and especially the ugly. I know I’m not the easiest person to have a relationship with, but you’re so patient and kind to me and everyone in your life, for that matter. You give so much of yourself to me, whether you realize it or not. You deserve to be loved as much as you love others.”

____

The rest of the week flew by before you could realize it had fully begun.

On the very last night, you’d begged Josh to let you check your phone one more time to see if your final grades had been submitted. He’d played it cool, knowing that if you’d asked him to rearrange the stars just for you, he’d comply in a heartbeat. You’d only been met with a slight teasing of “Oh, is my company not enough?”. He gave you space while you looked, just in case. Josh could feel your heart rate increase as he stood in the kitchen; your pacing through the living room echoing through the cabin and drowning out the record playing softly in the background. With how nervous he was, an outsider would have thought Josh was the one who had just completed finals and was a semester away from graduation.

“I did it!” You cried, your phone falling out of your grip in shock.

“Did what?” Josh called back, racing out of the kitchen and stopping just short enough to not launch himself over the back of the couch.

“I passed microbiology!” The class that had tested your resilience and made you question your major on more than one occasion was now finally over. Josh picked your phone up, a bright B+ staring back at him from the small screen. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, sweetheart,” he beamed as you threw your arms around his neck. He cradled the back of your head, his other hand gently stroking your back. Happy tears streamed from your eyes and soaked the shoulder of Josh’s shirt.

“You picked up every phone call while I was screaming over this class. You told me you knew I could do it, and I did it. Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s the least I could do from the other side of the world. You’re fucking incredible. My little scientist,” he mused.

“I felt so bad every time I called, like I was constantly bothering you and getting in the way of you living your dream.”

“If you want to get nitpicky, it’s Jake’s dream,” he interrupted.

“Oh my fucking god, let me talk,” you laughed, pulling back to cup his face in your hands. He did it every time he wanted your undivided attention, now it was your turn. “But you picked up every call, regardless of what time zone you were in. You listened to me bawl my eyes out over this stupid class and my shitty professor and not once did you ever complain or tell me I was being ridiculous or overdramatic. I can’t thank you enough. I mean it, I wouldn’t have survived without your support. You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. And for the record, I’d still say this even if I’d failed the class. This really has been the greatest week of my life and I don’t want to leave.”

You watched as Josh’s smile grew impossibly wider. You weren’t great with words, and you were even less likely to verbalize exactly how you felt. In your opinion, it often left you too vulnerable for your liking. With Josh, you’d been (willingly) forced to break out of that mindset and over time grew more comfortable with expressing yourself to him. In all honesty, someone had to talk as much as he did, otherwise he’d be talking to himself every day.

“We’ll just move out here and I’ll keep you all to myself and we’ll never have to see another soul ever again,” he said, his arms taking their place across your hips and pressing a soft kiss against your lips as you fought back a laugh.

“I’d never say no to you, but I’d also like to put my degree to use.”

“You can study the flora and fauna and all that shit out here. Give me scientific names, tell me which plants will kill me, which animals I can hug, all that good stuff,” he sighed. You laughed out loud this time, your head falling back ever so slightly. It wasn’t the first time you’d laughed that hard at something he’d said, but it felt good to genuinely laugh again. “I’m not kidding, if you told me to, I’d move out here in a heartbeat. Just say the word.”

____

“I meant it, if you wanted to move out there I’d do it.” Josh’s hand was in yours as he drove the two of you back home.

“I know, but you also like to host parties. Would be kind of hard to do that if we lived three hours away from everyone else. Maybe we’ll just vacation there,” you dreamt aloud. “We don’t even actually live together now, Josh. It was nice to pretend though.”

“So move in with me.” He shrugged, eyes fixated on the road in front of him. Your saving grace was the seatbelt, otherwise you probably would’ve fallen to the floorboard in shock. Josh continued driving along, humming to a song on his playlist you barely recognized.

“What?”

“You can absolutely say no, but your lease ends in July, you could move in with me then, or before then, if you wanted to. I would love to live with you. You might as well already live at my house, anyway. You stay there while I’m on tour, this wouldn’t be too different.”

The very man who’d sworn off domesticity was asking you to live with him? You pinched your thigh. It hurt, so you were very much, and now painfully, awake.

You’d never lived with a partner before, and you knew that if your relationship wasn’t strong enough, it’d never survive. Small disagreements could turn into harbored resentment. It wouldn’t be like the week in the cabin the entire time. Josh was terrible about leaving socks all over the floor and you were, admittedly, horrible about leaving dishes in the sink to “soak” for too long. Normal, little things that you were used to could make or break a relationship.

You sat silently for a few minutes to contemplate your next step. You loved Josh for everything that he was, and you knew how disorganized he could be in the same way you knew how he was raised; he respected everyone and everything. You’d had no problem communicating other boundaries throughout the duration of your relationship, and had no problem when Josh communicated his. You loved every part of him, and waking up to him for a week straight had been an indescribable feeling. Even still, this was a huge step.

“You can tell me if you’re not ready for it, my love. It won’t hurt my feelings, I promise.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“No, I want to. I think it’s a great idea,” you grinned, squeezing his hand back.

____

The same feeling you had the first time you walked into the cabin never went away as you visited it in the following years. Josh hadn’t told you for a year, but he’d bought the cabin after your first visit. On your third anniversary, he’d presented you with the key.

“It’s ours.”

#josh kiszka #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fanfic #gvf imagine #josh kiszka fluff

163 notes · View notes

nahoyagf · 3 years

Note

Heyy bestiee it's me again your boiiii. Can I request for jealous sex with mitsuya 🥺😳

I've been thinking about thus since yesterday babe pls, i just want to have a boyfie like MITSUYAAAA.

When mitsuya is jealous i see him as the kinda of person who'll do everything silently and sexily y'know what i mean boo. Like his eyes will never leave yours while doing you. Tease you so you'll think of him. Give you bites and marks so you'll know who you belongs to.

Okay thats it from my dirty dirty little mind about mitsuya. I swear I'm simp to much over him. No regrets tho 😳

Of course you can ignore this if its not your cup of tea. Thank youuu so much for letting me request again, hope you're not bored anymore 😌 stay healthy my boo

a/n: first of all, i love ur energy bestie<3 second of all, ofc! ngl this is the first smut i’ve written so i hope it’s not trash lol tysm for requesting bae

drunk { mitsuya x reader }

warnings: nsfw, creampie, roughness (ish), fem! reader

it was never supposed to end up this way.

your face squished up against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. two large hands grabbing at the underneath of your thigh as well as the softness of your chest. the sound of skin slapping filled the room but the outside noise of music and talking overweighted it.

this was just meant to be a fun houseparty. hakkai had invited you guys and of course, you accepted. it was pretty unneventful for the first few hours. just dancing and laughter and drinks.

but the mood changed when hakkai had one too many drinks.

“i think i... i think i need to go- outside” he said through hiccups and slurs. you looked at him with concern painted over your features. if you were being honest, he was quite the lightweight and the bet between him and mitsuya to see who could handle the most shots certainly wasn’t helping him.

mitsuya reached for him but you were quicker to your feet.

“i’ll help you, c’mon” you said, your voice soft and sweet. mitsuya, who wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or not, raised an eyebrow at the tone. noticing how your hands petted hakkai’s hair and back. and in his drunken stupor, reached out blindly. hands grabbing at your thighs or face or chest. he was touching you all over, yet you were too worried about him to really make a fuss over it.

“t-thank you.... you’re so nice. too nice for mitsuya.” hakkai giggled, obviously just being a drunken idiot. but the mitsuya the words lit a fire in his belly.

you got hakkai outside, sitting him on the front porch and going back inside to find mitsuya.

“can we take-“

“come with me. i need your help.”

mitsuya grabbed your wrist with a newly found strength and started pulling your through the crowds of people. not bothering to apologize for ramming right through them. you were confused what was so urgent, maybe he spilt something on his shirt and wanted help cleaning it?

he pulled you into the small bathroom, shutting the door but not bothering to lock it.

“what are you-“

you didn’t get a response other than an icy glare that cut you off. the clink of his belt caught your ears. you were about to tell him that you needed to get hakkai home, when he gripped your face. his lips meeting yours with such urgency and desire that is overwhelmed you. mitsuya was normally so delicate with you, like you were fine china.

he lifted you onto the counter, pulling off your panties from under your skirt. he ran his finger along your slit, feeling how wet it was. this only caused him to face you with a glare.

“his little grope sesh made you like this, huh? you like being touched like that? you want that?”

you couldn’t respond from his grip on your face, but you tried to shake your head no. honestly, the alchohol had gotten to you. while it’s a pain in the ass, anytime you get a drink in your system it seems to mess with your horomones the most.

he pulled down his boxers about halfway down his thighs. revealing his thick cock. to be honest, you and mitsuya had only done the deed about twice. if you exclude the few sloppy make outs you’ve had. the girth of it and the slight curve always scared you, plus he never made it really obvious when he wanted to take it farther. a complete contrast from his actions tonight.

he rubbed it up and down your slit, lips moving toward your neck. his breath was hot and smelled like the blue raspberry vodka that he had been drinking earlier. the kisses were soft as first, gentle and graceful just like they normally were. but eventually they began to grow into bites and nibbles, his teeth grazing along your jaw line.

you let out a low whimper. his hand reaching down to your clit. the movements where slow but well thought out and effective, his fingers working wonders on you. he tilted his face up to yours, eyes peering at your expressions as you came apart.

perhaps it was the alchohol or maybe it was his sudden mood, but something made you extra sensitive. every touch had you moaning or letting out little gasps. he smirked at this, smirked at how good he was making you feel.

“please. please...p-put it in.” you whimpered out, his eyes dancing up to yours.

there was no answer, except for the hot press of his lips against yours and then finally, finally he pushed through the rim of your walls. bottoming out in one go. the stretch burned, but in the best way. tears rimmed near your waterline, your hands gripping his shoulders as he brought himself up to full height.

“fuck.” he groaned out, it was quiet but throaty. the slight raspyness in his voice from having to yell over the music. he rested his head between the juncture of your neck and your shoulder. his eyes looked up, being met with his own reflection in the mirror. it was then that he got the reminder of what had set him off earlier, brows furrowing. he remembered your giggles and your caring eyes. the way you touched him and the way you let him touch you.

he snapped his hips back only to pound back into you. each thrust increasing in vigor and power. you slipped your hands from his shoulder to his back. crying out little “slow down” and “stop” here and there but all went unheard by your boyfriend.

he lifted you from the counter, flipping you over and pinning you against the wall. your face pressed so hard into the tile that it hurt, but his mouth began pressing kisses to your neck again that it distracted from the pain. he lifted your thigh and began hitting you at the perfect spot. the spongy bundle of nerves let out burts of white hot pleasure everytime he kissed it with his tip.

“mitsu! i’m gonna- i’m gonna, fuck, cum” you could hardly form a sentence with his pace. the man only groaned out, nearing his end as well.

you felt the coil finally snap, walls clenching and hands scratching into the wall. you let out a cry and felt the pace only pick up as he gave you no time to break.

his breathing was heavier and his mouth kept biting at your soft flesh. the smalls nips of pain keeping you awake. finally, the man behind you let out a low groan that got more high pitched and breathy as his thrusts slowed. finally he stilled, still groaning, and spilt hot ropes of seed into you. giving shallow thrusts every now and then. he breathed out and then pulled himself from inside of you. catching your body as you slumpt to the floor.

he helped you lay down, propping up against the wall. his hands massaged your body slightly, lips letting out small words of praise and affection. his fingers found their way back to your sore hole and pushed the stick cum back inside. he leaned over you, lips meeting your forehead.

“you okay, baby?” his voice was so much softer. caring and full of love.

you could only nod and allow him to help you stand. he wrapped an arm around your waist and you slid your head onto his shoulder.

“let’s take that idiot home.”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya x reader #hakkai x reader #📁:general

443 notes · View notes

sunsents · 3 years

Text

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

#angst #hp angst #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley series #reader insert #harry potter fluff #harry potter fic #fred weasley imagine

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bokettochild · 3 years

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The Scarf Fic!!!

Inspired by This post by @sekiumiarashi and written as a gift for @into-the-linkverse

I wanted to write Ravio sharing scarves, but I accidentally found that I like writing Ravio, and more importantly, writing him and Legend like they’re a pair of elderly people, because... just because.

Giving Legend glasses was a choice that I didn’t see coming, but do not regret. I do regret Ravio’s naming scheme, but it was too funny to back out so I kept pushing. I’m not sorry that you all must suffer.

Feel free to read this as being part of my main fic The Ties That Bind, but it can also be separate, just consider the uncle bit as being related to predecessors and stuff.

Enjoy! :)

Mr. Captain Hero Sir wasn’t wearing his scarf.

The one constant Ravio knew he could always count on during the war, was that the captain would be wearing that bright blue scrap of cloth with all the pride in the world, no matter what the circumstances (good grief, one time he’d stumbled upon the man bathing and the scarf had been the only thing that saved them both from embarrassment). But today, he wasn’t.

The heroes had come to stay at Mr. Hero’s house again after a long battle, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, one arm resting across it’s back and his feet propped up on the table. A scowl marred his fine features and his neck was horrifyingly naked.

“Mr. Captain Hero Sir! Where is your scarf?” The words were out of his mouth in a moment as he looked around the captain to make sure it simply hadn’t fallen off or been laid aside (things the captain would never let happen, ever. He’d once been bleeding out and still managed to keep the trailing blue fabric out of the mud.)

“It’s shredded.” The captain sighed, a bitter look in his eyes as he motioned down to the arm hanging from a sling around his neck. “And I’m currently unable to mend it.”

The thought of the captain not having a scarf was so utterly horrible, simply unthinkable, that Ravio didn’t even think about what he was doing, instead bounding over to plonk himself onto the couch and quickly unwind his scarf before rewinding it around the captain’s neck (he had a dozen of these things anyway).

“There! You can’t be without a scarf.”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir smiled fondly, fingers reaching up to gently stroke the fabric. “And you can?”

Ravio shrugged. “I have a dozen of those, keep it, it looks fabulous on you!”

The captain’s eyes sparkled brightly, a familiar cockiness erupting within. “Are you kidding? I make everything look good! Even the Vet’s fashion choices would look fabulous on me!”

Ravio sniggered. He’d heard and seen plenty of the goods from Hytopia, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Mr. Hero even knew what fashion was. But then again, he was just a simple Lolian; for all he knew, things like bomb outfits and heart shaped collars were absolutely acceptable and normal in this world.

“But where is your scarf, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?” He asked after a moment, cocking his head on one side as the man looked at him oddly.

“Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? You can call me Warriors like everyone else you know.”

“I know, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, I don’t mind.”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir blinked. “O-kay.” Shaking his head, he answered. “Legend has it. Since I can’t use my dominant hand, he said he’d stitch it up for me.” The captain hero nodded towards the corner of the room, and Ravio followed his line of sight.

Mr. Hero was perched in that Lolia-awful rocking chair that had been in the house since Nayru knows when. It was a horrid thing in his opinion, old, out of style and absolutely stiff and uncomfortable, and he’d shoved it into the furthest corner of the room ages ago. Mr. Hero loved it though, although he never said why, and he didn’t seem to mind that it was now nearly next to the fireplace all the time, even if he did have to pull it out of the corner to properly rock in it.

Mr. Hero sat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other one hanging down to gently push at the floor, making the big chair rock steadily. Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s scarf lay in his lap and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a needle in his hand as he dutifully labored over the brilliant blue fabric of the famed scarf.

“His eyesight is terrible.” Ravio snickered to the Captain.

“But his hearing is perfect.” Mr. Hero’s voice rang clearly across the room, violet gaze darting up to look at them disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles.

The minute he looked away, merchant and captain shared a grin, only to burst into muffled laughter.

...

Mr. Smithy and Tune are cold.

It’s obvious from the way the two huddle in place at the kitchen table as everyone enjoys the meal that Ravio and Mr. Hero have pulled together (Mr. Hero is hesitant to let even the finest of chefs in his kitchen for some reason, despite having stated that Mr. Champion Hero is a very good cook and better than him (at cooking, life, or heroing, he does not specify)). Tune- Wind has all but attached himself to Sky’s side, using the bigger hero as a heat source as he slurps down his warm stew, and Mr. Smithy has bundled himself against the Mr. Rancher.

It’s only autumn, but both of the smaller heroes act like it’s the start of winter with the way they shiver and rub at their arms.

Mr. Hero’s only response when he asks is to sigh, but when he presses, his pink haired doppelganger eventually explains. “Their Hyrules were never corrupted, so they’re used to warmer weather most of the time, if not always. The mist from the ocean is the worst Wind knows, and heaven only knows if Four could survive a proper freeze.” Mr. Hero shakes his head, wiping the last of the broth from their meal off a plate with his dish-rag. “If they need something, they know to ask.”

But Mr. Hero isn’t really that cold hearted, he’s worrying too if the way his brows furrow and the lines around his mouth deepen is any indication. “I offered blankets, but they don’t want them.”

“Does this happen often?” He muses as he takes the plates from Mr. Hero to dry and put away, and to his displeasure, his housemate nods.

“When we come here or to Sky’s Hyrule, yeah. Usually, Wars will bundle them up in his scarf, or Sky with his sailcloth, even Twilight shares his fur, but...” Mr. Hero’s ears twitch irritably (truly adorable how they do that, although he’ll never say as much). “Sky’s asleep with his cape, the wolf pelt is a bloody mess after that battle, and I haven’t finished mending Wars’ scarf.” The ears flap again. “That thing is so dang complex and Warriors apparently hasn’t the faintest about the proper cloth to use to mend it. He used new material to mend a hole! Brand new material, Ravio! It’s an awful state and I swear if Styla could see it she’d faint dead away!” The vet huffed as he plunged another dish under the sudsy water of the wash tub. “Using new cloth on a worn scarf, it’s like he wants the thing to be ruined...”

Ah yes, Mr. Hero’s rants. There’d be no righting this one until he’d fixed the problem, and considering he’d only been torn away from the scarf that lay peacefully sitting on his rocker in order to make food, it was quite likely that once his kitchen was clean again, he’d be right back to working on it.

Ravio smiled, Mr. Captain Hero Sir would be quite pleased.

His gaze traveled over to where the hero in question was sitting. The captain and Tu- Wind, were talking on the couch, the younger staring nearly longingly at the rocker and the scarf on top of it.

Kid really liked that scarf, huh? If Ravio remembered right, half the time during his adventure with Mr. Captain Hero Sir, he’d constantly seen either Mask or Tune hanging onto it.

Somewhere inside of a bunny head, an idea sparked and green eyes brightened excitedly.

He’d donned a new scarf just before dinner, but it wouldn’t do quite right, so instead, he darted off to his room, much to the displeasure of his dish partner as his rag flew into Mr. Hero’s face and left his housemate spluttering indignantly.

“Ravio! You didn’t finish-”

“One sec!”

Mr. Hero’s grumbles followed him out of the kitchen, but faded as he darted into his room and towards his wardrobe. It was the work of moments to select two of his largest scarfs, and less time than that to dart back out to the living room and wrap one around each of the smaller heroes.

“There! Snug as a kit in a quilt!”

Two small heroes stared down at the black and purple fabric that now draped around their shoulders, smiles brightening their flushed faces as Tune buried his face happily in the fabric with a bright hum.

“Thanks, Ravio!”

“Thank you.” Four’s eyes glimmered warm brown as he sunk into his seat, only the top of his face and his hands visible beneath the striped fabric.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s eyes sparkled as the man looked up at him, and Ravio fought the blush that rose in his cheeks as he fiddled with his own scarf (he’d mess with his sleeves, but he’d shed his robe to help do the dishes, and his undershirt wasn’t nearly long enough to fiddle with). “Don’t mention it, it’s-” He chewed his lip for a moment before a smile broke loose, the one Mr. Hero said was cheesy and fake, the one for when he was trying to sell things. “It’s a complimentary gift for exceptional customers and/or guests!”

“We’ve never bought anything from you.” Four deadpanned, eyes glinting with a smile Ravio couldn’t see past all the scarf in the way.

“Yet!” Ravio chirped back, and darted back into the kitchen to help Mr. Hero finish doing the dishes.

...

Mr. Champion keeps rubbing his scars.

The heroes had left for a short spell, traveling off to fight more monsters only to be dumped in the orchard a week or so later (Mr. Hero said it’d been a month and a half for them, but by his time it was a week). And when Ravio said they’d been dumped in the orchard, he meant in the orchard. He’d been busy picking some of the ripened apples before the birds took them all (most of the wild birds knew better, but still, it was the principle of the thing, fresh fruit was rare in Lorule) when a shout and the snapping of branches had sounded all about him.

Ravio had shrieked in surprise, thinking that he was alone only to find (once he’d removed his hood again) that there were nine heroes hanging from various tree branches around him, and Mr. Hero himself was hanging upside down, one foot caught in the branches, as his face dangled inches from Ravio’s own, a scowl darkening it as a string of mumbles escaped his room-mate.

He couldn’t stop himself, he kissed Mr. Hero’s twitching nose.

Mr. Hero shrieked in surprise, jerking in place and effectively loosening himself from the tree, falling all over Ravio in the process. It was worth it, Ravio giggled as he lay on the ground. Mr. Hero was so like the bunnies in Lorule and their noses simply demanded to be kissed.

Laughter and grumbles sounded around them, the heroes pulling themselves down from the trees around them.

Captain Hero Sir Jr. moved with surprising ease, despite his heavy armor, clambering down the tree with the same grace that Mr. Champion did most of the time. Some things never change, he could still see him climbing up onto Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s shoulders in the same manner (only now he rather doubted either of them would attempt to do that anymore, Captain Hero Sir Jr. was much bigger now).

It felt entirely too natural to lead them all up to the house, Mr. Hero trailing at the back with a bushel of apples in his arms. Settling them all down in the kitchen was easy as could be, and he and Mr. Hero worked quickly to set some fresh apple cider to boil before starting on a meal for everyone.

He missed not having them all around, it was going to be awful dull when they all had to go back to their worlds when this adventure was over again.

He was determined to enjoy the moment for that very reason while they all sat about in the living room, sipping apple cider as Mr. Hero had settled down in his blasted rocker, spectacles on his nose and more mending in hand. He never would rest until the light was faded, and Ravio had half a mind to take out his knitting (he was still currently short three scarves) before he decided to simply flop down on the nearest open spot on the couch and just enjoy his cider.

Except, Mr. Champion was sitting in the seat beside him.

The young hero kept rubbing at his scars, eyes distant, and despite the numerous amounts of times that either Mr. Captain Hero Sir or Mr. Rancher tried to move his hands back down to the still full mug he was cradling in his other hand, Mr. Champion (he was younger than Ravio though...would Mr. Be an appropriate title for him?) kept reaching right back up to rub his neck and face.

The scars were enflamed, harsh red and puffy where they peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and it made Ravio wince to even think of how he’d acquired such injuries that would scar so.

He only winced more with every drag of broken nails and rough finger pads over the skin, but Mr. Champion- Wild? He could think of him as Wild right? He was kind of the kid’s uncle in a weird way- didn't seem to even notice that he was doing it. Cornflower blue eyes stared unseeing into the fire, face still and only his hands moving.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, worry pulling his lovely face into shadows as he grasped Wild’s hands again. “Wild, hey, no more of that, okay? You’re hurting yourself.”

Fingers twitched, but no other movement came from the young Champion until Mr. Captain Hero Sir (wait, was Wild also Captain Hero Sir Jr.? Or was he Champion Hero? Oh fiddlesticks, he wasn’t sure anymore) let go, and then broken nails moved right back up towards swollen flesh.

Ravio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Mr. Hero had spaced out before, did it a lot when the sun set or when he was outside, but he never scratched like that. He sang and fiddled with his rings. If Wild Champion Jr. Sir (oh heavens) did something like that, it would be fine, but this was... this was rather unsettling.

Ravio shifted in his seat, curling around his mug as Mr. Captain Hero Sir had to reach out to stop the wild-child's hands from reaching the inflamed wounds (the last scratch had broken skin, and a thin trail of red has appeared).

It was without a thought that he acted, pushing his mug into the captain’s hands and promptly looping his scarf around Wild Champion Hero Captain Jr.’s (oh Lolia help) neck.

Thoughtless fingers nose just as before, but this time, they brushed against soft fabric. Ravio tensed, dearly hoping that his scarf would not be ripped off or simply pushed aside.

To the surprise of all of them, rough fingers brushed over the fabric, paused, and gently stroked its material. The Champion’s face did not move, but slowly, long fingers ran down the fabric, rubbing it between their tips as cornflower blue eyes blinked slowly. In an instant, the young hero’s gaze was lost to sight as the fabric was nuzzled with all the fondness of a cub nuzzling their parent.

“He likes scarves, of course he does.” Mr. Rancher chuckled wearily, a tired smile playing over his features as both he and Mr. Captain Hero Sir sat back (but not before Ravio took his mug back).

“So he does.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, eyes fond as he watched the hero in question curl up on the couch, face lost in purple fabric and bare toes the only moving part of the kid. The wiggling toes were almost like a dog wagging its tail, but weirder, still, he wasn’t one to judge.

Mr. Captain hero Sir caught his eye. “Thank you, Ravio.”

“Customer loyalty.” He murmured softly into his mug.

He caught the way Mr. Hero and the others stared at him though, and he could only be thankful his hood shaded his face enough to hide his pleased blush.

...

Mr. Rancher needs to wear more color.

It’s like looking at the photos of Mr. Hero from just before he’d come around. Mr. Hero always fussed at him for going through things, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how odd his room-mate looked with black hair and dark clothes. “You dyed it?”

“For safety reasons. How many people have you see in Hyrule with pink hair of all things? It was a dead giveaway!”

“But you’re the hero?”

“A hero whose face was plastered on every wanted poster in Hyrule. Still is in some cases.” Mr. Hero had grumbled, folding the last piece of newly clean washing and throwing a pointed glare in his direction. “Life on the run sucks. I was thirteen and just wanted to be ignored.”

A glance at the dark haired but smiling youngster in the photo and back up to the bitter pink haired hero he knew told him (even if Mr. Hero hadn’t already) how well that wish had been fulfilled.

But seriously, those photos at least showed Mr. Hero with some color. The most Mr. Rancher wore was that horrid sash and obi, and the orange and blue looked simply terrible with his color scheme, something that, when brought up to Mr. Hero, his friend seemed to agree with, stating that ‘he’d never get into Hytopia’s capitol looking like that’.

Ravio had never been to Hytopia, but based on the stories and mannerisms Mr. Hero took on after that adventure, he can only agree.

Originally, he’d hoped he could simply find something among his wares that he could sell to Mr. Rancher, but that proved to only be so effective, after all, when one sells weapons and items, it’s hard finding a normal piece of clothing amidst all the blessed or charmed pieces.

Oh well, he was counting on ending up sharing the rest of his scarves with them all anyway.

It wasn’t any dramatic or particularly touching moment when he walked up and slung a clean scarf around the rancher’s shoulders, but Mr. Rancher, after initially starting, smiled as he touched the sun-warmed material. Of course, that expression quickly faded into one of awe as the hero squeezed the fabric lightly.

Mr. Rancher’s eyes lit up like a dog being given a new toy (Ravio wasn’t stupid, he knew a dog when he saw one) and the man proceeded to continue squeezing and petting the springy fabric with eyes sparkling as if Ravio had just handed him the stars themselves.

He was down to two scarves now, but it was worth it.

...

Mr. Traveler Hero is small.

He is small, and wild, and the clothes he’s wearing are nearly too small. The traveler is a growing child (never mind that he’s still a teenager himself) and he’s out and about in nearly threadbare garments that leave Ravio shivering at the mere thought of wearing.

And this is the other hero who grew up in a corrupted world where the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it should and the winters are always too long.

Ravio doesn’t think twice when he sees the first signs of cold in the young hero. He’s got two scarfs recently made, and he’s only too happy to share.

Purple and black stripes nearly drown the young hero when he walks over and wraps not one, but two of the comfiest scarves he’s ever made around the youngster's neck.

Like Mr. Rancher, nothing is said or done immediately, but Mr. Traveler Hero smile at him shyly, holding up a hand and scampering over to his bag.

The pair of polished stones he’s given don’t make much sense, but he catches sight of Mr. Hero and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Both smiling over at the two through the doorways.

“Thank you.” He murmurs warmly, tucking the rocks in his pocket.

“Thank you.!” Mr. Traveler smiles in return, eyes twinkling in the shade of the room and scarf tails flapping like the four wings of a fairy as he spins around to show them to Mr. Hero.

...

Captain Hero Sir Jr. has nothing comfy to wear.

Once more, the heroes had been whisked away, and once more they’d appeared at the house weeks later, looking exhausted and utterly soaked.

The chill autumn rain might be to blame for that.

Mr. Hero hadn’t even protested that... Wild (he’d just call him Wild, he couldn’t do this title thing this time) had bustled off into the kitchen to warm some tea, and instead promptly collapsing in all his soaked glory onto the couch.

The other heroes followed suit, and Ravio (like a good host) immediately hopped up and fetched some blankets. Mr. Rancher was already stoking the fire, and with a bit of work, Ravio was able to help Mr. Her grasp what was left of his own steaming mug of cider (his hands were quite the state in this bitter weather) before popping off to the kitchen to brew more of the sweet apply goodness to share with the heroes.

Armor and over-clothes had been stripped off, sitting wet and dripping in one corner (Mr. Hero eyes it with distaste, knowing just as Ravio did just what that would be doing to the floor) but neither housekeeper said anything, Mr. Hero nursing his cider and letting its warmth sooth his gnarled fingers, and Ravio puttering about with a kettle and mugs to share with everyone else.

Blankets had been pulled from the shelves and were cast around quaking shoulders as chattering teeth uttered breathy thanks to the purple-robed merchant.

There was nothing like being thanked for good service, and Ravio beamed as he passed between them.

That smile faded however when he noticed Captain Hero Sir Jr.

The man sat in a thin linen shirt and under-armor, looking far from being near the level of comfort that the rest did in their undershirts and pants (or a dress in Mr. Hero’s case).

Come to think of it he’d never seen Captain Hero Sir Jr. dress in any comfortable manner since he’d come along behind Mr. Hero that first time since they’d started this adventure. Did the poor kid- er... Man, not have anything comfortable to wear?

While the heroes slept that night, in the two bedrooms and sprawled across the couch, Ravio kept Mr. Hero comfortable, sitting before the fire with his knitting needles while Mr. Hero repaired yet more damaged clothing (poor mister Chosen Hero’s sailcloth had been damaged somehow).

Usually, one or the other of them would eventually remind the other to go to bed, but both were so wrapped up in their work (Mr. Hero started singing even, that goddess ballad Miss. Princess told hm about) that neither seemed to remember to check the clock, or even to go to bed.

Come morning, Ravio finds that he has fallen asleep wrapped in the tails of the scarf he’d been making, and Mr. Hero has become entangled in his mending, a peaceful smile on his face, worn fabric brushing his cheeks and spectacles teetering precariously on the tip of his nose.

Mr. Chosen Hero is the one who wakes them up, stirring awake with a violent sneeze, but he smiles fondly when he lays eyes on them, opening his arms in an offer of a cuddle if either feels inclined to return to sleep. Neither does, but Ravio appreciates it, and even if Mr. Hero doesn’t say as much (quite the opposite really) he knows his friend does too.

The day is normal, as far as a day with nine heroes in the house can be, and with the rain still pouring, they spend their time cleaning, although Mr. Hero shoos them all away after a time because they’re not doing it the right way (AKA Mr. Hero's very practiced manner of cleaning and organizing). It’s after Mr. Hero had shooed them all into the main room while he organizes the basement (thank goodness, it's an awful mess down there) that the talk starts.

It’s cold out, and most of the heroes have donned the scarves they’ve been gifted over time (Ravio isn’t blushing, he’s not). Smiles shine and laughter rings as they explain to their brothers how they’d some to have them.

“And he just... threw t at me! Not a word, not an explanation, just came up and tossed it over my shoulders.” Mr. Rancher chuckles. “Kinda like how my ma would do when I was a tot, jist wrap it up and ‘round soon as the cold weather came a’creepin’ up.”

The others nod, smiles fond. Ravio beams as he lights the candle set near the masks on the wall.

“I had one too once,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Muses aloud. “Back in the war, you remember, Wars?”

“Do I ever.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir smirks. “I used to tie you up with that thing when you got too rowdy.”

“You and the general both.” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Chuckles, soft and deep and so different from his nearly witch level cackle that Ravio remembers.

“What ever happened to it?” He asks curiously, blowing out his match and turning to move towards the rest of the group.

Captain Hero Sir Jr. Smiles at him, eyes far older but far more at peace than they used to be. “I outgrew it. It was a child’s scarf, even if it was a bit big at the time. I considered bringing it, but it just doesn’t do much anymore.” A thin smile pulls at his features, almost guilty as he admits “I didn’t take the best care of my clothes as a kid.”

Well, that doesn’t matter over much. Ravio smiles at his young (old) friend, and around him he can hear the others whisper and laugh. They know what’s happening, and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Does too if the twinkle in his eyes is to be believed, so Ravio makes a point of flourishing his gift with all the fuss he can before reverently draping the garment around the tall man’s neck. The eldest hero has to stoop, even from where he’s sitting on the couch, so that Ravio can reach, but it only adds to the mock reverence as Ravio adorns another bare neck with one of his toasty scarves.

“Mind you take care of that one,” He scolds lightly. “I was up all night making it.”

“Yes sir.” Captain hero Sir Jr. responds with a playful smile in his eyes, even if his face is the picture of obedience.

Giggles sound around them, and despite hating it, Ravio takes the only seat left available (he really hates that rocker) and curls up. “You all be quiet now, I’m tired and need a nap.”

“Okay, gramps.” The sailor whispers faintly, a giggle in his tone as titters and chuckles erupt.

Strangely, it doesn't take too long for Ravio to doze off, especially when Mr. Hero settles in beside him and starts to rock the stupid chair, humming lightly as fingers work over another project, the light buzz of activity all around them as Ravio allows himself to be carried into dreamland.

...

Mr. Chosen Hero has caught cold.

He’s not surprised, not with how drenched the others all were day before last, but the Skyloftian is shivering madly, miserably sniffing into handkerchiefs and trying his best to avoid drinking the nasty herbal teas that Mr. Hero claims are good for people. Ravio doesn’t care if Mr. Hero drinks them, but for pities sake, drink black tea if you’re going to drink tea! What sort of decent being are you if you’re just drinking plant water?

“Legend, I’m serious, I don’t-” Mr. Chosen Hero breaks off coughing. “I don’t think tea will-” Another cough, nastier than the last. “I don’t think it will help.”

“Trust me.” Mr. Hero already has a small table pulled up to Mr. Chosen Hero’s side, tea and handkerchiefs both set carefully on top. “Tea’s just what you need. Eucalyptus does wonders for a cold.”

“He’s right.” Mr. Traveler Hero chimes in, gaze warm and sleepy as he sips some of the tea himself. “And it’s got a calming effect.”

Mr. Hero cocks a brow. “What are you, ‘Rule, a koala?”

No one knows what that is, except Mr. Traveler Hero, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, as Mr. Chosen Hero breaks into another coughing fit and bundles a blanket closer around his shoulders, voice hoarse when he speaks. “I wish it’d stop raining. I didn’t even realize-” A cough sounds and is followed by a sniffle. “I didn’t realize the surface got so wet.”

And Ravio sees where this is going, the shivering hero, the gentle atmosphere. He doesn’t bother waiting for Mr. Chosen Hero to sniffle again, he just wraps a scarf around the man’s neck, tucking it in close enough to keep the heat in.

The smile exchanged is silent, and Ravio is thankful that the others aren’t about at present to tease, only Mr. Hero and Mr. Traveler Hero are here with them, and neither says a word as they sip their leaf water.

“I’ll make you some real tea.” He murmurs softly, offering a wink and a gentle pat to the knee before he’s off towards the kitchen.

...

Mr. Hero doesn’t have a scarf.

It was glaringly obvious, as whenever the rest of them appeared at the house, they'd all be wearing their Ravio gifted scarfs proudly, smiles on their faces as the ends trailed or dragged after them (despite that, they were all in perfect condition).

But Mr. Hero didn’t have a scarf.

He was never going to get one either.

They’ve all just returned to the house (it’s been two months since the last visit) and the snow outside it up to Ravio’s waist in places. It took him ages to shovel himself out of the house, but the harvest of apples is in and the bees are well prepared for the winter, and Mr. Hero finally tidied the cellar enough that they have room for food storage aplenty.

Cider and tea are brewed as the heroes gather, fluffy socks and scarves on full display as they sit around the fire.

Mr. Hero is shivering.

Curious glances are thrown at both himself and Mr. Hero as the heroes drink their beverage of choice, concern in their gazes as Legend eventually gets up to pull the most ridiculously bulky quilt in the entire house over his shoulders. He’s all pink in the face and he’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s only because he won’t hold still that Ravio hasn’t attempted to try and help him hold a warm mug enough for his fingers to relax.

Mr. Hero moves like a man thrice his age, if not more, and he creaks worse than the roof does in the wind outside.

“Where’s your scarf, vet?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs softly, one brow raised as he watches Mr. Hero fumble with the quilts edge.

“My what?”

Glances are exchanged among the others. “Your scarf? The one Ravio gave you?”

“I don’t have a scarf.” Mr. Hero answers, dropping the quilt again with a scowl that makes his nose wiggle.

“But” Cornflower blue dart between himself and his housemate. “Aren’t you two friends? How do you not already have a scarf? Even Time did!”

“It’s a customer service thing.” Mr. Hero murmurs. “I’m already a loyal customer, so he doesn’t waste resources on trying to earn my loyalty. That, and I don’t wear purple.”

He shakes his head, loosening his scarf as the eyes of the others twinkle, but rather than taking it off, he only loosens one end, before wrapping it tightly around his friend’s neck, fluffing up the quilt in both of their laps, and settling a warm mug of cider in Mr. Hero’s hands.

“Nonsense!” he chirps, trying not to be hurt at the obvious surprise on his friend's face, so he muses Mr. Hero’s hair instead. “You have every item I offer except this scarf. Why would you keep buying from me if you get it? I have to keep you from having one until I get something better in, otherwise business will plummet!”

Knowing smiles are exchanged amidst the others, but Mr. Hero just sighs and shakes his head, leaning slightly into Ravio’s side as he sips his cider.

A bitter expression overtakes Mr. Hero’s face. “You forgot the cloves.”

“Oh shoot!”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #scarf fic #scarf man #ravio #lu warriors #lu wind #lu four #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu legend #scarf #fluffics #I almost forgot Hyrule!#I'm so sorry baby!

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys. You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own.

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way.

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked.

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.”

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.”

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?”

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.”

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

#Richard Alonso Muñoz #richard alonso munoz x reader #the letter room #oscar isaac #richard alonso muñoz x reader

357 notes · View notes

watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Septic

This was written as a request for anon, who asked:

I was wondering if I could request one with Dean. The reader's injury gets badly infected and she gets a high fever and they are stuck somewhere and can't go to the hospital (maybe a cabin during a snow storm or something else if you want?). Anyway her condition keeps getting worse and dean is doing everything he can to keep her alive? As for their relationship it's up to you, whether they're dating or hiding their feelings...?

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking. I decided to go with a ‘hiding from Leviathans’ angle because that seemed the closest to canon compliant to me. Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Septic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2124

Summary: Unable to go to a hospital for fear of getting trapped by Leviathans, Dean tries his best to manage the reader’s worsening infection and fever.

Warnings: fever, illness, swearing, implied threat of death, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (maybe? if you squint)

“Dude, I have a fever, I haven’t been decapitated. Can you stop pacing? Sam’ll be back in a couple days, I’ll take some Tylenol and sleep it off, we’ll be good as new in no time.”

He glared down at you where you laid on Rufus’s couch with flared nostrils. “You’re shivering under every goddamn blanket in this place and it’s been 3 days already. We’re going to a hospital.”

You rolled your eyes at him and tried to hide the way you snuggled deeper into the woolen bundle. “So dramatic. As if we wouldn’t get made walking in the door. And if you’re so worried about me, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a hot water bottle and some tea?” You tried to give him your most casual smile in reassurance.

Dean appraised you with a hard set to his jaw and a twinge of concern at his eyebrows for a moment before relenting. “Fuck, fine. One more day and if the fever hasn’t broken, then we’re going.” It was only a few steps to the kitchen, and you heard him putting a pot of water on to boil. “You sure I can’t just do coffee? I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

Like it always did, Dean’s aversion to tea made you laugh. “It’s literally just mint flavored water—you act like you haven’t drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures.”

“The fact that I have drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures should show you how gross it is.” He tossed a hot water bottle covered in worn waxed canvas on top of your blankets and you shimmied it under your feet while he got the tea together. After a moment, he set the tea (and a plastic bear full of honey, which made you smile to yourself) on the coffee table next to you. “Can we at least watch something else? These chicks are driving me fucking nuts.”

That made you laugh hard enough to shake loose the blanket corners tucked in under your chin. “You might be able to trick Bobby into thinking you don’t like the Real Housewives, but I’m not buying it for one second.”

He shot you some side eye but didn’t protest, patting your feet in a signal to raise them so he could sit with your legs in his lap. You didn’t remember past the first few minutes of the next episode.

“Hey, come on, you gotta drink something.”

You squinted up at Dean, feeling the sickly stickiness of dried and re-soaked sweat in Dean’s stolen sweatshirt where it bunched around your neck. “You want me to sleep, you want me to wake up, pick a lane, asshole,” you tried to joke, feeling each word like a stab in your, well, stab wound. It took more focus than it should’ve too hold onto Dean’s face where he perched on the coffee table right in front of you.

“You’ve been asleep for 16 hours, Rip Van Winkle. And you’re sweating like a whore in church, gotta rehydrate.”

“Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” you croaked, carefully keeping your face neutral around the throbbing ache in your side as you sat up and accepted the bowl of broth from Dean. When his hands were free, he put the back of his hand to your forehead in a very maternal way that might’ve made you giggle if you weren’t in so much pain.

Dean’s lips pressed into a tight line and he breathed a hard “fuck,” as he sat back. “Lemme see it.”

“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” you tried to joke.

“No slick shit, I’m serious. The fever’s getting worse.” There wasn’t even a touch of playfulness in his tone, tight chord of anxiety clipping his words.

“It’s going to be pink and raw like every other set of infected stit—”

“Cooperate or don’t, but my bet is there’s no way you can slip out of getting pinned right now.”

“Who knew you were so kinky, Dean?”

He didn’t rise to the teasing at all, the just-this-side-of-friendly banter you normally had, and it made the nervous bile rise a few degrees in your throat. You eased back and slowly flipped down the blankets, immediately started shivering as you pulled up your damp layers to show him your stomach.

It was worse than you’d thought it would be even before he tenderly pulled back the tape to see the injury itself, the gauze a mottled tie-dye of blood and greenish pus. The stitches strained against swollen, angry tissue oozing at the corners, and you looked away to hold onto a little denial that you weren’t completely fucked. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean murmured. He reached behind him for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and you didn’t even try to argue, hissing and grabbing his wrist when he poured it over the wound. Dabbing off the worst of the external mess with the moisture, you watched as his mind raced.

You decided to try to grab the reins of the situation before he locked you both into a crazy plan. “Help me up, I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.”

“Can you even stand?”

You rolled your eyes at him exasperatedly.

“Roll your fucking eyes at me all you want, you look like Marvin the Martian. Can’t believe I let your dumb ass talk me out of taking you to a hospital.”

“I’ve got a much better chance of beating a little infection than I do the combined force of however many Leviathans are looking for us and the full force of the federal government. Now get out of my way if you’re not going to help me up, I need a shower.”

He pushed back the coffee table and watched you stand up, grabbing your arm and waist when you immediately swayed. “Goddamn it, sit back down, I’m getting your shoes.”

“Dean. I am not going to a hospital. Especially not before Sam gets back. Not a negotiation. I just—you’re freaked out, I get it. I just need you to please let me call the play for once.”

His jaw muscles tightened into firm balls and you could see the flare of panic behind his gaze as he flicked between your eyes. Ultimately he didn’t say anything, just giving you a tight nod and offering a hand to guide you up and to the bathroom. When you’d gotten there, he hovered in the doorway as you started to peel off layers, hoping that your leaning on the sink didn’t look as obvious as it felt. “Think I can take it from here, chief,” you offered, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Not adding a head injury to this bullshit stew, sorry.”

“No way, psycho. You’re not watching me shower.”

His face screwed up in a scowl. “I’m not going to watch you shower, I’m just staying in here while you do in case you get dizzy again.”

“Dude—”

“Not a negotiation,” he growled, spinning your words back on you. You held each other’s stubborn gazes for a long beat before you gave in, getting in the tub and yanking the curtain closed with the rest of your clothes on, shucking the rest of them off and dropping them outside the tub behind the plasticized shield and curtain. You turned the water on and held onto the dial for support, hearing Dean’s movement in the bathroom as he sat down on the lidded toilet next to the shower. Laborious as it was, it felt a lot better getting clean. You’d started washing your hair when he started to talk.

“You know what you’re asking me to do, right?”

“Let me take a shower in peace?” You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room—what was the point?

“If you’re not septic yet you will be in a day or two.”

“By which time Sam will be back and you guys can strong arm some vet into giving me antibiotics like the mafiosos you fancy yourselves to be.”

“Don’t deflect.” It was quiet but firm, and you blinked away the way your vision was starting to fuzz out at the edges. Something about it finally got you to drop the joking, if only for a second.

“I know what I’m asking you to do.” You hoped he could hear the resolution in your voice.

Dean was silent for a long enough beat that you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but you heard the roughness in his voice when he finally replied. “Please don’t make me?”

The shower washed away a hot, stupid tear when it shot out of your eye like a kamikaze at his vulnerability. “I can’t be the reason you guys get caught.” You were clean now, but something about the confession-style quality of the shower curtain and the way it was letting both of you say what you really meant held you in the stream of water anyway.

“I’m not—it’s going to fuck me up forever, you know that, right?” It was almost a grunt, the way Dean’s voice strained as he pleaded with you.

“Long as you guys are alive.”

He didn’t respond.

After a long minute you felt your legs start to turn to jello. “You have something out there I can put on?”

You heard him clear his voice, sticky and coarse. “Gimme a second.”

A callused hand shot behind the shower curtain with a towel before Dean’s footsteps got quieter, and you tried your best to dry yourself off without stumbling. Not 15 seconds later, a bundle of clothes came in the same way. You smiled to yourself at your underwear and yoga pants with Dean’s t-shirt; he would’ve had to deliberately go into 2 different bags to get the clothes, no way it was an accidental grab. When you were dressed, you tugged the shower curtain back and didn’t argue when Dean wrapped his arm around your waist to ease you out of the tub, let him guide you back to the couch and fussily rearrange your blankets and pillows before he got out his first aid supplies.

You watched his face as he worked on cleaning the wound again, knowing he just needed to be doing something, that he couldn’t just sit still and hope it got better. You could give him that, sat stock still even when it stung like a bitch and didn’t even tease him when he made you swallow a handful of vitamins as though that would help. Another cup of soup eaten silently and two mugs of tea later, your eyelids were beginning to droop again.

“Tired?” he murmured, messing with the cover of the hot water bottle before ultimately getting up to refill it.

“A little, yeah. Will you, um, will you sit with me?”

Dean mercifully didn’t acknowledge the shake in your voice, nodding gently and sliding himself beneath you on the couch, tucking you under his arm and onto his chest, burrowing you both into the cushions. You reached your hand out of the blankets to place your palm over his heart, feeling the vibrating thrum of his pulse under your fingertips and cheek. His hand shifted so that he was smoothing the drying hair back from your temple, and after a few beats he bent his neck to kiss the crown of your head. The tenderness of it, the giving in to your request, pulled another tear out of your eye that fell straight into the cotton of Dean’ t-shirt underneath you.

He sounded like he’d just woken up, that sleepy-syrupy sandpaper of a long night on his vocal cords. “You know, right? If it was going to be anyone for me, it would’ve been you?”

The weight of it turned the blankets on top of you into a hug. You were nodding into him before you could speak, the tears turning your voice creaky-soft. “Same to you, dummy.” He chuckled once nostalgically at the ribbing, and you felt the rumble of it under you. “Thank you, Dean.”

You felt the tension of the hiccupped breath before Dean got it under control to answer. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too.” It was the only thing to say, and neither of you had to answer or explain this undercurrent that had never been acknowledged so plainly before, no matter how rock solid it might’ve been for years. You laid there together for a long time, beating of Dean’s heart underneath you something constant to hold onto, warmth off his body better than any hot water bottle. The last thing you remembered before passing out was hearing Sam walk through the front door.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchest09 @winchestergirl2 @samwisethegr8 @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @fairlyspnfanfic @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @mimaria420 @jensengirl83 @zooaliaa @superfanficnatural @deangirl93

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

#dean #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester angst #dean hurt/comfort #dean winchester hurt/comfort #dean angst #spn angst #spn hurt/comfort #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural #spn #supernatural angst #supernatural hurt/comfort #dean mutual pining #spn mutual pining

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

Note

Hello!! Could you please write an scenario where Levi got hurt (not badly) during an expedition but he refuses to go to the nursery when they got back, making the reader worried for him so she asks if she can tend to his injuries and he lets them? (Maybe while she's at it they kiss if u want) Just some care for our Levi:)) Sorry if my English isn't good, it's not my main language

Yoooo that was a rather hot thing to write 👀👀👀👀 I hope you enjoy, also, don't worry about your English. In fact English isn't my first language either❤️

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: fluffity fluff, smooches, slurpy hot smooches, yes I'm doing God's work, awkward Levi brrr

The Moon Is Full, I Guess

It was outdated at this point. Your hand clenched in a fist probing onto the dark mahogany door, the beating of your heart that throbbed inside your chest as the though of the person on the other side of the wall swirled through your mind, your ratched breaths, gulped by the lump in your throat, everything was tiring, dull.

The feeling was embarrassing and overwhelming. They way it overtook you, they way it threw you off tracks at his mere presence was causing anger to dwell in the pits of your stomach. But even if you had to look past that, you couldn't get over yourself for wanting to be of help.

It was an egoistical act before it was a selfless one. You wanted to be the first to reach out to him, you wished to be the only one to help him and you felt disgusted with yourself that your twisted brain created scenarios in which Levi felt enamored by your generosity. But love did that to you. And even if you despairately wanted to fight it, you couldn't realistically pick a fight a feeling.

Because if you could, love would have gotten your fists.

"State your name business."

"It's (y/n)." You puckered your lips as your name sourly slipped out of your mouth.

There wasn't anything that didn't plainly scream mechanical and awkward as Levi's grumpy voice ordered you to state your name and business and you anathematized it, cursing softly under your breath as your shagged, hardened palm reached for the door handle upon hearing the familiar grunt of approval to your request. That was it. The small victory of your ego dwelled inside you, poisoning the spit under your tongue.

You panicked, only momentarily, and only at the thought of a sour breath that tingled on the top of your tongue. Your eyes widened below puckered eyebrows as your mind repeatedly alarmed you of the bitter taste inside your mouth canal. Your cool though wasn't bugged further, with a stern inhale you composed your weaker side in the binds of your fond chest.

"Levi."

You stuck your palms to the door, bum extended on them as you leaned with your back on the wood, your goal to simply shut the door tenderly achieved as you heard the tiny click of the handle. It was your footstep that was heard next, the heel of your boot that clashed with the mahogany tile overpowered Levi's hiss of your name. You simply let your footing roll naturally in trying to approach him, although your lungs, agreeing with the part of your brain that accused you of being a rotting egoist, protested.

"Sit." He hissed and your breath hiccuped.

"No, Levi, I won't." Refusing to sit on the loveseat by his desk you set your fiery gaze onto him. "In fact, I'm not here for any reason you'd like to hear."

The movement of Levi's orbs was adorned with a short blink of his eyelids. It caused you to bite the side of your top lip harshly but your heart was already heaping at the sight by the time you felt your canines dig into the soft piece of flesh. You figured Levi didn't notice, whereas it was usual for him to pick up on any reluctancy in your antics, it seemed as if the pain of his injury overpowered his mind. And somehow, in some twisted way, you were thankful for that.

It meant you couldn't really degrade yourself more to him.

"Why didn't you line up for the infirmary when we arrived? You got injured!" You pouted, (e/c) eyes burning brightly into his.

"There were too many who were heavily injured and needed immediate help. My minor injury is not something anyone should be bothered by, probably a shitty broken rib, I'll be fine if I lay on the low for a while." Levi sighed and kept his voice low as he spoke to you calmly.

He averted his gaze off of you for a moment, his own foot started tapping obnoxiously without any certain rhythm on the floor beneath him. In a nervous movement he run his hand through his hair. There was sulk written on his face after he licked his lips. In an attempt to mask his pain, he even bit his own lip, mimicking your previous actions. Whether you considered this a symbolism or not, was completely up to you.

"You're not serious."

"I'm shit serious."

"I figured you'd deny anything actually, but," you sighed "can you at least let me tend to you?"

You were hesitant as you extended your arm to him, (e/c) eyes meeting his for the upteenth time in such a short period of time. There was no denying; the confidence it took for anyone to handle Levi like was something you didn't lack of, you could blame that for having spent half of your life with him in the underground but your stubbornness made up for that abomination of self respect you had. Thus yet, when you were definitely sure you'd have to pull your empty hand back to your embrassed self his palm confidently clasped over yours and your stubborn stomach immediately started churning in a mixture of emotions.

In only a matter of seconds you felt your head drifting and Levi's gaze somewhat softened as it landed on your linked palms, the man finally deciding to balance his weight between his foot and your grip. You forced your strength to gather on your hand to support him as he slowly got up, never letting his hand go off his side.

Levi's boot missed numerous steps as you took the task of carrying him onto yourself and grunts of pain filled the air with every marching you made towards his private quarter. The small chamber smelled incredibly strong of lemon and vinegar, but you chose to ignore it with a scrunch of your nose. You knew what it meant; Levi had pushed himself to meticulously clean the room in the early morning before the expedition began, probably due to his immense amount of stress and you were in no place to bring it to his attention right now. You shouldn't even try to interfere with anything else other than tending to his injury.

But that tiny little day dreamer in your head refused to let you get through with what you had in mind.

Setting him onto the edge of his bed, you clapped your hands on his thighs in a silent instruction for him to stay put. Levi simply bored his eyes into yours, watching as you bucked on your knees in order to straighten your posture and then marching straight to his dresser. You stopped absurdly, seemingly puzzled as you balanced your weight on your right leg, popping on your hip at the process.

His gunmetal gaze was nervously averted at the sight and his cheeks stung as if a thousand needles were punched through his skin; he felt noticably guilty and vague when he caught himself looking at you in such way. It was definitely something he could manage to hide well, he had figured that much at least, because he didn't want to cause anything awkward to inflict between the two of you.

"Where do you usually keep gauze and bandages?" You inquired, throwing your head over your shoulder to look over to his direction.

"In my underwear drawer, top right corner." As Levi spoke, you puckered your lips, despairate to turn your hot head away from him, setting your goal to find the medical supplies you needed to tend to him.

Turning around in triumph, you suppressed a smug smile from spreading on your face as you held the bundle of bandage tightly in your hand. Levi shot you another bored look followed by a sigh as he pushed his lips in a thin line. You couldn't figure if he seemed disappointed in your actions or he was just as bugged as he'd be most of the time, and your stomach punched the insides of your torso in quick anxiety.

Sitting next to Levi on the bed did nothing to stop your coiling stomach, if anything, it sent your whole body in churning fury. You felt miserable and vague, bringing yourself in this very position, but you couldn't simply resent it in the last moment, it probably would make things look worse for you.

Nevertheless, you let out a sigh and avoided his look as you brought your hands on top of his shoulders, quickly slipping them on the inside of his camel leather jacket and sliding them down his shoulders in order to push the piece of clothing away from him to save him from excessive movements. Levi darted his chin away from your direction as not to have his head collide with yours and you almost let out a hitched breath at that.

"Wait," Levi said as you tagged on the collar of his button down shirt. "I have broken rib, bandaging me up won't do any good."

Your head dropped when he finished speaking, your gut burning in the somehow gory defeat of your ego. You sweared under your breath and onto his clothed collarbone, cussing your silly clouded brain for not even considering his actual injury. Your lungs demanded to punish you by refusing to be satisfied with any oxygen you would try to fill them with and you knew you deserved it for being so engrossed with the thought of taking care of him instead of actually doing so.

"You good, brat?"

"Yeah, I- I'm just stupid aren't I?" You spoke, lifting your chin up to meet with his gaze.

"Once a moron, always a moron." He confirmed, almost playfully.

You fondly inspected the skin on his face and neck, trying to worry your guilty eyes away from his; you felt as if he was reading you like an open book, which he could easily do, yet your chest was dwelled with too much pride to allow him to speak any other word of concern.

Pushing any poisonous thought to the back of your brain you demandingly bit on your lip and pulled a few inches away, just enough so you could directly look into him. With another look at his gunmetal eyes you stopped your next breath from exiting your body, feeling your heart throb inside your whole body. With trembling hands you searched for his, engulfing his short calloused fingers into your palms almost immediately upon your blind discovery.

It was now or never.

Yet, you barely spoke. The inability to utter even the most incoherent sounds was conquering your body, probing you to duel with it in any case you wanted to expose the nature of your feelings. Nevertheless, you stomped your foot on the mahogany floor and furrowed your brows dangerously before you parted your lips. Though the line you chose to utter was supposed to be nothing more than an internal thought.

"Thinking of you is a poison I drink often."

"You into poetry yet or what (y/n)?" Levi blinked his eyes boringly into yours as he spoke, never flinching for even a mere second.

You knew, under any other circumstance you would have burst laughing in his casual sarcasm, but as all air exited the room, you weren't sure you could bring yourself to make another sound.

"The moon is full, I guess," Levi sighed, pulling his hands to his face, causing yours -thst never loosened their grip on him- to tag along. Your pointed and middle fingers delicately hung from the space between his thumb and his face, lingering just enough to make your presence still know to him. "I'm a lost cause. If you're looking for romance that is. That's as much as I can do."

Nervously looking back and forth you contemplated on the meaning of his words for a couple of moments, your heart churning as your mind hazed over every single syllabus he had just spoken.

Reluctantly, and only when you made up your mind, your hands came to loosely cup the sides of his sharp face while the gaze you were set to spared on his lips was hesitant and lingering. Your thumb idled with his cheek in soothingly soft circles as your breaths paced back and forth, forming uneven masses of fog inside the frozen room. Yet despite the jawbreaking cold that smothered the two of you in the well known piercing manner, in this very moment everything around you seemed to have gone extinct. Time was slowing down, just for the two of you.

You didn't know what pushed you to act upon that little flicker in your heart, but your head was immediately sent in vertigo as you felt his pointed button nose bump into yours. Nothing could break that moment, nothing could rip you off him now that your lips were hovering dangerously over his. With your trembling hands you pulled him closer, hoping on closing the gab between the two of you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you steadily engulfed his bottom lip with your own mouth; you moved mellowy, painfully slow as you tried to warm him up, eliciting occasional whines to come out of your own self. It was painful and overally miserable to think about how you managed to drag the actions of your lips against his but your knees were weak with every passing second as you savored his taste.

There wasn't another way to make Levi understand how this over the border peck ignited every flame you had inside of you, but you wished the looked you spared him as you parted could do the job. His gaze was furiously set on you, eyes blinking hard into yours as if trying to predict your very next move. You couldn't simply leave him hanging; there was hunger in his eyes, you recognised as much because you knew him so damn well, thus as if on cue you pressed your lips to his, briefly.

And then you did it again.

And again.

And once more.

And then, before you could repeat the -now familiar- peck you felt his own hands cup the back of your head and in furious movements you were pulled into him, lips colliding and teeth clashing against eachother. It wasn't a serene kiss just like the ones you shared before, this one was sloppy and raw, it took all the air out of your chest and it made you unable to try and seek for oxygen.

Your head was prohibited from moving freely, yet you were mostly dominating over the kiss. With a speactacularly quick wit you sucked on his lips roughly, passionately enough to make him gasp more than a few times. Pulling away from each other wasn't an option -no- you weren't going to take such dispicable chance, you simply tagged on his shagged raven locks before daring to dart the tip of your tongue out of the crevice of your own mouth.

Levi accepted it eagerly, sending his own tongue to welcome yours inside his mouth, occasionally pressing it into his pallette before guiding it on the underside of your tongue. You couldn't know, but he wished your tongue was longer, long enough to reach deeper, simply because he needed it to. There was no explainatiom as to why he enjoyed such sloppy, saliva dripping kiss, but the way you scouted every single inch of his mouth was exciting to a point of no return.

It was only after letting you win over his mouth completely that he pulled back, his hands finally letting go of their grip on the back of head. You stayed in your position, however unable to move, unable to speak, unable to find enough oxygen to fill your lungs with.

"That much.. Sure I can do." Levi coughed.

You simply moved your orbs towards him, wide in despair and surprised by his unmatched sarcasm. Out of breath and flustered enough to ignore the fact that your brain had completely shut off, you hung your head lower before muttering something about having to bring him a cool pad for his injury. Now, you really needed to tend to him in order to repeat that again.

You couldn't help the enchanted smile that masked your face as your finger grazed over your lip, making sure to mesmerize the tingling sensation that boiled inside your swollen pieces of flesh.

Taglist go off 👉🏻👈🏻: @sasageyowrites (love you thanks for reading half of this hshshshhs and telling me it's good) @nobody-knows-anymore (full credit for the line you sent me to include my dear) @ladyofpandemonium @ackermans-freedom-inc @hawkssnugget @berrijam @callmepromise @alrightberries still am I forgetting anyone :( pls tell me if I forgot you, I only have one brain

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman #levi #levi attack on titan #captain levi #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk imagines #aot imagine #aot season 4 #snk season 4

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autumnsart22 · 3 years

Text

Drunk: Eren x reader ☁️

This definitely didn’t go in the direction I expected, but I’m not mad about it LMAO. Just a little Eren fluff for ya’ll. Lmk if you want a part 2 (which may or may not have smut hehehehe)

AGDASA this makes me drool

Art creds go to @suechimu on Twitter!

Your head was already pounding, and you had only been drunk for a few hours. Not a good omen for the morning; you were dreading the hangover that was soon to come.

The faint light of the camp by the sea swayed slightly as you stumbled down the path, heading for your own tent where you could finally pass out. You had been with Connie and Sasha for way longer than you intended, drinking far more than you probably should have after weeks of hard travel and planning. Connie had passed out on his bedroll after only three drinks, and Sasha had finally succumbed to the bread she had been storing, which left you alone on your walk.

The fresh ocean air felt nice on your face, and you breathed deeply as you stumbled along. The darkness made it difficult to tell where you were going, but most people had gone to sleep a while ago, which hopefully meant that you wouldn’t get caught this drunk wandering around.

Unfortunately, you spoke too soon.

“Y/n?” A low, familiar voice said from behind you, and you jolted, turning.

Eren stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets and his hair pulled out of his face. His eyebrows were raised slightly as he took in your glazed eyes and unbalanced posture, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Eren,” you muttered, cursing soundly in your head. Of all the people you wanted to run into, Eren was probably at the bottom of the list. Eren, who you had been in love with since the day you met him when you were fifteen, who had broken your heart over and over without even knowing. Eren, who would never, ever know your true feelings.

“What are you doing out this late?” He took a step towards you, and it took every last sober thought to not sprint away from him at top speed. Or kiss him.

“Lost track of time,” you said, your words slurring slightly, and his green eyes flashed.

“Have you been drinking?”

Obviously. “What do you care?”

“I don’t.”

No, no he didn’t. Which was why you would never tell him of the painful, unconditional feelings you had for him. That, and there was also the issue of Mikasa. Your friend who had loved Eren since they were children and had protected him for years… you couldn’t just insert yourself between them like that. The only person you had ever told was Armin, and you made him swear to never tell a soul.

“I gotta go,” you said, swaying, and you didn’t look at Eren as you turned away. Unfortunately, you had less balance than you expected, and you began to tilt as your body rejected walking normally.

You didn’t even notice Eren lunging for you until he had you wrapped in his arms, holding you upright.

“You really shouldn’t be out like this,” he murmured in your ear, and you felt your whole body flush.

“I-I-” Your words were cut off as he lifted you into his arms, hugging you tightly to his chest as he began to stride through the camp.

“Hey wait!” You gasped. “Put me down!”

“You can’t even walk straight. I think it’s better if I carry you.”

You gritted your teeth, but he was right. You were barely sober enough to walk anymore, let alone make it across camp to your own tent.

But being this close to Eren…you knew you’d be up all night, playing his words over and over, picturing his face in the dim light, imagining his arms around you all the time—

No. No. You wouldn’t go down this road yet again. “Will you take me to Jean?”

Eren stiffened slightly, even as his face remained blank. “What?”

“Will you take me to—“

“I heard you the first time. Why?”

You and Jean had a…fine relationship. You loved one another as friends, but neither of you were IN love. You could distract each other, working off your physical needs every once and a while by spending a night in each other's tent. It wasn’t permanent, and it didn’t mean anything, but you were happy he was around. Especially at times like this, when you needed to pull your thoughts as far from Eren as possible.

“I want to…see him.”

Eren didn’t even look at you. “You’re too drunk to continue any… nightly activities.”

“What?” You gaped. He didn’t answer, and you wriggled in his arms. “Eren, what the hell!”

“You’re clearly exhausted. You seeing Jean won’t help you in the morning when we have to start training again.”

You glared at him, but your drunken mind was foggy. “Fuck you,” you muttered, but...you relaxed against his chest again.

Until you realized you weren’t going in the direction of your tent. “Where are you taking me?”

“My tent.”

You could have sworn something in your brain exploded. “Uh...what?”

Eren gave you an annoyed look. “I don’t trust that you won’t go wandering out again. You can just sleep on my mat for the night.”

You swallowed. Twice. “I-I mean--”

Eren stopped in the middle of the path, his face shadowed. “I won’t take you against your will, but I would like to make sure you’re ok.”

“Ok, fine,” you muttered, leaning your exhausted head back on his shoulder.

You closed your eyes for only a second, but when you opened them, you were curled inside a small, warm tent, a bundle of blankets over you and a bucket to the right.

A few feet away sat Eren, who shuffled through a stack of papers on a low table in front of him. You blinked blearily, rubbing your eyes, and Eren immediately snapped his attention to you.

“You’re awake?”

You groaned instead of answering, rubbing your temples. “What time is it?”

“It’s still the middle of the night. Go back to sleep.”

“But...what about you?” You had taken his bedroll.

“I’m fine.”

His eyes were intent on your face, but you avoided his gaze like your life depended on it. Those eyes… so pretty. They were why your favorite color was green.

You heard him shift, sliding towards you across the floor, and you almost jumped out of your skin as he gently grabbed your face.

“Why do you never look at me?” His voice was low and annoyed.

Your eyes immediately snapped to his, your breath coming out in a whoosh. “I do.”

He shook his head, leaning closer until his minty breath washed across your cheeks. “Don’t lie.”

A small sound came out of your mouth, and you were sure your feelings were written all over your face. Eren studied you carefully, his eyes sweeping up your reddening cheeks and down to your lips.

You weren’t sure you were breathing as he leaned forward, barely an inch away, and your eyes fluttered closed. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears, and you just wanted to close the rest of the distance and kiss him…

But then the heat of his body was receding as he sat back, and you could only blink up at him in bleary, hurt confusion. “What was that?” You stuttered, your voice a little high pitched.

“I’m not going to do this when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t…” Did he mean he would kiss you when you were sober? You suddenly regretted ever even glancing in the direction of alcohol.

Eren could apparently see your confusion, because he looked smug. “When you’re mine, you’re going to be perfectly sober and coherent when I make you moan so the whole camp can hear.”

Your mouth fell open. Eren only grinned in a self satisfied way as he turned back to his papers. “Go back to sleep.”

Your still drunk mind swirled, and you couldn't be sure this wasn’t just a lucid dream.

Part 2 here!!

#eren #eren x reader #eren jeager #AoT #eren aot #attack on titan #anime #fanfiction #fandom #fluff

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

stray kids’ reactions to you taking medication for depression & anxiety ↠ all members

genre: reaction word count: 2.4k warnings: discussion of depression and anxiety, description of panic/anxiety attack, swearing request: yes

a/n: hi anon! wow, this one turned highly personal really fast. so, this turned into a combination of your original request and how stray kids would react just knowing that you have depression/anxiety. i think how they’d care for and support you is a large part of their reactions to finding out, if that makes sense. i hope this brings you comfort~

✧ masterlist in bio ✧

bang chan

as with most things, chan would be very understanding

he’d just want you to feel and function the best you could

and not have to worry about whether you’re going to be able to make it through a day

he’d noticed when you first started dating that you occasionally withdrew into yourself

and needed time alone

chan didn’t really think anything of it

bc he also kinda just turns into a hermit and hides to reset and recuperate

but when you’d told him that you take meds for anxiety and depression

his sneaking suspicion that you’d been struggling with something was confirmed

it all made sense!

chan would be immediately and absolutely on board to support you

he wasn’t gonna let those nasty depression demons get the better of his y/n

no! fucking!! way!!! ＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

when you could stand it, he’d be really cute and cuddly to try to make you feel better

and he’d also research everything about the meds

on the days that you just needed to be left alone, he’d be worried

bc he wouldn’t want you to be lonely or to need him and for him to not be there immediately for you

but sometimes even just the presence of another person is exhausting

even if it’s your partner

he’d always come back with flowers or your favorite kind of pie or curry or something else delicious or beautiful

all he wants is for you to feel like you can face the world

bc he’ll always be there by your side (♡‿♡)

lee minho

minho would be matter of fact and accepting about the whole thing

he wouldn’t be fussed

and would just accept that sometimes you’d be less than cheerful

and that it has nothing to do with him or his actions

while he wouldn’t necessarily understand the ins and outs of depression and/or anxiety,

he would still be totally committed to supporting you

he’d be glad that you have meds

because it’s hard for him to see you so down and feeling so blank

he just wants you to be okay

he’ll ask if you’re okay and what he can do

sometimes he just has to ask you a few times

just to be sure

for his own peace of mind

if any family, friends, coworkers, anyone gave you shit about your depression and anxiety

minho would be the kind of person to just:

Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿) “hold my flower”and prepare to fight the world for you

alkjfhakjfdhkj

minho would always make sure that you have your meds on time

either going to pick them up from the pharmacy for you

or reminding you to get them yourself

he’d also remind you to take the meds on your especially bad days

when you can’t exactly think or do much else

while he jokes that cats are the best medicine for anything

minho knows and agrees that medication for mental illness and such is important

bc it helps you be able to function

but that doesn’t stop him from trying his best to make you feel energized and focused through other means!

you have a weekly picnic date, even after dating for two years

it’s the sweetest thing ever

and definitely helps (≧◡≦)

seo changbin

it was the first time you slept over at his place

(a really lovely evening with lots of sweet cuddling ｡ﾟ(ﾟ∩´﹏`∩ﾟ)ﾟ｡ )

(((oh no now i’m soft HHHH)))

and you’d left your bag sitting out in the living room

changbin had thought it would be nice if he got your things for you in the morning

and he also wanted to make you breakfast (✿◠‿◠)

so he'd gone to pick up your bag and saw the little pill bottle

and was just “oh, okay~”

when he'd come into the bedroom, changbin looked a little nervous?

bc he wasn’t quite sure how to ask you what meds you were taking

he wasn’t really worried or anything

he just wanted to support you with absolutely no judgement because meds aren’t a bad thing~

he was so understanding and immediately, like chan, researched everything he could about helping someone with anxiety and depression

and then made you breakfast bc that’s wonderful anytime at all

on the days you felt like you couldn’t get out of bed

(or simply couldn’t whether you wanted to or not)

changbin would be there

if you could stay in bed the whole day, then he’d stay with you

if you had to get up and actually do things, he’d do his best to help you

he’d make you food, help you shower, even pick out clothes for you so that you wouldn’t have to think

he’d understand that sometimes you need a bit of a prod to do things

changbin would definitely try his best to make those reminders as caring and lighthearted as possible

after all, you don’t exactly have control over when lack of motivation strikes

changbin would understand and know a lot of the feelings you have

and be able to empathize based on his own experiences

really, he would just continue to love you ♡

hwang hyunjin

hyunjin, oh sweet hyunjin

he’d be so understanding

and would feel really sorry for you

but not in a weird, pitying way

just sad that your brain had decided to betray you in such a way

*insert all the empathy here*

he knows all too well the feelings of hopelessness you sometimes feel

he’d be glad that you have meds, actually

and would even remind you when you have therapy (if you do)

he’d probably send you random “when you have anxiety/depression” memes

you’ve busted out laughing at inopportune times more than once from said memes

when you’re in a depressive episode, hyunjin would be like a cat

just curled up with you as much as possible

if you can’t stand to have someone near you

then, he’d still text you cheesy stuff like those ridiculous valentine’s day pickup lines that are, in fact, funny at any time of the year

oh and don’t forget about the utterly sincere, will-make-you-cry texts, love letters, post-it notes, notes written in blueberries on the counter, and even signs he’d write for you

one day, you’d even opened a lunch he’d made you to find a little note rolled up around your fork:

“hi hello yes you, the pretty one reading this! i love youuuuuu~ have a wonderful day, darling

p.s. remember to take your meds <3”

hyunjin’s gentle nature would be just what you needed

to support you

to love you

to care for you, not only emotionally but also physically

he’d be like a sheltering tree for you

grounded and calm with deep roots, but able to bend with whatever wind your depression/anxiety decided to gust through your lives

han jisung

jisung would…

well, jisung would just:

“AAAAAY, ANXIETY BUDDIES!!” (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ;;;;;;

ajkdfhaljkfghaljf

definitely not the response you’d been expecting

but it was perfect nonetheless

you spent an afternoon together just talking about how your anxiety and depression manifested

what helped you to cope

what helped him to cope

which meds you took and if there was anything jisung should be particularly aware of

he’d be really interested in just how your depression and anxiety manifest

bc in order to care for you and help

he wants to know what bit of your brain chemistry has decided to fuck shit up

(sometimes jisung feels like he needs to fuck shit up, too. but really? come oooon y/n’s brain)

he’d leave you notes reminding you to do things when your ability to focus goes completely out the window

you’d wake up to find one of those large sheets of poster paper taped to the ceiling above your bed, saying:

“i love you, even if you have depression/anxiety that makes you forget to do the dishes. again. you’re still my little gremlin <3”

jisung would give you any and all resources he has to help you

he’d probably even write songs for you

there’d probably a mixtape out there somewhere of him screaming at your depression and anxiety

telling them to leave you the fuck alone

bc you’re too wonderful to have to deal with that shit

your weekends together would be spent in the bedroom

under the covers

giggling your asses off

and cuddling

bc it’s dangerous outside the blanket ( ｀^´ )

lee felix

felix would be so chill about it

you’d tell him and he’d just be like

“okay! so what kinds of toppings did you want me to put on this pizza again?”

you’d just kinda blink at him

you’d been worrying about what he’d say

and if he’d leave you or something

(thanks, irrational brain. love you. NOT! ffs)

as if lee felix would ever leave you,,,,,,

it was a relief not to worry about that

felix would still bundle you up in the biggest hugs ever

and smile his sunshine-filled smile at you

honestly, that alone should be enough to cure depression

but, unfortunately, it’s not

((*shakes fist at depression/anxiety*))

but with felix’s smile and meds, you’re feeling much better, thank you

felix would try to make life brighter for you after finding out

he’d understand that sometimes you want to do things but just can’t

there’s no rhyme nor reason to it

and it wouldn’t matter to him

bc he’d still get to spend time with you, even if it just meant sitting on the couch watching movies

felix would know that sometimes he would just have to make decisions for you

not in a controlling way

but just because your anxiety over making decisions and following through with things would get the better of you

he’d make sure you drink water and eat lots of yummy food

his deep voice is the most calming thing oh my god

and whenever you have an anxiety/panic attack

felix would immediately catch you up in his arms and slow dance with you through the entire episode

even if you’re barely able to stand, he’d hold you up and support you

just so, at an incredibly scary time, you’d have the most loving arms around you

kim seungmin

you were having a panic attack when seungmin came over one time

and you’d just kinda slumped against the wall as soon as he’d come in the door

aaaand you’d had to explain what was going on

but seungmin had just helped you breathe deeply

and eventually you’d calmed down to the point that you felt like

well, like a limp noodle (＠_＠)

you know that feeling when your body is so exhausted from having a panic attack

that you can’t exactly do much else?

yeah. that.

so, he would be glad that you have meds for your depression/anxiety

like jisung, seungmin would want to have A Stern Conversation with your depression/anxiety

bc he’s tired of its shit ψ(｀-´ )ψ

not because he can’t deal with it or you

because he hates to see you in so much distress

also,,,,,,

no one should have to feel like there’s no joy left in the world, irrational thinking rules their brain, and like they’re trapped in a cycle of dysfunction, no matter how hard they try

bc sometimes just trying isn’t enough

and seungmin understands that~

sometimes you just need a little outside help

he’d come up with all sorts of things he could do for you to help ease your anxiety

he’d write down all your triggers just so he’d know what avoid

or what to tell other people to avoid alkdfjhakljdfh

bc we all know seungmin is that person (-_-;)・・・

when he found out that you have trouble deciding on food at restaurants

he’d immediately printed out the menus to all the restaurants you loved

just so you could take your time deciding at home

and not feel overwhelmed

aksjfhlskfjdh what a good bean

seungmin is just a sweetie who wants the best for you, really

plus, when you’re feeling better….

the two of you can go on adventures!! (⌒▽⌒)

yang jeongin

jeongin would be a little baffled that someone’s brain could be that cruel to them

“you mean you sometimes just can’t be happy?”

“yep, or function, really. sometimes moving or getting out of bed or eating just isn’t a thing”

‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

“don’t worry about. i’m on meds for it so it’s not as bad”

(◕︵◕);;;;

“jeongin i promise it’s okay…..”

“HHHHHHHHHH”

you just ended up cuddling him and explaining how depression and anxiety worked

(or rather, how fucking annoying and, even, debilitating they are)

that made him happier bc he understood

he’d try to help you do things that help with the depression

like going for walks

or drinking enough water

definitely regulating your sleep

jeongin: “i know, i know, y/n! it’s hard but you haaaave to wake up”

y/n: “mmph” (￢_￢)

jeongin: *lightly swats you with a pillow* “get! up!!”

y/n: *grumpgrumpgrump*

nights are even harder alkjhsjkslkfjhs

jeongin, on the phone: “no you’re not being a night owl tonight. no! y/n~~~~ come on, i’m tired and wanna go to sleep”

y/n: “but i’m not tired!! i’m just gonna play one more round of this and then go to bed. i promise!”

jeongin, not having any of your shit: “uhuh….”

y/n, *sweats*: “i promiiiiiiiiise”

…………………

3 am

jeongin, via email: “this is an automated reminder to G O T O S L E E P”

y/n: “shit.”

he’d want to be there to listen to you whenever you needed him

even though he doesn’t have much experience with this sort of thing

jeongin would do his best as a kind and properly aware person

like everyone else, he just wants you to be okay

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hes-a-rainbow · 3 years

Text

Simply Meant To Be (Part One)

A/N: I’ve always loved soulmate AU’s so I wrote a little something based on my interpretation. I’ll only continue this if it gets good feedback so remember to like and share!

word count: 2k warnings: small mention of panic attacks.

Soulmates weren’t a new concept. Many people argued soulmates were as old as the universe itself. But that didn’t stop the tiny twinge of jealousy that twisted in Rue’s stomach as she opened up yet another wedding invitation. She stared back at the smiling couple, one of her friends from high school that had met their soulmate a few years back in college. Another photo zoomed in on their ring fingers. Their first initials scarred on both of their fingers indicating their eternal bond.

She flipped over the invitation to fill out the rsvp and dinner selection she would be having in a few months time. She also marked an ‘X’ next to ‘not bringing a guest’. She sighed as the tiny ‘X’ seemingly mocked her loneliness.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in soulmates, they were a fact of life since the beginning of civilization. It was merely the loneliness she felt seeing everyone meeting their soulmate while she still remained alone. Her best friend, Madison, who had met her soulmate back in kindergarten and she was now six months pregnant with their second child.

There was no real science to when, where, or how you would meet your soulmate, it was just supposed to happen. Fate would eventually intertwine the lives of two people who were simply meant to be. Rue was now nearing 26. She had been in love before, as many before her, but the looming fact that her significant others’ soulmate could show up at any time kept her from anything long term.

There was always that terrible thought in the back of her head; the one she had since she was young and still kept her up at night. Growing up, the concept of soulmates were taught in schools. Children mocked each other on the school yard that they would be forever ‘unmarked’, a term coined for those who were destined to be alone. It was a rare phenomenon but it still happened nonetheless.

She took a look at her left hand adorned with rings except for on her ring finger. She remembers spending hours as a child staring and hoping the initial of her true love would show up. But all these years later, it remained as bare as the day she was born. She never thought of herself as a pessimist and she knew she was still young (her parents hadn’t met until they were in their mid thirties) but it still hurt as she watched from the sidelines as seemingly everyone else was matched up.

The loud ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Her friend and close confidante, Caroline, was calling. She swiped her finger across her phone and cleared her throat, “What’s up?”

“Well hello to you too!” Caroline’s voice roared back to her. She hit the volume button down lower as she knew Caroline was a loud talker. “I’m on my way to Rory’s. My guitar string broke this morning and Talia got called in for a late shift. Do you wanna stop by with me and then get take out for dinner?” Caroline’s soulmate, Talia, was a highly wanted chef in Hell’s Kitchen who worked nights at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the entire city.

She stared at the digital clock on her oven that indicated it was only 5:30. “Sure, I just got home so just let me change and I’ll meet you at Rory’s.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and wandered over to her bedroom to pull out a pair of jeans.

“No need. I’m walking up your stairs as we speak.” Like clockwork, she heard the sound of Caroline’s knuckles knocking at her front door.

“Jesus Caroline, and what if I had said no?” She walked over to the door, unzipping her work pants. Caroline’s bright smile and bleached blonde hair greeted her. “You can’t say no to me!” Caroline looked down at her friends’ outfit. “Cute but can I recommend something less librarian?” Caroline placed her guitar case by the door as Rue rolled her eyes but held the door open. She sauntered back over to her dresser to continue changing out of her work clothes. Caroline sat on her bed and basically held an entire conversation by herself as Rue simply replied with oh, uh huh, and that’s crazy.

Winter had come to the city fast, blanketing the city in a slick frost every morning. The two women walked side by side, bundled up in hats and scarves as they walked the two blocks from Rue’s apartment to Rory’s, an old music shop that also happened to be run by Rory, Rue’s upstairs neighbor and close friend.

“And I know she’ll be upset if I spend so much money but she’s been talking about this knife set for months now.” Caroline rambled on about what she would be getting Talia for their upcoming anniversary. They weren’t married yet, or even engaged for that matter, but they had been together for nearly five years now and didn’t see the need to rush anything.

“I mean it is your five year. She can’t be too upset that you would want to splurge a little bit. But that’s also basically your whole paycheck. You’d basically be leaving it up to her to pick up that entire month’s rent.” Rue’s faded leather boots slapped the pavement as she hid her face further into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up her freezing nose. It was almost completely dark out now which meant there was no sun to help ease off the cold.

“And what about that song you were working on? No amount of money spent could give Talia anything that personal and from the heart.” Caroline was an aspiring musician who worked full time as a coffee shop manager and played open mics on the weekends. Caroline hummed in response, her confidence slipping. “I’m just not sure if I like how it turned out…” She let her voice trail off and stared ahead as if in deep thought.

“She’d love it no matter what. Anyone would.” Rue knocked her shoulder into her friends’. “I mean isn’t that like everybody’s dream? To have a song written about them?”

“Yeah, I guess.” They both stopped at the old music store with the big ‘open’ sign in neon lights adorning the window.

“Ah fuck it’s cold out there.” Caroline announced as the warmth from the stores’ heater hit them. Rue untangled her scarf to hang loosely at her side. A loud bell indicated their arrival and they saw Rory’s head perk up from behind the register.

“How much for an hour, ladies?” He called over to them and was met with not one, but two middle fingers from them both. Rory was only a few years older than them but had become especially close with Caroline because of their love of music. Rue worked as a receptionist at a law firm but worked a few shifts at the shop here and there when Rory needed extra help.

Caroline walked over to the counter and plopped her heavy guitar case on it. “String broke again.” She popped open the buckles on the side, lifting it up to reveal the old acoustic guitar she had been gifted as a teenager. The shine of the guitar had been long lost and was now replaced with a few dings and scratches but Caroline loved it no less than the day she got it.

“Damn Caroline. Really have to start being more careful with her.” Rory took the guitar out of it’s velvet bed by the neck and examined the broken string that hung lamely at the side. “This is the second time this month. What could you possibly be playing?”

“I’m trying to learn some flamenco techniques and it’s not going as well as I planned…” Rue wandered over to the wall that hung the electric guitars, zoning out the banter coming from her two friends.

She always admired the instrument but had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. She loved how Rory kept all the guitars miraculously clean, there were never any fingerprints or smudges on them and she swear he went over every spot with a toothbrush to make sure. She reached for an acoustic guitar that was hanging lower than the more expensive ones.

“You break it, you buy it!” Rory called over to her as he always did. She huffed in response and propped her knee up on a low shelf that held a variety of guitar straps. She didn’t know how to play nor did she know any songs but she loved the sounds the strings made when plucked. She would find herself mesmerized when she watched Caroline play the guitar so effortlessly. Rue even thought back to when she was a child and took a few piano lessons here and there but could never get the hang of it.

As she stood under the guitars and heard Caroline and Rory bickering about which string would be the best replacement (of course his recommendation was also the most expensive brand he sold), the bell by the front door rung to indicate a new customer. Rue didn’t bother looking over as she played some random notes in an attempt to put something together but only to be met by a terrible ‘plunk’. She decided to put the guitar back before embarrassing herself even further in front of her very talented friends.

She was about to place the head of the guitar back on the hook it hung from when she felt an intense pain in her chest. The hand not holding the guitar went right to the center of her chest as a warmth ran over her body. Her ears started to ring and she teetered in her place before placing the guitar down on the floor, not wanting to damage it if she fell.

“Rue?” She heard her name coming from behind her but her eyes filled with stars. She opened and closed them as the pain in her chest increased, causing her to fall to the floor on her knees. She could hear frantic chatter coming from the counter but her only focus was calming her breathing. She had suffered from panic attacks before but the intense pain in her chest was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard footsteps running towards her as she released a groan from deep in her throat.

“Rue! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Caroline slumped to the floor next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. Rue’s vision was blurry and she blinked fast as her eyes started to water. A bang and a deep groan went through the store somewhere behind her. “Holy shit!” A stranger's voice yelled, “Harry, man, are you alright?”

Suddenly, the pain Rue felt in her chest shot down her left arm. She felt as if she were dying. It was as if her skin was being cut from the inside out while also spontaneously being burned. “Rue! Rue!” She could hear Caroline calling her name but it came through as muffled though her ringing ears. She looked up to see a group of men standing by the counter. Rory was speaking frantically on his cell phone and she could see two men crowded around another who sat in the same position on the floor as she did. The brunette on the floor looked up and their eyes met. The overwhelming pain stopped suddenly as she stared at him. Pictures flashed in her mind of her and this man, someone who was a stranger to her but also oddly familiar. She saw his smile and heard her own laugh. She saw tears stream down his face and her own fingers wiping them away.

What is this? She thought in her head.

You know what this is. Her conscious replied.

Caroline’s face came back to her line of sight, “Hey Rue, look at me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” She held Rue’s face in her hands. Rue’s hands came up to clasp her friends’ wrist, her breathing rapid as her heart beat finally started to slow back to a normal pace. Her left hand still stung. More specifically, her left ring finger.

She pulled away from her friend quickly to examine the new mark that now adorned her skin.

“Holy shit.” Rue rubbed at the mark with her other hand to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But with every swipe, the letter remained. “Holy shit!” Rue heard Caroline agree as she looked down at Rue’s hand, but Caroline’s voice was filled with less fear and more glee than Rue’s.

There, on her left ring finger, still swollen and red was the letter H.

A/N: This is just an idea I have that I may or may not continue based on the feedback. I know Harry was literally just a mention in this part but I would obviously include him much more going forward. Let me know if you’re interested in what happens next and please like and share!

Part Two

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry style fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #one direction #hslot #soulmates au #harry styles writing #tpwk #treat people with kindness #harry styles drabble #harry styles x oc

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abbyilr1967 · 3 years

Text

Small World After All - Keigo Takami x Reader

Summary: You’re the Rescue Hero Aceso, you’d been called onto the scene of a villain attack on a local News station, tasked with rescuing a hero and civilian who had been trapped inside, and this chance encounter with the number two hero wouldn’t prove itself to be the last either.

A/n: This was requested by the lovely @levis-odm-gear . As per usual, if you’re new to my work here is a link to my Masterlist. Also just in case, you don’t know, Y/l/n stands for Your last name.

Warnings: Little bit of swearing (like the tiniest bit).

Word Count: 3.6k

Your motorcycle came to a screeching stop as the hoards of people blocked off by police and heroes blocked you from getting to the accident. Your agency had called you through your earpiece to tell you that there had been an accident at the local news station, and that a group of villains had trapped the employees on the third floor, and set the building on fire before escaping. Something about the media spreading false information about the heroes, honestly it had the League of Villains written all over it, but you had bigger things to worry about right now.

You quickly park your bike and rip your helmet off before sprinting through the crowd of concerned citizens.

“Aceso!” an officer waves you over. “We need you to head up to the third floor, a pro is down, and he needs your help if we are gonna get all the civilians out alive.”

“I’m on it.” You run past the officer towards the entrance to the building while fastening the ventilator your hero suit is equipped with over your mouth and nose. You might not fall high on the Hero Billboard Charts, but you were very useful in situations like this, and the material of your suit covers your full body head to toe, fire retardant, and comes equipped with a full face ventilator.

Your skin starts to feel the blistering heat as you enter the building, making sure to dodge any falling debris. You find the stairway and make the quick ascent to the next floor. You hear the ceiling of the second-floor creak, and you rush to make it to the stairwell before you’re crushed underneath the burning rubble. Your foot catches on some debris and you nose dive to the floor.

“Shit.” You roll over and see the ceiling being to crumble above you. You cross your arms over your eyes in an attempt to save the ventilator from being destroyed and your head crushed, as you feel something pinch in the back of your neck. Suddenly you are being dragged across the floor, out of the way as the plaster on the ceiling falls to the floor. With no time to look for the source of your mysterious rescue, you lunge towards the third-floor stairwell and make your way up.

You enter the third floor and quickly begin to look for any civilians and the hero you are here to heal. So far the fair had yet to make it fully to the third floor, but there was enough fire and smoke to incapacitate a person. You look around until your eyes land on a ball of red and yellow hunched over on the floor. As you get closer you realize that the bundle of red was actually wings, and you knew exactly who it was.

“Hawks!” you shout. “I’m here to help you.” You roll him over and find that he has severe burns on his face and neck, as well as a couple of spots where the embers had burned through his suit and touched the skin. His wings had also taken some severe damage as he kept the last civilian safe underneath him. He nods his head, ‘Still responsive’ you note.

You start to make quick work of your gloves, placing your hands on both sides of his face, your palms start to warm as you release your energy. You see the burns on his face start to heal as he starts to regain a little of his strength. In an attempt to save your energy and stamina you remove your hands from his face.

“We need to get them out of here,” Hawks grunts as he pulls himself and the civilian to their feet.

“Right.” You respond as you wrap the civilian’s arm over your shoulder and help Hawks maneuver them towards the stairs.

“We need to get this person in an ambulance quick!” You shout as you and Hawks exit the building. Several first responders run to you and take the civilian to the nearest ambulance. You and Hawks stand there for a moment, as the fire department continues to put out the fire, the adrenalin high you both were running on finally coming down. Hawks tries his best to hold in a cough beside you, but you can tell he’s been breathing in too much smoke.

“Here,” you say, ushering him away from the building. “I’ll fix you up.” You guide him over to a bench on the other side of the street, sitting him down with a groan.

You start by examining his wings, you notice that they aren’t as full as they once were. A lot of his feathers have singed, and are covered in ash. Your face is notably concerned, as you look down at the exhausted hero before you.

“They’ll grow back.” He reassures, and you nod. You leave his wings alone and redirect your attention to the half-healed burns on his face and neck. His eyes are watching as you work, which is unusual considering you tend to work on people who are too in shock to pay any attention to you, or nearly unconscious.

“I’m going to place my hand on both sides of your face, ok?” He gives you a nod and you gently place both hands on his cheeks. Your hands begin to warm as your energy is released into Hawks. His stiff facial features start to relax as your energy heals his wounds. He closes his eyes and allows the warm feeling of your energy to flow through him. You take this time to examine the features of his face because, although you knew what he looked like, you’d never gotten to see the man up close. His lips are thin, and a little chapped, ‘Probably due to the amount of time he spends in the air’ you think to yourself. He has a strong jawline, with some stubble on his chin to accent his hard features. And his eyes, his eyes have these beautiful markings that seem almost bird-like, which is fitting for a hero like him.

As your hands continue to work their magic on Hawks wounds you feel him start to really lean into your touch, as if he’s never experienced this. You reach your limit on the amount of energy you can spare to heal the man, so you move your hands, but Hawks is quick to grab your wrist and stop you.

“Can you just hold them there for a little longer,” you can hear a slight crack in his voice. “Please.”

“Yea,” you whisper, pressing your hands back to his face. He leans in again, you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of holding the face of the number two hero so lovingly and gentle.

“Thank you.” He sighs.

You finally pull your hands back, and Hawks comes to his feet.

“Sorry if that was weird, I just…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” you interject. The expression on his face tells you that that’s not the reaction he was expecting from you.

“Sometimes we just need a little pick me up, you know?” you lightly punch him in the shoulder, which elicits a chuckle from him.

“I do, Thank you again, for helping me in there. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It’s what heroes do.”

He gives you a quick nod before leaping into the air and taking to the skies. Taking that as your queue to go, you make your way back over to your bike. You throw your leg over and instead of taking off immediately, you sit there for a minute. Thinking out how your hands hadn’t stopped tingling since you let go of the blonde’s face. This was a strange feeling you’d never felt after healing someone. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of holding him like that, something you hadn’t done with someone in so long, even if it was such a trivial act.

But it had meant something to him, and it made your heartache for him.

Your apartment was just around the corner, so you kept the visor of your bike helmet up, allowing the cool breeze to touch the skin that became so quickly heated at the thought of what had occurred between you and the number two hero. You watch the city fly by you as the parking garage to your apartment complex comes into view.

You push the keys to your apartment into the door and fling open the door. Electing to drop all your things at the door, and worry about the paperwork you needed to fill out about the incident tomorrow. You slowly start to strip yourself of your suit as you walk towards the bathroom of your small apartment. The tiled floor feels cool against your aching feet as you turn the shower on, giving it time to heat up before you get it.

Once the water is warm enough you step under the spray, allowing the warmth to ease your aching muscles. You sigh heavily, leaning your head further under the showerhead so the water trickles down your face. You close your eyes, and the minute you do you are face-to-face with the relaxed face of the pro hero you just saw moments earlier. The vision in your head shifts from that of a relaxed Hawks, to the exhausted Hawks who had asked you to keep holding him after you’d finished your healing. Your hands come up to rub your face, trying to get rid of the image, but it was no use. There was something about him that you found yourself engrossed with, beyond his appearance.

You finish up in the shower, brush your teeth and hair, and pop a couple melatonin gummies to help you sleep. You’d found that sleeping was the fastest and most effective way of regaining your energy after using most of it. You step out of the steam-filled bathroom into the slightly chilly hallway and head towards your room. You dig around in your dresser for a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized hoodie to fall asleep in. The warm fabric of your hoodie provides sweet relief from the chill of your apartment, and you quickly slide under your overs so your legs can escape the cold too.

As you lay in bed, you stare out the window at the moon and watch how the light casts itself against the things in your room, Thinking about how he’s out there, thinking about what he’s doing, and wondering if he’s thinking about you the same way you were thinking about him.

And he was…

The wind was frigid compared to the still warm and tingly feeling left by your hands. He spent the whole flight back to his agency thinking about your hands on his face and feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d asked you to hold him even after you were done healing him. He lands on the roof of his agency and begins his descent down to his office, along the way being bombarded by receptionist after receptionist with all the paperwork he needs to fill out.

“Here’s your incident report Hawks!”

“Here’s your casualties report Hawks!”

“Here’s your injuries report Hawks!” They were crowding around him like a hoard of fangirls, which they most likely were, he wasn’t in charge of the hiring process for receptionists so he didn’t screen any of them beforehand. They continue to flock behind him as he walks towards his office, opting to pick up the pace to escape them faster.

The door to his office is growing closer and closer.

“Thank you for the papers ladies, but if you’ll excuse me I have a lot of work to get through if I want to make it home.” He brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck, watching as the women all sigh and disperse back to their work stations. He sighs with relief as he turns the doorknob and finally enters his office. ‘Maybe I look extra tired tonight.’ he thought to himself. ‘Usually, they pester me more.’ He drops the papers on his desk and cracks open his laptop. His paperwork can wait, he couldn’t get you out of his head so he thought he’d conduct a little research on you, see what information is known to the public about you.

“Aceso, I like that.” Your hero name rolled off his tongue like honey. He’d gotten distracted while researching you when he’d found some old interviews you’d done in your early years as a pro. You were top of your class at U.A. and all of Japan was excited to see what’d you do as a hero. So why hadn’t he heard about you, he thinks. He watched the interviews until his eyes hurt, and he was forced to realize that his late-night endeavours had gone on longer than anticipated.

“Damn Aceso, can’t get you outta my head.” He stretches in his chair before getting up and making his way home. Where he definitely didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, not with the images of you running rampant in his head all night.

Several months had passed and you’d gone about your life as normal, everything was normal, and you hadn’t seen Hawks again. Sure you saw him regularly all over the news, but you hadn’t seen him in person since the accident. You thought about him every day, so much so that you’d hoped that one day you’d run into him, even if it was just for a moment.

You’d been at home getting ready to make dinner, when you realized that you needed to head to the store to get some last-minute ingredients. This is exactly how you found yourself wandering the isles of the closest grocery store to your house. You lean your arms on the handle of your cart, as you lazily check the shelves for the ingredients you were missing.

You feel your cart bump into someone, and immediately you’re brought out of your dazed state.

“I’m so sorry, I-” you turn to see the person you’d hit and are met with the brilliant golden eyes of the number two hero. You chuckle under your breath, as your silent prayer had been answered by the universe. His gaze meets yours and the corners of his lips turn up into a slight grin. “Oh, hi.” You say, trying to best not to sound flustered.

“Hey.” You both stare at each other for a second unsure of how this interaction should continue before the realization dawns on your that you’d walked into him with your shopping cart like the most graceful person.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to shove my cart into you, I wasn’t looking where-”

You were cut off by the sound of Hawks chuckling at your obvious awkwardness towards the situation.

“It’s alright kid, I’ve been through worse.” You slap your palm on your forehead.

“Of course,” you laugh. The awkward tension lifted as you and Hawks laugh.

When the laughing seems to die down, you clear your throat and gain his attention.

“I have a proposal,” you start.

“Well, now I’m intrigued.” He placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin and looks down at you in anticipation.

“Let me cook you dinner,” you fold your hands over your chest and look at him with the biggest doe eyes you can make. “As a way to apologize for nearly running you over with my cart and no offence but...” You tip the edge of the basket he was holding, noting that there were several packs of ramen amongst the other processed and pre-made foods he’d selected. “I think you could use a home-cooked meal.” He looks down at his basket, and then back up to you, glaring at you in a sarcastic way.

You rock back and forth on your heels, eagerly awaiting his response to your proposition.

“You really don’t need to-”

“I want to.” You say, grabbing onto his arm shaking it slightly.

“Alright,” he finally agrees.

“Great, I just need to get a few more things and we can head back to my place, ok?”

He stretches his arm out and gestures down the aisle, “After you.” He steps out of the way of your cart, and you push past him with your head held confidently.

“hey, uh, I never actually got your name,” he says, still trailing behind you.

“It’s Y/l/n, Y/n,” you throw over your shoulder as your looking for olive oil.

“That’s very lovely,” he’s right beside your ear now, starting you enough to almost drop the bottle of oil you were holding.

“Th-thank you,” you say, hoping that your blushing wasn’t evident enough to be noticeable on your face. He chuckles at your awkwardness, as he continues down the aisle with you.

“So, do I get to know the name of the number two hero, I did give you mine, so I think it’s only fair Hawks.” You emphasize his hero name, trying to push his buttons a little bit.

“Touché,” he nods. “You can call me Keigo, Takami Keigo.”

“Keigo” you whisper under your breath.

The walk back to your apartment was short, and spent cracking jokes and making small talk with the winged hero.

Finally back at your apartment, Keigo helped you bring up the groceries and unpack what you needed to finish the dinner you started before you had left.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“No, you’re my guest, so go sit down,” you shoo him away from the stove and to the other side of the counter, were he plopped himself down on one of the bar stools you had.

“I was gonna have this wine with dinner, would you like some?” you offer, pointing the tip of the bottle in his direction.

“No thanks, could I just have some water I don’t drink really, you know with work and all.”

“Yes, right, sorry. I guess your always on call, being so high up in the hero ranks I mean.”

“You don’t need to apologie, each day I work gets me closer to creating a world were heroes have more free time then they know what to do with,” he smiles and you set a glass of water down in front of him, along with his plate of food. You set your plate down beside his, and taken you seat.

“This looks great,” he remarks. “Better than anything I could make.” the corners of his lips kick up into a smirk as you both chuckles at his lack of skill in the kitchen.

The laughter dies down into a comfortable silence as you both enjoy the meal you’ve made, continuing to make small talk in between bites.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, seemingly out of the blue.

“Go for it,” you shoot back. You turn to face him, and his golden eyes lock on yours.

“Why did you help me? After the attack on the new station.”

“You were burned, it would have been-”

“Not that kind of helping. Why did you continue to hold me even after I’d been healed?”

You cast your gaze down to the empty plate in from of you, taking a moment to word together your answer.

“Because I saw how exhausted you were.” You say, brining your gaze back to his. “And I don’t mean just physically exhausted, I could see the mental exhaustion as well.”

His eyes soften, and his features being to look somber. “You help so many people that, in that moment I could tell you had been neglecting your own needs, and had finally reached your limit.”

He looks at you stunned, in awe of the observational skills so had because everything you said, made sense to him. You had been the only person to indulge him in what he needed, instead of the reverse.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean of over step if I did-”

“There you go again, apologizing for something so trivial, even after I asked you about that night. You have yet to cease to amaze me with how determined, kind, caring and observant you are.” The blush rises to your cheeks. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night, and I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Takami I-”

“Keigo,” he interjects. “You can call me Keigo.”

“Keigo, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night either.”

In your lust filled state you hadn’t realized that his face was just inches from yours. His breath fans over you as your noses brush together.

“No one has ever made me feel the way you did, in such a short amount of time,” he whispers. You pull you bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation of what is to come next.

“Can I kiss you?” Your lips ghost each other. “Yes.”

His lips mash to your with both passion and tenderness. His hands come up to cradle your jaw, as your hands card through the thick strands of his hair that fall around the base of his neck. Your tongues dance across each other as he deepens the kiss. The burning sensation in your lungs causes you to pull away reluctantly, not wanting to give up the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on yours.

“You are so much more different then any other person I’ve ever met Y/n.” He says in between slightly laboured breaths. “I would like to keep seeing you, if that’s alright.” He leans his forehead against yours, as you both come down from your lust filled highs.

“I’d like that.” The corners of his lips kick up into a grin, and he places a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’d like that very much, Keigo.”

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