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creedslove · 1 year

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BETRAYED - PART SIX

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, fluff, glimpse of Pedro being a great (silly) dad, and more angst of course

A/N: I have no idea how you guys are gonna react. I hope you guys like it, because I was very invested and loved writing every single part of this chapter. Don't forget that all ideas and suggestions are more than welcome ❤️

I still can't manually tag people on the works because I use the app and it won't let me do it, that's why I don't have a tag list at all!

3k words

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

"You did WHAT?" Kate raised her voice without really meaning to, at the shocking news you'd told her. She couldn't believe just a few feet away from where everyone stood, hidden by a couple of trees Pedro had declared his love for you and kissed you.

And the most shocking to her: you had told him to walk away. She was shocked and expressive at first and then she went silent as you finished your account of what had happened. You told her about Pedro's apologies, about how he confessed his feelings and kissed you. And above all, how it took every ounce of strength and self-control to break that kiss.

"And then, what happened next?" She asked with fire in her eyes, anticipation making her anxious and excited to know, which caused you to roll your eyes

"What do you think happened, Kate? You think we just had a quickie in the middle of the bushes?" You groaned and sighed "he walked away, he came back inside, probably went home, I don't know, I came straight to the kitchen to help you" you shrugged. Your heart was still pounding and it felt like it would burst out of your chest at any moment. But that was not the only thing Pedro messed up in your body, you hated yourself to know your lower belly burned in need at the mere memory of his touch, of how warm his body was against yours, how his lips fell perfectly against yours. You hated the fact your arousal pooled in your underwear, every step you took you could feel it and it was a reminder of how he still had power over you, like no other man ever had and you doubted any other man ever would.

Pedro, on the other hand, should've been home at least an hour prior. He was so ashamed of himself for locking himself in the bathroom after what happened, he felt as if he was back in junior high, hiding away after being dumped by the girl he liked.

He stared into his own eyes in the mirror and sighed again, he just couldn't wrap his head around the fact you didn't love him anymore. Maybe you still did, he wasn't sure, but he'd screwed things up so bad you just wouldn't take the chance. And worse, you didn't even believe him. He never thought any of that could happen. He felt so disappointed in himself and didn't understand why he couldn't have been a better man to you, if he had, maybe right now you'd be together. It was no use wondering things now, he knew he'd lost you and he had nothing else to do there, he only wanted to get a glass of water and get the fuck out of that place. He walked silently through the hallway feeling so thankful to see the guests had already left and he didn't have to socialize with anyone, his social battery was drained at that point and he didn't have to pretend to be happy at all.

"But did you even tell him you were dating?" Kate's voice came from the kitchen, making Pedro stop dead in his tracks. He took a deep breath, his gut churning really hoping it would be someone else to reply to the question but you.

"When was I supposed to tell him? When he got his tongue down my throat?" You replied with a hint of annoyance as Kate seemed to be carrying out an interview with you, while you were tired and emotionally exhausted and all you wanted to do was go home.

"Plus, I'm not dating anyone, I'm just seeing Liev, it's not serious, just a few dates here and there…"

"And some fucking too, Y/N, or you really think I haven't noticed how you and him simply disappeared in the middle of dinner the other night and returned to the table all flushed and giggly?" She raised her eyebrow in a playfully way and saw how you blushed

"Kate!!!" You censored her "that's embarrassing, yeah, it happened a few times, so what? I'm single, he is single, or do you really think Pedro doesn't sleep around? I mean, he did when we were friends and close all the time, even if he knew it hurt my feelings, would he stop it now?" You asked "besides, I don't really buy this sudden gust of feelings he's got for me, I mean, the apologies were really important and I felt they were honest, and I really appreciate that, but don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that he suddenly discovers he loves me right when I'm about to walk out his life? You know he loves being loved. There's nothing wrong with that, we all want affection and love, but not when it comes at the cost of someone's happiness" you shrugged and got ready to leave.

Pedro was speechless and unable to move as too much bombarded him at the same time. First of all, you were dating? He couldn't believe his ears at first and it didn't make it any easier when you explained to Kate you weren't dating, you were just fucking the guy. If anything, it made it all worse. He couldn't believe that damn ape got to have access to your gorgeous body, a body that should be his, touched, kissed and worshiped by him and no one but him.

But the moment he heard your suspicions on his feelings, he felt like disappearing. He couldn't even describe how painful it felt, the pang in his chest was intense and he couldn't help but feel his eyes filled with tears. He didn't care if he looked pathetic, childish even, he was broken-hearted and done with that situation.

"Fuck this" he mumbled under his breath and finally exited the house, he was definitely getting you out of his mind.

•••

You hadn't seen Pedro many times after Flora's party. There had been other dinner parties you attended and some you even took Liev along with you, but Pedro was never present. He always came up with excuses saying he was busy doing photoshoots, studying his script or he was just out of town, little did everyone know, he felt left out and offended to know he hadn't been invited to the gatherings right after you two had fallen out. He didn't want to take out on any of your mutual friends, but it did seem to him it was pretty clear they preferred you over him. Not to mention no one wanted to have a simple friend get together turned into an awkward show by you and your boyfriend and Pedro there, lingering and watching you from afar.

But sometimes you two ran into each other at the gym. He usually kept to himself, always greeting you and asking how you were doing, but as soon as he saw Liev approaching, he'd put on his headphones, turn his back to both of you and focus on his training. He hated every single minute of those gym sessions, they were torture, he hated seeing you with that man, and no matter how much he tried not looking at the two of you, he couldn't help doing it. It was like a morbid curiosity that struck him every time and ripped his chest open. So he just decided to change schedules and avoid that sight once for all.

After his training he just shyly waved goodbye to you and headed home, he stepped into the shower in order to clear his mind, hoping he would forget about you and the unresolved feelings that haunted him. Every time he felt his heart ache, he thought of how much you suffered because of him and had to admit to himself that yeah, maybe he did deserve what he was going through. It pained him to think of everything he made you go through, but now you were happy, and as much as he tried being happy for you, he couldn't. It hurt him, but he was an actor after all and he would have no problem pretending for you. If you let him in, he would put on a happy face and support you as much as you helped him.

He got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, walking to the closet and finding something fresh to wear. Pedro knelt down to look for his pair of sneakers when he came across a box. He frowned softly as he didn't recognize it at first, it took him some time to finally acknowledge the object. It was the box you had handed him his birthday present. You'd always been really good at giving presents and the last birthday you spent together wasn't anything different.

He opened the box and smiled sadly, it somehow still held your perfume inside, making his heart flutter in his chest. He chuckled at the happy memory and frowned as he spotted something under the bow. He hadn't seen that when he got it nor the months that followed it, but now it had caught his attention and he was curious to find what the heck that was. He pulled it carefully, seeing it was a small card and thought maybe it was just something extra that came in with the box and you hadn't noticed it as well.

He still opened and held his breath at the words he found beautifully written. That handwriting he would recognize anywhere.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to find this card… I'm not that great with words, but here it is:

Feliz cumple mi amor. Te deseo toda la felicidad del mundo y quiero que sepas que siempre estaré a tú lado. ¡Te quiero hoy y siempre! **

- Y/N"

Pedro had lost track of how many times he'd read that message over and over, but by the time he was able to put it down, he had made up his mind: he wasn't going to let you go that easily.

•••

You were almost finished preparing dinner, placing the last potatoes in the baking pan and waiting for the oven to reach the right temperature when you heard the doorbell ring. You frowned and checked the clock, it was still early for Liev to show up, so you sighed, feeling a little annoyed at the uninvited guest. You went silent once you opened the door and saw Pedro standing there, he didn't say anything at first either, just scanned you with soft eyes, admiring you, taking in every single beautiful feature he came to love over time.

"Hey mariposa, can we talk?" He asked in his sweet voice, wanting to come inside desperately, you noticed his hands fidgeted with something nervously.

"Sure, Pedro. Come in, let's go to the kitchen, I'm cooking and can't leave stuff unattended" you said giving him space to walk in and saw him following you, you had no idea what that visit was about.

You asked him to make himself at home, offering him something to drink which he politely declined, and observed you put the baking pan into the oven. Only then, he realized how much he missed your cook, how you'd spend the weekends at his home, baking all the things you enjoyed eating, and he would always end up with the dishes as he was not skilled with his cooking at all.

"Listen, princesa, I came here because we need to talk…"

"Pedro please, don't call me that…" you said in a low voice and bit your lips, finally turning to him. You saw him frown and shake his head softly.

"Call you what, hermosa?" He questioned you, seeing a soft flush spreading across your face.

"Calling me those pet names, Pedro… I know I used to like them, but it's not appropriate anymore, I mean, we're not that close and-"

You were interrupted by his hands gripping your hips, squeezing them gently and gluing his body to yours, your faces inches away from each other's, he closed his eyes, leaning towards you, his short beard scratching against your chin, your skin so sensitive to his touch, it sent goosebumps all over it.

"So you don't wanna be my mariposa anymore? You're not mi cariño? Mi hermosa, mi muñequita, mi amor?" He asked in a whisper against your ear. Even if you tried to break free from his touch, which you straight up didn't, it would be impossible. Your body felt on fire at that teasing, at that taunting moment, you hated how Pedro ruined you. But you also loved.

"Answer me, Y/N… I know you don't believe in me, you don't believe in my feelings for you, but guess what, I think you are a lying little shit as well" he kept the same tone, but this time it was followed by soft kisses spread all over your neck, ghosting it softly. "You are a fucking liar Y/N, because you told me you didn't love me anymore" Pedro continued, his lips on your throat, making you squirm as he added his teeth, leaving soft bites all over it, before finally getting to your lips.

He stopped and stared into your eyes, stroking your cheek gently and pecking your lips and chuckling.

"If you don't love me anymore, care to explain this?" He showed you the card you had written for his birthday, seeing your widened eyes and your disbelief. You hadn't forgotten about the card, but you just hoped really hard he would never find it.

You gasped and moved your body against his, so he would stop holding you so close, but Pedro used his weight to prevent you from escaping.

"Cat got your tongue, princesa? I guess it means you still fucking love me, don't you?" He chuckled "that means you are not only a fucking liar, but also one little stubborn muñequita, because you love me, you know I love you and you don't want to be together" he shook his head.

"Pedro, we can't, please, I already told yo-" you squealed the moment you felt his heavy hands on your ass lifting you up and placing you on the kitchen counter. He only took his time to settle you down before attacking your lips with his. The kiss was urgent and deep, his tongue brushing against yours as his hands roamed around your body, at the same time you tugged his hair, not helping yourself but moaning at how heated you were making out.

Pedro broke the kiss and smirked at you "Eres tan linda, mi amor" he whispered and stroked your cheek, sinking his hand down your lap and getting under your shirt, his thick, rough fingertips brushing softly against your skin like he'd never done it before.

"We can't…" you whimpered in need and only earned a scoff from him.

"Mi amor, mira…" he said patiently and let go of your body, though he was locked in your embrace as your legs snaked against his waist "if you want us to stop, we will, but does it really seem you do?" He tilted his head and gave you one of his sweet innocent smile, waiting for you to let go of your body, which you just didn't.

He pulled you back for another kiss, his hand tight on your hair, dragging sweet moans from your mouth. You couldn't resist any longer, you know you should, you had to, but it felt impossible to break free from his spell. You were tired of lying to yourself, you ached for Pedro and you would go all the way with him.

Suddenly the sound of a door slamming shut interrupted you both, you immediately broke the kiss and saw an enraged Liev staring at you both.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" Your boyfriend shouted in pure anger. You can see jaw tightening and the way his veins were more visible.

He took a step closer to you both "what the fuck is this piece of shit doing here? I thought you were done with him?" He yelled "I guess you couldn't keep in your panties anymore, you really got that hungry of a cunt to want two cocks at once? I didn't know you were such a filthy whore" he said taking another step closer to you.

Pedro closed his hand in a fist "shut the fuck up, don't you fucking dare talk to her like that, asshole" He immediately placed himself between you and Liev, shielding your body with his own.

"You shut up, asshole. I'll deal with this bitch first and then I'll fucking kill you!" Liev yelled and aimed his punch at you, but hitting Pedro instead, as he stood there to protect you.

You were so nervous you didn't even know what to do, you just screamed, so terrified and scared at how angry Liev punched Pedro. You had no other reaction than grab a knife nearby and point it at Liev

"G-get out Liev, get out now!!!" You threatened though your voice and your hand was shaking.

The man laughed at your attempt to scare him away, but was distracted enough to receive Pedro's punches on his face as payback for the first attack. Liev wasn't expecting and lost balance for a moment, falling down.

Pedro groaned in pain, but turned to you, taking the knife from your hand "calm down cariño, things will be fine" he said trying to soothe you as he turned to the man "get the fuck outta here and don't come back, I'll fucking kill you if you ever get anywhere near Y/N" Pedro threatened with cold anger in his eyes, anyone could see he was deadly serious, and Liev got up slowly, walking towards the door knowing if he gave in to his revenge thoughts, the cops would be on him at any minute.

He shot you one last glare "and you, little bitch, enjoy your moment with this dick, I hope he treats you like shit, exactly like a filthy whore like you deserves it"

Liev exited and left you shaking in nervousness at everything that went on. Pedro held your face gently, his own bleeding at the wounds he got. You whimpered and began crying.

"Shh it's okay cariño, I'm here for you, you're safe now" Pedro wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, only caring about your well-being and nothing else.

-----

** translation: "Happy Birthday my love. I wish you all the happiness in the world and I want you to know I'll always be by your side. I love you today and forever"

A/N: I hope you guys have enjoyed it!!! Again, I picked Liev with Liev Schreiber in mind but it was a just because situation so you guys can picture whoever you want. If you have any other ideas for the next chapters, let me know ❤️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal imagine #javier peña #javier pena #joel miller

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Unexpected Gifts

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction, approx. 2000 words of fluffiness. This scene occurs in the midst of chapter 12 and features Motonari as well.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Mad Dogs

Motonari sauntered past the innkeeper with a grin. The man clearly knew something was going on, but he just bowed and went back to wiping down tables and ordering his staff around. The pirate had to wonder what a man like him thought about the rough men filing through his entrance, carrying crates of gunpowder, firearms, swords, daggers, and other implements of war. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Maybe the world had finally gone mad. Fitting, considering his current allies. Only in a mad world would the demon monk, the disgraced captain, and the traitorous kitsune be allies.

He carried just one package, a wooden box. So lightly burdened, Mouri bounded up the stairs. He could hear the little chatelaine ordering his men around, telling them where to set what and how. For such a naive little girl, she could get real bossy. He kinda liked it.

Motonari made it to the top of the stair just in time to see one of his men make a grab for the little Oda princess. The deckhand pinned her up to the wall, leering like she was a dock-front whore.

“Want to tell me where I can put this,” the deckhand grabbed at his crotch suggestively.

She glared at him furiously, but her legs were shaking. “Through the rolling hole of a cheerio,” she spat.

While neither Motonari or his men had any idea what that was, it was clearly an insult. The deckhand drew back to slap her, but Mouri caught his arm first.

“Whaddya think yer doing? Didn’t I tell ya to set tha boxes down and go?”

The deckhanded nodded. “Yeah, but boss, she said -”

He didn’t get to finish. Mouri let go of his hand and punched him in the throat. Hard enough to hurt, not enough to kill. “I didn’t ask fer an opinion.” His men took the hint and grabbed their friend, exiting quickly.

When they’d gone, the spicy little princess sagged against the wall. “Thanks Motonari. I was worried for a second.”

“Ya should still be worried,” he grinned. He closed the space between them, pushing her back against the wall, hard.

“M-motonari. If Mitsuhide sees you, he will kill you.”

“The fox ain’t here, is he? So what’re you gonna do about it?” Motonari lowered his head to her neck, inhaling the smell of her. It was no wonder the kitsune warlord lost his mind for this girl. She was smart, stubborn, and she felt like heaven against his chest. Plus there was something sweet about her. A gentleness absent in most. It appealed to the darkness in him.

The Oda princess considered a moment and then with a breath, slammed her head into Motonari’s jaw. It hurt. He let go with a laugh. “That was good. Not good enough, if I really wanted ta hurt ya. But good.”

Her hands shook as she straightened her clothes. “So what, you were just trying to freak me out by being a creep?”

Mouri wasn’t familiar with that word exactly, but he got the meaning. It only made him grin wider. “Sure did. Yer smarter than ya look.” He shoved the box toward her. “Take this.”

She eyed the box with distrust, but took it from him. “It’s not full of, like, poisonous death toads or something? It won’t explode when I open it?”

“Nah, but that’s a good idea. Have ta remember that.” Motonari watched her, curious if she would take what he’d brought.

The princess carefully opened the box as if she didn’t quite believe it was safe, but once the sunlight hit the polished metal within, she gasped. Inside, lying on a stuffed cotton, a matched set matchlock rifle and dagger. The design was slimmer and lighter than the usual matchlock, and the metal was engraved with tiny flowers, which also decorated the knife hilt.

“Motonari . . . “ she looked at him with wide eyes, wavering between shock and pleasure at the unexpected gift.

“Don’t ya look at me like that. Had ‘em lying around the boat. And ya need ta be able to protect yerself.” The pirate shrugged uncomfortably.

She set the box on the table and hugged him. “Thank you. That was very nice.”

Motonari tensed. “Yeah. Ya better let go before yer fox shows up. Seems ta be the jealous sort.”

The princess dropped her arms and stepped back. “Still. I really appreciate it.”

“Ya can stop thanking me.” He turned away, unsettled. He hadn’t expected quite that reaction. “I’ll have tha boys bring by more powder and shot later. Be ready.”

Then he left, passing Mitsuhide in the hall. The kitsune gave him a flat stare. Clearly, he didn’t trust him, but then, Motonari didn’t trust himself either.

***

Mitsuhide watched Mouri hit the steps at a near-run, hurrying as if he was escaping something. And his face was red, gaze distracted. Strange.

The door to the his room was open, and the smell of gunpowder wafted out. Mitsuhide stepped in. His little mouse was bent over a wooden box on the table. She turned when he came in and hurried over to him.

“You’re back!”

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wider than normal, even for her. “Did I surprise you?” Mitsuhide studied her. Mussed hair, slightly disheveled kimono, nervously fiddling fingers. Something had happened and she was trying to hide it. Silly mouse.

“N-no! Of course you're back! I just, I thought it would take longer.” She glanced back at the table then rushed forward to take his arm. “Look, Motonari’s men came today with more weapons. Are these what you were expecting?”

Mitsuhide let her divert his attention, curious what her end goal was. She showed him the crates of tanegashima, the swords and daggers, and armor. Her words spilled out in an anxious flow, repeating herself and stumbling through descriptions of the delivery.

Finally, she ran out of things to say and stared at the floor. “So, uhm, that looks, ah, about right?”

He took her chin in his hands and gently raised it to look at him. “The delivery is fine. You are not. Tell me what happened today.”

“Nothing?” She blinked up at him, schooling her features to stillness.

It might have been convincing if not for the way she shifted on her feet, and a glance back toward the table. Mitsuhide let go of her and turned back to see what the box was and why it seemed to concern her.

What he found surprised him.

A delicate kaiken and a slim-looking tanegashima. Both bore an imprint of flowers, delicate sakurasou blossoms. Mitsuhide lifted the matchlock. The stock was polished maple, the steel barrel rolled from thin metal sheets by a master. This was no common weapon. It felt light in his hands compared to a regular matchlock, and a little small. A tanegashima made for a woman.

“Did Motonari leave these?”

The chatelaine nodded. “He gave them to me.”

“Before or after manhandling you?” Mitsuhide watched her reaction carefully.

She looked down. “After. He said I needed to be able to protect myself. He had to stop one of his men from . . . well, anyway, nothing happened. I didn’t want to mention it.”

Because he, Mitsuhide, could not keep his calm when it came to her. He felt a mix of guilt and jealousy. If anyone should give gifts to his little one, it should be him. And that flower . . . not that she would understand. But Mouri had to know that he would. Bastard.

Mitsuhide set the weapon down and went to her. He took his little one into his arms and held her tight to his chest. “You must not hide things from me, little mouse. I want to know everything about you. Everything that happens to you. Even if you think it doesn’t matter, even if it might be . . . upsetting.”

Her arms twined around him, pulling her even closer. He could feel the beat of her heart in time with his own, and the rise and fall of her breath. It made him feel so frail for the first time since he’d taken up his place as the left hand of the Oda forces. Small in the face of this love that he held. Fragile in knowing how many ways it could break.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you right off. I just didn’t want you to worry.” She looked up at him. “I want you to know I can take care of myself. You don’t have to worry about me when you go off to do what you need to. I can handle myself around men - even ones like Motonari.”

Mitsuhide held her and let her words sink in. It helped, a little. He still wanted to smash the matchlock and snap the knife. Throw them in a gutter. Bury them. Along with the man that brought them.

“I can tell you’re still angry with me,” his little one murmurred. Her voice was muffled against his chest. He could feel the tickle of her breath, the movement of her lips.

“Never with you, little one.” He stroked her hair.

She snuggled into him, her nose and chin pressing. “Then . . . at Motonari? Nothing really happened. One of his men got a little handsy and Mouri stopped him before I had to.”

Her voice was confident, certain of her skill. Mitsuhide had done everything he could to impart to her the ability to protect herself in exactly such situations, but she’d never really been tested. Maybe he worried for her unnecessarily. But he couldn’t help it. “Perhaps you should come with me when I run errands - just to be sure. I don’t like the thought of another man laying his hands on you.”

“Mmmm, now you sound almost jealous. Are you, Mitsu?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t help the way he growled the word, nor the surge of possessiveness he felt.

She kissed the hollow just below his throat. “You shouldn’t be. There is no one in this world for me but you.”

“I know,” Mitsuhide grinned. “You promised to stay by my side, remember?” He sat down, pulling her into his lap. She fit against him perfectly. “But other men see you and desire you. And bring you tokens of love.”

She giggled. “The gun? You can’t think Motonari - I mean - no - just no. He thinks I am some stupid little girl that is going to mess up your mission.”

“And you believe that means he does not also wish to bed you?” Mitsuhide’s eyes flashed gold and hot in the afternoon light.

“I hope not.” She glanced over at the box. “If it bothers you, I can just get rid of them. I don’t need my very own gun. Any of the ones from our stockpile will do.”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “No. Then he would know it got to me. He would see it as a little victory. No - you should keep them and use them. They are fine weapons.” He ran a finger along the curve of her ear. “Just remember that even if you carry a weapon with his sakurasou, it is my bellflower that engraves your heart.”

“Sakurasou? Is that his clan symbol?” She closed her eyes, enjoying his light touch. These moments were his and his alone. Seeing her in pleasure like this.

“No. But he meant to express his desire for you. And that I would see it and know. He is testing me.” Mitsuhide smiled, and it was a wicked grin. He leaned down to place a little row of kisses along her neck. “Perhaps I should leave my own little message - and mark -” he nipped the skin just under her ear.

“M-mitsu! You already left a mark!” She pointed to the fading love bite half covered by her collar.

“Not obvious enough.” He kissed her forehead. “Maybe I should put one here?” Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “Or here?”

“Ah! No! D-don’t you dare -”

“Or maybe a ring of them all around your neck.”

His little mouse looked worried. “You can’t be serious. Mitsuhide - I might die if you do that. My heart would burst from the teasing alone!”

He laughed, feeling at last better. “I couldn’t risk that.” She was his, and the whole world would know it once he finished this mission. Mitsuhide promised himself that he would make her his wife and she would bear his name, his children, and his mark.

“Good,” she smiled up at him. “But . . . that doesn’t mean you have to stop kissing me. I really liked it when your lips were - here - and here -” she pointed at spots on her neck. Then she got a mischievous look in her eye and brushed a hand over her breast. “Here too.”

“Mmmm, I see. Perhaps I should make a study of these spots. Compare your reaction when I kiss you elsewhere?” He let his hand caress her side, slipping down to her belly.

“I support that research.” She shivered and her eyes took on a hungry light.

“Then let’s begin.”

Next: The Greatest Harm

***flower meanings gotten from here

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #Mitsuhide Akechi #ikesen motonari #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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cosmic-lavender · 3 years

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Insecure Chapter 1

~Summary: What happens when life starts to intrude on the sick dark fairy tail you have found with the Firefly family? Is this softer side of our favorite hillbilly slasher bound to run out? ~

PARING( OTIS DRIFTWOOD X Reader She/Her)

(I do not own these gifs)

The sun peeked through the cracked blinds, slowly illuminating the once pitch-black room. Although it was already close to noon, the Firefly family was fast asleep still. Y/n rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stretched out your left arm over your head while yawning. It happened to be a long night, one of laughter and sex and violence, everything that entailed an excellent time in this family. You were celebrating the second anniversary of being proposed to. While most people might find that to be a silly thing to celebrate but you weren't most people; no one here in this house was like most people.

You hurried to get closer to your husband. To say that you love this man was an understatement, for love could not express the bond that you are too dark souls have created. You lifted your left hand to examine the scar on your palm, the same one that Otis had on his. You thought back to all the past events that had led you both to where you were now.

"Now, sweetheart, why would you ask me a thing like that?" Otis was glancing over at you, who was on his truck’s passenger side as they drove down a long dirt road in Ruggsville, texas. It was a warm day, and you had the front side window down as you stuck your hand out lazily into the warm air. You had on tiny jean shorts and a tank top, y/h/c flowing in the wind from the open window; you twirled one strand as you looked toward the passing flat scenery on the way home.

You and Otis had stopped into Spaulding’s roadside attraction to drop off Otis's latest artwork." I'm just curious because lately, I feel like you've been trying to incorporate more of the corpses into lovemaking time, and I just I don't know... I was wondering if you were starting to get tired of me," you asked him as your voice began to trail off at the end of your sentence. You shot him a playful smile, but he could tell that behind your eyes, there was doubt and insecurity brewing.

It started that he just wouldn't take the corpses off the bed when you two had started your lovemaking. Now you were open-minded, and you were pretty much into anything. Still, you noticed more and more that it was less of him moving them because of an inconvenience, and more or less he wanted them there. It had become an argument the last time. You’d always told him that if there was anything he wanted to try with you, you trusted him, you loved him, there was not anything you can think of that you would deny him. Still, if he was more attracted to dead bodies, that's going to be a problem.

"I already told you you're my everything. You're mine forever; there’s no way I could get tired of all this'' he says as he reaches over and rubs his large hand on your exposed thigh. You looked over at him and tilted your head. "I mean, I know it's something that you enjoy, and I'm so glad it's just that, you know dead girls if there are other girls you're having sex with..." she looked away from him and out the window staring again towards the fields. " I don't even see them as girls anymore; they’re just vessels for my rage and anger. I mean, I'll kill anybody, but I only sleep with someone I love, and I only love you y/n'' Otis said, shooting her a toothy smile. " I mean, I don't even look at another woman the way I look at you and shit, I've given up all the whores and, what not.

The moment you became mine, you know that. " he looked over to you again while simultaneously looking back at the road with one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh, now rubbing small circles on your skin. "I know that you take whatever I give you in the bedroom," he chuckles. "I know we get rough, wild, and downright freaky… but I also know that you've breakable, and I also know that I can hurt you badly, hurt you so bad that you may not be here anymore with me and I can't accept a reality where you may not be with me".

You turned to face him, now taking your arm from the window and placing it under your head to rest it against the door. " You know the devil lives in me, sweet, heart," he says as he looks back to the road, never moving his hand from your leg. "And sometimes when the devil side comes out .." he coughs a little and clears his throat, " what comes out I need something that I can release without worrying about if it hurts or if it breaks or if it dies." He's looking toward the road now, but his eyes seem empty, like he's lost in thought and far away.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and crawled over to him and laid your head in his lap. "So you scared you’d break me ?" You asked him as you stared at him from on his lap. His long silver hair is flowing in the wind, his large, strong hands both now grip the steering wheel " of course I am," he says but softer now like more to himself than to you.

He looks down and places his hand on your cheek, and gives you a small smile. You set your much smaller hand on his rubbing his thumb. " Remember when I said I wanted to be inside your darkest everything and know everything? Is this you showing me that? By allowing me to be aware of the bodies or whatnot". " It is, " he replies, looking down at you again. Still one hand on the wheel and one on your cheek." I knew you were the one for me who no matter what I showed you, no matter what I told you you didn't love me you didn't get frightened you came closer I want you to be inside my darkest everything forever" you blink and smile" I love you my devil monster " "I love you too kitten I love you too.”

Despite your conversation in the car, things were a little awkward for the next few weeks; it was evident that he was not bringing up the topic around you and seemingly avoided you; you weren't sure why but it was starting to piss you off. The whole house could feel the tension; your usual loving demeanor was not as present. You confronted him the next time you saw him " so what you mad at me or something? " You asked him, crossing your arms in the doorway of his art studio down in the basement, " no what the fuck you are going on about," he replied, not looking up from his work, you couldn't even begin to figure out what was on that table. " I just feel like you're avoiding me. If you have a problem, I wanna talk about it" "don't you start with me y/n, I ain't got to problem you the one that had a problem, so I'm trying to not cause one by keeping my work separate.” You decided that the next time there was a corpse in the room you were going to take the initiative with, you figured that was the only way to help him with his uncomfortably considering he was not great at communicating .about it. It was obvious you had to take matters into your own hands to help fix this awkwardness.

You knew that Otis had relations with them when you were out You've walked in a couple of times. You're not going to lie and say you weren't curious. Still, it was hard not to feel insecure, mainly because you've had bad past relationships. Other men in your life have always made you feel like they prefer the company of others, other women, compared to you, and granted, this was not a liability. However, the idea that you had to compete with something was not sitting well with you, e especially something that reasonably would be unfamiliar to anyone. The times you did walk in you weren't sure what to do A lot of the times, Otis would stop and come over to you and usually finish with you. You started getting anxious about when the door is closed if you're going to walk in on him with the corpse, and if so, what do you do. Even if you were interested in understanding this part of his world where would you start?

Otis was uncharacteristic soft with you in those tim.es If you'd walk in and lowered your eyes and say sorry he would always say, " this is your room too Darlin where ya going, which would usually follow him giving you open mouth kiss trailing down your neck slowly leading you to the bed where you may have to push the unfortunate dead woman over to the side. Well, technicality wasn't a real woman so to say it was confirmed in the sense that she once was alive but is it still cheating, or is it the same as if he had a blow-up doll? You already knew about the comings and goings in the basement. Was this so shocking that this was occurring? You know you loved him and you knew that there would be nothing that would break up in the bond that you two had b, ut you weren't sure e how to handle this. You decided to embrace it. If this was something important to him, it would be necessary to you, and you were going to learn to incorporate it the best way you could.

You thought back to the conversation in the car, No, he technically can't stab you in the abdomen while having sex or you won't be around anymore, and that makes sense; he has to release his rage in some way. You had already agreed no more raping of live women and no more picking up whores ( that wasn't an issue when it came to the live women he wanted you and only you) You did things to his mind. His bodies that no other women have ever done or could do, he more or less got the whores. He lived women when he needed a release after all this adrenaline, but now he had you for that.

So just as luck would have it, some unfortunate hitchhikers became the next round of victims in the home. You told Otis that you would be going with Baby into town. You don't know when you'll be back, knowing that when you were gone, he would probably take the time alone to have relations with the corpses. But you had a plan; you knew that if this was going to work, you would have to open your mind even more. You wanted to be in Otis’s world. You wanted to know everything that made him happy and turned him on and made him tick, so you decided to be part of it 100% jumping in without looking back. You waited a while until the house was entirely changed into your favorite lingerie with the silk robe and wandered up into the room. Sure enough, Otis was at it; he still had one corpse lai,d out on the table spread eagle for the world to see while he thrust into it angrily while stabbing the abdomen with two large hunting knives. "I see I'm missing out on a good time," You say slowly twirling the belt of your robe.

He turned around and looked at you, startled " I thought you went out with Baby.. " he was out of breath blood, splattered onto his chest and in his hair with wide looking his eyes, both knives still in his hand and at that moment something clicked, he seemed,d so feral, so primal so .. sexy... you knew you had to have him. Slowly dropping your robe you walked over to him "please don't stop on my account, handsome," you said, confusion washed over his face. You walked over to the chair next to the dead body, flung your legs onto the table, and proceeded to take care of yourself, running your hands down into your warm flower while crushing your breast. His eyes widened bigger than you've ever seen a smile crept across his face; he took a deep breath, " I fucking love you, so God damn much, you know ?" he started to thrust again in between every thrust he raised his voice " I .. love .. you..so .. fucking ..much ".

If you enjoyed my work please consider donating to my coffee fund or cash app! Link is in the masterlist.

#otis driftwood #house of 1000 corpses #three from hell #thedevilsrejects #rob zombie #bill moseley #otis firefly #slashers #the devils rejects #otisdriftwood

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planetsam · 4 years

Text

Michael Sanders prompt, if you ever feel inspired: future snippets of Michael and Alex and their relationship after the caulfield rescue. Bonus: Nora and Walt talking about their dumbass genius alien baby and the cosmic love of his life and plotting to get them together.

“So where’s Alex?”

Michael chokes on his cereal but Walt figures he’s been patient enough. It’s been about a week of letting him and Nora get to know each other. There’s no making up for lost time, not when it’s an entire lifetime. There’s just forward. But Walt knows you don’t go forward alone and he’s also not anxious to repeat history. He sure as hell isn’t going to be the go between for his boy and Alex again, just because Jesse’s a sadist and the two of them are pretty stupid for a couple of geniuses. Nora is curious enough to set down her coffee cup and looks between the two of them before settling on him.

“Alex Manes,” he says. Miss Nora looks stunned and horrified, which Walt can’t blame her for. He looks at Michael who stares at the table with an intensity usually reserved for the subject. Michael looks far younger, far more like the boy he isn’t rather than the man he is. Walt refuses to be phased, “you check in with him at all?”

“I’ve been busy,” Michael mutters.

“Alex just found out that there are aliens in the universe and you’re one of them,” Walt says, “and he dropped everything to help you. Seems that might warrant a phone call.”

“He didn’t just find out,” Michael snaps, suddenly finding his voice, “he just got around to telling me. He and Kyle have known for weeks.”

Walt leans back in his chair and looks at Miss Nora. The shock on her face is giving way to something far more curious. Being imprisoned may have done a number on her, but he recognizes the look in he eyes just as well. Michael has to collect himself and plaster on something almost innocent before he looks at his mother. Walt can’t exactly blame him for wanting to put his best self forward for her, even though he’d like to think that they all are aware that doesn’t matter to Miss Nora.

“So how has this been going on?” She asks.

“Nothing’s going on,” Michael says.

“Since they were teenagers,” Walt corrects, “though things have been rough since Alex came back from his last tour,” he looks at Michael, “you know his father hates you because you’re an alien.”

Michael snorts and then straightens up like he’s made a decision.

“His dad hates me because I’m bisexual,” he says. Miss Nora looks confused, “I like men and women,” Michael elaborates.

Walt wasn’t fully expecting him to say it. He’s been giving them their privacy, he doesn’t know if Michael told her. Looking between the pair of them though, it seems not. Miss Nora doesn’t seem to fully understand why Michael looks so stressed about it. She puts a hand on his wrist which gets a soft smile from Michael.

“Not everyone here thinks that’s okay,” Walt says, “especially Alex’s father.”

“Which part?” Miss Nora asks.

“The boys liking boys part.”

“Why is that any of his business?” She questions. Walt exhales even though he knows it was silly to think Miss Nora would draw a line at that. He shrugs, “I think Walt’s right, he probably dislikes you because of the alien thing.”

“It’s not about him,” Michael says, “Alex wants to get on with his life.”

“Alex is scared,” Walt corrects, “his father used to beat the tar out of him for liking boys,” he ignores the look Michael gives him. He’s lost his patience with the secret keeping, “he was fighting a war, got hurt and just came back recently. He’s feeling vulnerable,” he explains. He meets Michael’s venomous look, “Michael hasn’t been helping.”

“He’s been telling me to go away!” Michael protests.

“He didn’t look like he wanted you to go away in Caulfield,” Miss Nora says.

The outrage on Michael’s face is heartwarming. Walt’s got no stomach for the hallmark style crap that’s been happening, even though he understands the need for it. He’s glad the band aides been ripped off though. He’d glad they’re past that point and onto acting like a family. He’s never been under the illusion that they’re a proper one, but he knows they’re a good one. Or as good as any can be under the circumstances.

“So everyone’s on his side?” Michael demands.

“We don’t want you to get hurt,” Miss Nora starts.

“It’s ten years too late for that,” Michael snaps, “he left. By choice. And he keeps leaving. So I’m not going after him,” he pushes himself up, “I gotta go clear my head.”

Walt sighs after the door is shut and gets them both more coffee. He doesn’t know how Miss Nora is taking the news that Alex is a Manes or that her son has a dramatic love life or that he’s bisexual. It’s a lot for anyone to take in. Or anyone who hasn’t sepent the past decades being imprisoned and tortured. She doesn’t look particularly shell shocked as she looks out the window to see Michael going off to clear his head.

“Is it better if I call Alex over here or if you drive me to him?” She asks.

“Probably bringing him over here,” Walt says.

“Tell him I’m too frail to travel,” She advises, “does Michael need to cool off or should I follow him?”

Walt wants to tell her he’s her son. And he is. But Miss Nora looks at him steadily and patiently and he seems to belatedly realize that she’s waiting for him to tell her. After all he raised him.

“Give him a minute,” he advises, “I’ll go find my damn phone.”

The things is rarely charged since Michael graduated but he’s always kept it around in case Alex needs to get to him. There’s been a few times over the years he’s been damn glad he didn’t turn it off too. Like last week. But that hasn’t meant he’s kept it charged. Once it’s up he finds the last number from Alex. He’s not surprised when Alex picks up on the first ring.

“Don’t get too excited it’s me,” Walt says.

“Hi Mr. Sanders,” Alex says, “how are you?”  “Alive,” Walt says, “but I’ve known for years, how are you?”

“Alive,” Alex says and doesn’t elaborate. Still a punk.

“Well Miss Nora would like to thank you if you’re feeling up to it,” he says, “she’s not fit to travel,” he glances out the window to see Michael gesturing wildly and Miss Nora standing with her hip cocked and her arms crossed. Dramatics seem to be genetic, “so I told her I’d ask if you could come over, make an old woman happy and all that.”

He hears Alex hesitate and doesn’t blame him, but Alex was also raised to do the polite thing when it came to his elders. Not that he always does that. But Miss Nora’s not some homophobic monster. And he’s seen Alex do more to make his family name worth something than most of them.

“I don’t think Michael and I should see each other right now,” he says.

“Well lucky for you he’s out clearing his head,” Walt replies, because a half truth is better than a blatant lie, “and Miss Nora’s not really up for much talking. She just wants to thank you.”

He can see the wheels turning in Alex’s head before he finally exhales.

“I can come over in ten minutes,” he says.

“Sounds good,” Walt tells him, “see you then.”

He tries to shove away the guilt, then he tells himself he’ll figure out a way to make it up to him. Alex is a good man, far as he can tell. He’s good for Michael and Michael is good for him. Usually. He also knows that when they’re hurt neither of them is good for the other. Thinking about Alex makes his scars ache. Healing Michael’s hand was a process. But they could explain that. You can’t explain a missing limb or organ in the same way. Not that Alex ever knew that was an option. But Jesse did. The whole thing is such a clusterfuck, he’s more willing to open the door and deal with that mess.

“—he’s the one being ridiculous. I’m not throwing myself at him again like some lovesick puppy.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Miss Nora says.  “I don’t want to talk about him!”

“Great,” Walt cuts in, realizing adding this much guilt to his tab before breakfast can’t possibly be good, “because I think we’d better finish eating,” Michael throws his hands up and rolls his eyes, “you want me to cut up your pancakes and make train noises while I’m at it?” He asks as Michael stomps in. Miss Nora looks at him, “it’s how we feed children.”

“I’m not a—“ Michael cuts himself off with a swear, knowing damn well that what he’s saying makes him sound like exactly that, “I’m done talking about this with you two.”

“That’s fine,” Walt says as they all wind up back at the kitchen table.  Michael’s eyes narrow and Walt just thanks his lucky stars for Alex’s good timing as the doorbell rings. Before any of them can say anything, Nora motions the door open. Walt realizes he’s going to have to reinstitute the rules about when and where telekinesis can be used. On the other side of the door, Alex looks stunned, his eyes darting around. Walt’s not sure if it’s the telekinesis, Nora not looking on death’s door or Michael’s presence. Though when his eyes settle on Michael, Walt’s got his answer.

“You’d better come in,” he says.

Alex doesn’t move.

Michael doesn’t react to all the eyes being on him, but then again there is one pair he cares more about. His jaw tightens and clenches before he pushes himself away from the table and walks out the front door, dragging it closed behind him. Miss Nora watches it curiously. Walt doesn’t know if she can listen or not, besides he figures he’s got bigger things to worry about considering Michael’s got no reason to hide his powers. At least that’s one less thing standing in the way of whatever’s going on with them.

“He looks like Tripp,” Miss Nora says.

“The resemblance doesn’t stop there,” Walt says, “he’s a good man,” he looks at her, “seems like you know that.”

“He was going to drag Michael out of there,” she says, “I think Michael was going to leave with him either way.”

Walt ignores the shiver. Michael’s lived with the threat of winding up in a place like that his whole life. Walt’s always known the day may come when he’d have to get him out. One way or another. He just hadn’t counted on someone who wasn’t Max or Isobel also being there. He’s not the nosy type, no more than he has to be to keep Michael safe. Not that Michael needs him to anymore, but old habits die hard. Besides he’s never fully soundproofed anything so they could hear if they were being snuck up on. It’s not like it takes much to eavesdrop.

“—I could stand here and tell you that I didn’t want to leave, but I did.”

Miss Nora comes over wth just as much interest in the conversation. Walt wonders what his life has become and if Alex knows what he’s signing up for with all of this. If he knows he’s going to spend his life surrounded by dramatic, eavesdropping aliens.

“I didn’t help,” Michael mutters.

“You were in pain, I just didn’t know what to do. I handled it completely wrong, especially because it was my fault in the first place.”

Walt swears under his breath. He has no idea if Michael’s going to tell Alex what went on or how not his fault his pain was. He’s not a betting man, but even he doesn’t know if Michael’s instinct to protect Alex outweighs his instinct to protect his siblings.

“It wasn’t you.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better—“

“No, I’m serious,” Michael cuts in, “Isobel was in trouble. I had to help her. I had to make her think I did something bad.”

“But—“ Alex’s brow draws together.

“It was alien stuff okay?” Michael says, somehow guilty, defensive and heartbroken all at once, “you couldn’t know.”

To his credit, Alex straightens up slightly and gives Michael a hard look. Walt’s impressed, he doesn’t know if he’d do the same if he was in Alex’s shoes. Michael looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Miss Nora frown.

“Right,” Alex says carefully, “of course not.”

“What? You think I didn’t want to tell you?” Michael questions.

“I don’t know—“

“Of course I wanted to tell you!” Michael says, “but we never told anyone,” Alex raises his eyebrows, “Max told Liz recently. I wasn’t expecting you to go on some kind of alien discovery treasure hunt, Alex.”

Alex scoffs and Walt is oddly proud of him for not taking Michael’s crap. He doesn’t think anyone needs his approval but if Michael ever got that backwards notion in his head, Alex would get it. Probably. Guilt’s a hell of an enabler. Which is probably why Walt steps away from the eavesdropping to put on another pot of coffee.

He figures breakfast is probably the least he can do.

#michael guerin #malex #roswell new mexico #walt sanders #malex fic #alex manes #michael sanders #nora truman #roswell nm #roswell nm fanfic #Roswell nm fic #why can I not link stuff omg

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shimeiro · 3 years

Text

2- Jean Jacket ( Maxwell Lord x F!Reader )

(

- Part 2 - Maxwell Lord x Reader

┃Previous Part ┃ - ┃MasterList┃

Warnings : Mention of sex / Maxie is ... excited

Words : 2839

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« I am Maxwell Lord but I think you already knew that, didn't you ? » He tilts his head to the side with a little smirk.

« Oh uh- Yes indeed. » At first you thought he had it all figured out but you remember his smiling face and absolutely everywhere in this city, television, newspapers. It would be surprising not to know him if you were from here but you know him for other reasons - because your favorite actor plays him -, besides he is one of the characters who looks the least like Pedro Pascal when you think about it, he is closely shaved so no emblematic moustache or "beard" and no dark brown hair slightly curly and undisciplined. Everything about him exudes richness and without his smile he seems cold and intimidating. But you still follow him inside and the atmosphere in the elevator is strange, you are alone with Maxwell because apparently no one else had dared to get on the same elevator as him preferring instead to give you room with a compassionate look that you don't really understand, for the moment Maxwell was being rather exemplary which is surprising it's true, you would have expected him to be more condescending or something like that but since the few words exchanged in front of the Lord Industry building he hadn't said a word, just walking next to you and ignoring the shy greetings of his employees on the way.

Now your panic a little lower - although still present - you feel a little tired so you lean against the wall of the farthest elevator of Maxwell, a slight shiver runs through you when you feel his eyes resting on you and you nibble your lip nervously. When the doors open and Maxwell starts to move forward you take a deep breath as if you had just pulled your head out of the water and then follow him, the heels of your shoes making noise with each step and you sigh inside, you wanted to be as discreet as possible but apparently your pretty boots decided otherwise and so a few heads turn on your way judging you openly, it's the same kind of unpleasant feeling you get when you're new to a schoolyard but you're an adult now so it shouldn't affect you anymore even if it still makes you uncomfortable to be honest, so in a false air of confidence you keep your gaze fixed on Maxwell's broad shoulders as he walks in front of you with a confident step. He stops in front of a door and carelessly opens it letting you go first and then closes it once he goes in, he relies on in the front of his big dark wooden desk crossing his arms on his wide chest and then he looks at you with a touch of amusement when you look at the room you are in, it is much bigger than your whole apartment and you slowly realize that yes, you are in Maxwell Lord's office, just that.

You nervously begin to scratch your black varnish which is flaking a little as Maxwell watches you, a mean smile appears on his lips.

« Sit down, » he nodded to her in the seat right in front of him, « You seem completely lost, Miss ...? »

You tell him your name and then sit down with a little sigh of relief, you hadn't noticed how weak your legs were before you sat down, you would have liked to relax a little but it's quite complicated with Maxwell bending over a little and his eyes not leaving you for a second. He was obviously about to say something but someone knocks on the door, he sighs in annoyance and rubs his left hand on his closely shaved jaw.

« Come in. » His voice sounds different than before, colder and more professional, but when his assistant enters with a coffee in her hand and a small white paper bag he doesn't hide his obvious displeasure at being interrupted, she approaches Maxwell with a sweet smile as she flutters her eyes with her long eyelashes in a false air of shyness, it's quite funny to see from the outside and your could almost let out a little laugh but you doubt the situation is really ready so you hold back. « Put everything on my desk and take out, Nicole. » Her authoritative voice leaves her assistant no choice.

« My name is Charlie, Mr. Lord. » she says with pursed lips.

Maxwell makes a vague gesture with his hand as a sign of understanding but he doesn't seem at all interested in the young woman's name and you feel a little sorry for her, you give her a little apologetic look but she returns it with an irritated expression and quickly puts the coffee and the packet right next to her boss on the desk on which it is leaned negligently then she passes by you on her way to the door and her too flowery perfume stings your nose a little bit as you pass by.

« Mr. Lord, you have an interview with Mr. Beauchamp in 15 minutes. » Reminds Charlie in a small voice.

Maxwell sighs a little and then nods his head and after that she comes out without another word, you sink a little more into your seat and wait for the next movement of the man visibly a little annoyed in front of you, it would be unwise to irritate him more when he was the only person in this fictitious parallel world to have paid attention to you but that doesn't change the fact that you are rather upset of how he treats his assistant, Even if she doesn't seem to carry you in her heart at all it doesn't stop you from feeling a little sorry for her if she suffers the wrath of her boss all the time in this way, even if Maxwell is handsome and charismatic it doesn't change the fact that he is despicable with her.

This kind of problem of trivialized misogyny, even more present at this period.

You hear him take the paper bag, then he puts it on your lap, you raise an eyebrow in his direction, then you smile slightly at him, you open the bag and discover two cookies that still look warm and the smell seems divine. You don't know where Charlie found them in such a short time, but your stomach thanks her, you take one in your fingers and make sure that it stays halfway in the paper bag so that you don't get crumbs everywhere when you bite into it. But before, you look up at Maxwell sipping his coffee, he always seems to frown a little for some unknown reason.

You clear your throat a little and he looks at you again, you feel your cheeks getting a little warm and you take the second cookie out of the packet and hand it to him with a little smile.

« Maybe you could use a little “something with sugar” to get through this interview, Mr. Lord. »

His cup of coffee still against his lips and his shocked face makes you both anxious and amused, he puts his drink next to him and observes your outstretched hand, he seems really unsettled.

« They are for you. »

« One will be enough for me I have ... my stomach is a little tied, » tap your slightly exposed belly with your hand as if to strengthen your argument, it's true your belly is a little tied because of all the emotions you've been through in such a short time. You don't notice his gaze lingering more than necessary on the skin exposed by your short top.

« It would be silly to throw away that delicious cookie, don't you think ? »You add, waving your hand a little as if you were coaxing an animal with a treat, the comparison of Maxwell and a frightened animal makes you smile a little, it makes you think of the meeting with Roucky your cat who was a stray cat that you managed to tame by bringing him every day a different treat in the alley where he had chosen to live, at first he didn't come close and ran away, then little by little he came to you and finally agreed to eat out of your hand, after that he became so affectionate and waited for you to come every day, and one day you decided to bring him to your house to see if he would agree to stay, which he did and now he has been living with you for 2 years.

You feel a twinge in your heart at the thought of your cat waiting for you at home, are you going to see him again one day? « I guess you must be right. » He reaches out his hand to yours hesitantly as if you were suddenly going to run away with the cookie, when he grabs the cookie your fingers barely touch his, an indescribable feeling runs through your body and you freeze for a few moments and Maxwell too. Your eyes meet with the same incomprehension and you quickly withdraw your hand while Maxwell brings the cookie to his lips without taking your eyes off you, you look away and decide to bite into your own cookie to distract yourself.

« Call me Maxwell. » You feel his gaze on you and that again generates a strange and unknown sensation throughout your body, you almost start to suffocate in his spacious office and you wish you could take off your jean jacket that feels like it weighs a ton on your outstretched shoulders, but you know it's not a good idea, not in front of the almost predatory look Maxwell Lord has on you. You look at your feet and rush to eat your cookie and after you are going to pretend you have something to do, anything to get you out of here. Luck seems to be on your side this time as someone knocks on the door again and a sort of frustrated grunt comes out of Maxwell's throat.

« Mr. Lord, Mr. Beauchamp is here, waiting for you. » Charlie's high-pitched voice can be heard from behind the door and your get up quickly, the paper bag of cookies in your right hand, you squeeze it which creates a rustling noise and smile nervously at the man in front of you.

« I- » You clear your throat looking everywhere except Maxwell's face, « I should go, thanks for... the cookies. » You quickly turn around to the door and once you put your hand on the wrist of the door you hear him approaching and feel his presence in your back, your blood almost boils in your veins at this new closeness. And when he whispers your name in a puzzled voice, you swallow your saliva. « I could see you again ? »He seems disturbed too, but his voice is firm and resolute and you, you are certain that you couldn't line up two words without stuttering at this moment.

« Mr. Lord ? »Charlie asks again as she hasn't received a verbal answer from his boss.

You swear that you could kiss this a little hypocritical woman to give you a chance to get out of this awkward situation.

« I don't know... Goodbye Maxwell. »

You open the door with your hand that has become sweaty and you rush out without a glance behind you, it's only when the elevator doors close that you allow yourself to close your eyes and relax a little but it's only for a short time because once you're back on the street you realize that you have absolutely nowhere to go and you don't know DC.

You run one hand through your hair and you feel tears of frustration building up in your eyes. Yeah this situation is only cool in storys because then you swear you're one step away from having an anxiety attack and you don't even have your headphones and phone to listen to soft music to relax. Clenching your fist you realize that you still have the cookie paper bag, you observe it for a few moments even if there is nothing especially interesting about it, you should just throw it away but you put it in your jacket pocket and you start walking aimlessly in an unknown city at a period when you are not even supposed to have been born.

You don't belong here.

☆────────☆

You were just a young woman a little lost with clothes and a haircut a little avant-garde, you seemed rather pretty from afar he noted as he got out of the car driven by his driver but it is while approaching a little closer that he saw your face absolutely panicked while you were holding in your hand an object he had never seen before.

It intrigued him a bit so he just moved a little closer and ended up right in front of you and a subtle scent of pink pleasantly caressed his nostrils when he got close enough, your perfume was just present enough to be enticing but not enough to be heady like the perfume of his new assistant, a faded blonde with interesting curves, Maybe that's the only reason he hired him in the first place and it was nice the first week, but now that he fucked her a few times in his office when he was particularly tense she seemed to become much too intrusive believing surely that he had a special interest in her.

He has absolutely no remorse about using this shallow girl to whom he gave a pair of earrings expensive enough to make her lose her self-esteem completely, the power of money always wins.

But you, you seemed very little concerned by his presence so he subtly cleared his throat to make you look up at him so that he could fully observe your face and judge if you were as pretty as he thought he saw from afar. But you don't react, always getting angry about the weird object in your hands, it was a fine object with a minimalist design and he couldn't really understand what it was for and why you were holding it with such panic and frantically pressing on the side of the object. Maxwell became more and more intrigued, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat again, this time a little louder and it seemed to work because you stopped pressing and shaking a little the object and raised your head with a little smile on your pulpy lips that he observed with an interest he didn't bother to conceal, and when your eyes met his you seemed absolutely in shock, but not the kind of shock he's used to seeing on the faces of the women he meets who look like they're about to hyperventilate when he inadvertently crosses their eyes.

He can't control his slight smile when he sees your pretty face twisting with several different emotions that he can't quite place in the moment, he raises an eyebrow and that's when he sees you looking down on your free hand with your palm open towards you and you look at length with a slight frown. Maxwell blinks several times when he realizes that you have just... ignored him? Normally the irritation would have overwhelmed him because nobody ignores Maxwell Lord and even less from a woman, but surprisingly he felt a kind of curiosity and a slight amusement towards you... Everything about you seemed to awaken something unknown in him and he frown when you suddenly left his office, he wanted to fire that assistant - Elly? Kylie? Anyway - for interrupting this moment and making you run away so quickly, you were incredibly intriguing and he found himself wanting to see you again. It was very surprising coming from him wanting to see a woman again and especially without having fucked her, not that he didn't want, you were attractive - really attractive - in your jeans pants that squeeze your thighs deliciously and it's certain that if your slightly too big jacket didn't hide your ass from his greedy eyes you would have driven him crazy if you had walked in front of him. But it was your top that almost made him go feral, you seemed completely indifferent to your obvious lack of bra, he could clearly discern your nipples through the thin fabric and when he noticed it his cock contracted in his pants and his throat became dry.

But this stupid interview has prevented him from enjoying your presence a little more and the frustration invades him when he realizes that he only knows your first name, he didn't even have time to give you his phone number to reach him directly, he serves his fists. But he is a stubborn man and he will find you somehow.

Sweet little thing that you were, you managed to get his attention and to his own amazement he wanted to see you again.

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #maxwell lord fanfiction #maxwell lord ww84 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #ww84 #no spoilers #no y/n #no canon

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atinybitofau · 4 years

Text

[PART 4] S A N ⇲ royal series au

RECAP: san is king of eden, you’re queen of elos under one nation along side 7 other lone kings. the tension between you, san, and mingi get sizzled down when another king comes to aurora for a formal dinner. topics arise and san’s true colors begin to reflect in your eyes.

• series masterlist •

⇩ PART FOUR ⇩ , click me to read part three

Dropped now in studded gold, a formal dinner at hand, you made your descent down the long staircase of Mingi’s family home. You were lead by his handmaidens where you eventually find two of the men you had been playing with for the past day and night. Except a new guest on scene appears with a broad smile on his face.

They stood up upon your astounding arrival bowing and all commenting on the beauty you hold— foretold by honor of course. Can’t say that it’s not partly true though. The new guest paced himself towards you with a long bow before taking your hand and leaving a kiss on the back of it. Giggling playfully, you wave him off as he stood back prompt.

“As a neighboring Kingdom, I felt it deemed necessary to join you for dinner this evening. I hope you don’t mind, your highness.”

He holds your hand high and your own lifts layers of your dress to join the company at the table.

“King Kang, please keep the formalities for the crowd.” Chin up high, you set your silverware. “How is sweet Salem? I’d love to visit before I leave for Serene.”

“No need. With all this wishy washy treaties from far off kingdoms trying to marry me off, I find it harder and harder each day.” He sighs, the elegance just oozing off his Kingliness so diligently. “Won’t you marry me instead?”

“You know as well as I, Seonghwa and Hongjoong would never approve.”

“It’s because they still believe I’m sleeping around.”

“And are you?”

“He is.” San and Mingi mused helping the hands set the table.

Defeatedly, Yeosang mutters too, “I am.”

“Of course you are.”

You forget how tall Mingi’s genetics run in his family. His table basically was made for giants. And based on size, you were as good as an elf around him and his things.

“All jokes aside, this talk about marriage is making me curious.” Yeosang starts after you all mass great your meals. “Have you met any suitors as of late, y/n? It’ll be easier for you as someone with little experience and your kingdom now vulnerable.”

“There’s an idea.” Mingi reminds you of your conversation only hours ago.

San seems eerily quiet beside him, your eyes only glancing from time to time to the fierce eyed King.

“Seonghwa has lined up many Kingsman across counties, Hongjoong across nations— worried about how things might end up if I take too long finding a husband.” You say after formerly swallowing you food down.

“Those two.” Yeosang chuckles while sipping on aged wine. “Always a demanding duo. I deject the idea of them setting you up in blind arrangements. You should find a man you feel suited for yourself.”

“I need to focus on the coronation coming up.” you ease out of topic, wiping the remnants left by your lips. “As much as I fancy a husband at a time like this, I would like to be crowned first.”

“Your coronation could serve for two purposes, you know.”

You eye Yeosang in an incredulous manner. “And what other purpose would that be of?”

As someone who lacked relationship within the 8 kingdoms, San felt out of place. For an observant person like yourself, it was hard not to notice. San sulks in his chair under a feeling of harsh criticism, disappointment. It made him anxious. And it left him shy and outwitted.

“San, you should come.” The other kings glance from the juxtaposition a little shocked per se.

All but San who chokes rubbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “To settle with the heated hearts of the other Kings, I’m sure they wouldn’t find me being involved too heart warming.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mingi juts in bravely and halfhearted. “Seonghwa has a soft spot for you. They won’t mind it.”

You see San sulk in his chair and you notice. You actually felt sorry for him. With the things going on, the obvious uncertainties you all have regarding Eden’s pride and joy, you shouldn’t feel sorry for him but you do. Like you somehow just want to curl him up in a ball and hug him until a smile breaks out.

You decide to change pace of the conversation by asking, “San have you thought of finding a wife? I mean, with your booming Kingdom it just seems forthwith.”

He glances up at you now, raising an eyebrow over his hooded eyes. “A wife?”

The pace and direction you take under your own terms catches the table by surprise. The noble men stare at you with bubbled curiosity and reading expressions.

“I’ve always ever had my sister.” San adds a little muffled while glancing at the eyes in the room. “I never really thought necessary for another woman in my life.”

“My coronation will have many fine suitors for you.” You implement with little hesitation at all. “You should come. Maybe a woman could do you a little good..”

“That’s an idea.” Mingi’s eyes side-sweeps towards Yeosang who takes note of the invitation you share.

“It would be.. I’m afraid—“

“You’re afraid of?” You don’t wait for the normally jutted King to wonder over your thoughts. “King San, I assure you my coronation is by all means very peaceful. And if it’s judgement you’re afraid of, I’ll take care of the matter in my own hands. So will you come?”

San glares but in a light fashion. He doesn’t understand why you’re being so polite and forward about him attending your ball. In fact, deep down he assumes it to be a ruse in the making. But he knows well of what he’s capable. And saying no to a Queen of your daintiness was definitely something he was not capable of.

“I’ll try my best, princess.”

“I wish I can join you back to Serene, your highness.”

Mingi was to see you off, Yeosang long gone by the time you packed ready to go. San on the other hand was readying his troops and soothing his black stallions for the shorter commute home. You turn back to face Mingi who seemed now in distress that you were leaving so soon. You lift your lace veil off your face and lean forward on tip toes to kiss him goodbye.

He sighs with his hands on yours. “I really do dread watching you leave sometimes.”

“I visit often.” you chuckle tightening your grasp. “We’ll see each other in 9 days. It’s not too long now is it?”

“For me, it may be.”

“Don’t be silly.” you smile at him as he nods off an officer who whispers in his ear.

His fingers are rubbing at his temples, visibly irritant from the secretive request he’s been told. Your lips now frown finding it hard to watch him leave too.

“I’m afraid I’m being beckoned by the Grand Duke.” He whispers while leaning against your ear. He pulls you in a strong embrace before reluctantly leaving you first. “Please do be careful on your journey back. I will try to attend your Kingdom sooner than 9 days promised.”

“Rest.” You tell him honestly. “Thank you for everything, Mingi. Truly.”

He’s beckoned once more before he stands by his men to revel a bow before you and San. You wave him off as he makes his way back up the castle steps, his heart clearly telling him not to turn around. King Mingi was a romanticist. It ran in his blood.

“Unfortunately this will be my goodbye as well.”

You whip around upon pulling your veil back over your face. San’s now, hat over his curly night colored hair, eyes staring at you and only a mask to cover his lips. He bows a whole 90 degree angle before waiting for your words of honor.

“You will attend my ceremony..” You remind him with your eyes stern into San’s demonic eyes. “.. Right?”

He blinks at you once. “I will try my best, princess, but I can’t make any promises.”

You smile to yourself bowing your head in conspicuous respect. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to kill me through our time together. Despite the fact, I felt welcoming relief having spent some time with you anyway so thank you for that.”

You can tell the corners of his lips nudged just by how far his dimples caved in. You feel softly lost in his eyes by it being the only thing visible behind his mask.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to cut off my—“

“Okay San.” You cringe. “I get it. Thank you.”

“It was nice getting to know you Princess. I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“So you are attending my coronation.” You call after him as he cooly jumps on his horse.

“I mean,” he stops for a second when his horse neighs at the pull of it’s lead. “If I’m requested by a beautiful woman, it’s hard for me to say no.”

You roll your eyes. “9 days, San. Don’t forget.”

The carriages start moving but San holds back just to get one more look at you under the rising moon.

“I’ll try not to.”

Call it anxiousness.

Or maybe it was the moon talking.

But you’re somehow weighted more when San leaves than just minutes earlier when Mingi did.

@atinybitofau

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Rules For Falling In Love: #2

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: The love for this fic has really made my heart ache in all the best ways! I hope yall love this update and I look forward to all your feedback of any and all kinds, as always ♡

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had a week from hell, one where you seemed to live and breathe your work against your will. When you were free to do as you pleased, all you wanted was to do was absolutely nothing.

When you got home to find George seemed to have been waiting there all afternoon like a puppy, you rolled your eyes, entirely too exhausted to consider having fun. But before you had the chance to give that speech, George ushered you to the sofa.

"The last season, it's starting right now." He explained, turning the volume up on the telly that was already on. The show in question was one of those horrifically trashy ones. A silly little show you both got hooked on when you had the same cold, nowhere to go, and nothing else to watch. Now you needed to know what happened next.

The days weren't always like this. Between the years, you'd drifted apart from each other, floating back together for odd dinners and weekend getaways. It wasn't even like this when you started living together. But it seemed like in the blink of an eye you were spending more and more free time side by side, planning more than a few shared breakfasts and rainy afternoons.

Nights like these were expected by now, and you realized you'd be amiss if they ended anytime soon. George had called off dating some year or two ago, shaken by the Hollywood scene and the popularity contest he seemed to be in on, during films and even off set, in local shops he'd gotten recognized in. You'd forgotten that dating was a part of social life, far too preoccupied with your work and the plans you always had with George after hours to get to know anyone new.

It all made too much sense. So when the first commercial break kicked in and George passed the snacks he was holding over to you, as if he just remembered you were there, you spoke up.

"I'll do it."

You took the snacks, holding George’s eyes as his searched yours. You knew that he knew what you were agreeing too. Just when you thought he was about to speak, the show came back on and both of your focuses shifted entirely on the screen. You hadn't known what to expect... But the way everything seemed so vastly normal, sort of jarred you.

And for the next couple of days... neither of you talked about it at all. Sure you're busy with work and George had been fretting over a couple of important telephone interviews. But you thought surely he'd be more anxious to discuss logistics, or bring up the subject he invented, at all.

It wasn't until the next weekend, that the conversation picked up where it left off, again.

You'd spent the early Sunday morning roaming through the storefronts of an overpriced market. You ducked inside to relish the air-conditioned sales before dipping back out every few feet to admire the booths full of flowers, handcrafted gifts, and expensive decor. You'd buy absolutely everything here if you could.

You did have a mission. It was to pick up something to bring to dinner, a Sunday evening tradition with George's family. You'd been invited for as long as you could recall, and you'd never shown up empty-handed. Usually, flowers and desserts did just fine. But you were entirely too indecisive over what to purchase, this morning.

You'd become lost in a conversation with a woman who sold soaps and lotions, locally and expensively made. You rambled with her for so long that you'd lost sight of the person you'd come here with.

When you spun away from the lady selling soaps as new customers flocked closer to inspect her products, and you went on the hunt for George. You spotted him from behind, leaning in to speak with a vendor nearer inside. And just as you start to drift in his direction, he noticed you, too, through the crowd. And as the people part and you're nearly toe to toe, George doesn't greet you like usual.

There is no jab about where you'd been missing for so long, there isn't even a hello. Instead, you watch as George's smile grows mischievous, before bending at the knee.

Between his thumb and finger is a ring, just your unique style. It's from the booth he knelt in front of now, where hundreds of other delicate and novel jewels were displayed.

"What's all this then?" You laughed, standing in front of the guy you'd known longer than how to do simple maths.

"Marry me?" George asked, for the hundredth time, it seemed. You hadn't ever expected the question. But after this week, it came again at long last. You wondered if he'd ever bring it up again. But this time was different. This time, he smiled softly and held a real promise in his hand, looking up to you with a squint to block out the sun.

"I suppose I will." You grinned, answering quietly as George beamed up at you.

A couple of old ladies gasped from a couple of steps away, turning to watch on as George rose to his feet, grabbing your hand with both of his.

"Thank you, y/n. I cant wait." He said as if he'd been planning this for longer than he'd been pestering you about it.

"Why, we're practically already married." You laughed, mocking the statement he kept returning back to over the weeks. You watched as George slid the ring on your finger, with a pretty little design you couldn't have chosen better if you tried.

"Kiss her!" One of the elder spectators demanded like she was watching a wrestling match and coaxing on the fighters.

"I suppose I should," George remarked, mocking you, from moments ago. When he dipped down to place a teasing, chaste kiss on your lips, the old ladies cheered. When you swatted his arm with a playfully furrowed brow, the old ladies grumbled, completely let down by the way you ruined the moment.

"Don't blow it, Mackay. Go pick one for yourself, now." You warned your friend who was already giving you a playful smirk as you pointed to the collection of rings he was meant to choose from.

He found the perfect band, with specks and flecks that matched your own. And he liked it, best of all. The two of you walked out of the shoppe with matching rings, in fits of laughter as you imagined all your friend's reactions.

To celebrate, you stopped at a stall selling frozen yogurt and ordered one big container; because it was extremely overpriced, and George didn't mind sharing, because according to him-

"We're official." George boasted, digging into the dessert as you walked back toward your neighborhood, enjoying the perfect morning weather.

"Not quite." You reasoned. "We've still gotta get the worst part over with."

"The worst part?"

"Throwing a faux wedding. Lying to our guests. Drawing far too much attention to ourselves. This feels so much more like a business interaction than an event. Not that I'm not glad to do business with you, of course." You laughed, stepping in time with your closest friend.

"We don't have to make it a whole big thing. I only asked to be married, not for a garish wedding. We could stick to signing a few papers and call it a day."

"Are you serious? I want you to be explicitly clear about what you want because whether we make it one or not, this is a big deal."

"I'm okay with it." George chuckled, forcing the frozen treat in your grasp for a turn. "Either way, we'll need some witnesses."

You grumbled, remembering he was right. You weren't ashamed to marry him. Only embarrassed at the slightest bit of misjudged attention, and worried that your decision would be mistaken for something it wasn't, by anyone you explained it too.

///

"I've forgotten to get something to bring! I've never not brought something to dinner." You panicked, feeling your pockets in a last-ditch effort to find something to keep the tradition alive. George let out a little chuckle as you stalled in his parent's driveway. You reprimanded him for not being just as panicked as you, but he just laughed harder as he reached for your hand.

"Well how about this time I bring you."

A new set of nerves danced on end when you remembered the ring on your finger. You'd walked into the entry of his parents lavish countryside home like clockwork, without a gift but with very big news. But even in the strange twist of events, the familiar setting and George's calming presence meant nothing was out of the ordinary. You were only making the decision to keep it that way. Surely everyone would understand.

As you waltzed further into the home, there was no grand greeting. His father was sat in the living room, focused on a game that flashed across the telly. He turned his smile to the pair of you just before shouting back at the team he was rooting for. George's mother was in the kitchen, and upon hearing the pair of you come in, started rambling about how dinner wasn't quite ready and how hectic her day was.

You and George stalled in the entry of the kitchen, sunbleached wallpaper and worn old furniture welcomed you. When George's mother turned from the stove with a huff and a hand on her hip, she glanced between you and her son and asked why you were both just standing there.

"Has something happened?" She asked in a grave low tone.

George glanced to you as if to ask you for permission to say something. Or maybe to warn you he was about to, anyway. You knew it was best to rip the bandaid off. So you gave the smallest nod and held your breath.

With a look across the way to his father clicking the telly off in perfect time, George made his announcement.

"We're getting married!"

Despite George's sound excitement and the glowing smile on his face, his mother let out a breath with a hand to her heart.

"Oh thank God, I thought someone had died." She explained, reaching back to turn a knob on the oven. Her relief was comical, and just as she spoke up, you realized all the excitement you'd expected, was stored away in the girl bounding down the stairs.

George's sister nearly tripped over herself as she squealed into the room. You might have wanted to plug your ears, but the girl bound your way, babbling incoherently, grabbing your hand to see the ring she expected to see there.

"I knew it. I can't believe this day has come but I knew it would." She gasped like she'd just become a billionaire, as if her very own dreams had just come true. George's father sauntered closer, glancing at your ring with a pleased hum, offering a simple and pleasant congratulations on his way to steal a bit of dessert before dinner.

"So now I can finally expect some grandchildren, yeah?" George's mother shuffled toward the cabinet full of wine, a place she only searched through when the very best and worst news hung heavy over your weekly dinner parties.

"I don't think that's possible." You choked out in a hurry, as George's sister dropped your hand, spinning to face her brother who was holding back wild laughter at your expense.

"You can always adopt, dear." His mother pushed, spinning back to the oven when it dinged. George was in the middle of explaining your plans to his sister, who was shaking her head in disapproval.

"No! No way will I stand by and watch you get married without throwing a party. Can't we talk about a big white wedding? Oh please." She turned to you with big pleading eyes.

"No, no no no. I can't do that. I'd pass out before saying I Do and what's the point of that? We're just gonna get it done." You pointed.

"I'll just see about that." She stormed deeper into the kitchen at the sound of her mother asking her for help finishing your traditional Sunday meal.

"I'll try and thwart her plans to decorate the register's office with rose petals." George brought his hands to your shoulders with a smile you shared, as he led you to the table. His parents argued over what bottle of wine to open, while his sister went on making plans of her own, just for you. Normalcy remained.

///

"You two cannot be serious." Dean sat slack-jawed across a high tabletop in your very favorite pub. He'd barely touched his scotch, but you and George were on your second round of drinks you'd been downing while waiting on your friend to show up to tell him the news.

"Who else would we ask, Dean? You're our third wheel." You laughed, leaning in to shout past the music overhead. You'd already told George's family and asked his sister to be one of your witnesses. The girl was more excited than you and George for your big day. Dean was the only other person you could imagine inviting along, whose presence wouldn't make you break out into a nervous sweat.

"No, I mean you can't be serious about getting married!" Dean laughed, keeping his wide, dark eyes boring into yours.

"We've already worked most everything out. Will you please come?" George leaned in closer, taking his turn at coaxing his best pal into being there for the two of you.

"Yeah, fine," Dean softened, his smile reaching his eyes. "But I'm bringing a cake. Not to celebrate, but to stress eat." The fellow raised his glass in a silly toast. You laughed as you clinked your glasses together, then swiftly ordered another round.

"Well I don't want to steal your thunder but I've been meaning to tell the both of you something..." Dean shifted in his seat as you and George settled into a quiet focus on your friend.

"I've been seeing someone. Only been out a couple of times, but I quite like her already" Dean explained, a blush creeping under his eyes. George encouraged his friend to tell everything about the girl he'd been dating. You urged Dean to bring her around some time, thrilled at the prospect of having a fourth wheel to join in your nights of fun.

As Dean went on telling the tale of his first date with his new girl, your drinks came.

"Won't you miss dating around?" Dean seemed to worry, after thanking the waiter for his drink.

"I haven't missed it this far." You shrugged, sipping your fresh cocktail all the while. As free as you'd been till now, the thought of getting to know someone new, letting your guard down, building trust, just thinking of it all exhausted you.

When George leaned over you to accept his new drink, he flashed the waiter a tipsy smile.

"We're getting married!" He chuckled, and you did too. As you two broke into drunken giggles, the waiter offered unimpressed congratulations. Dean slammed back his new order in time to ask for another; either to catch up with you and George or to deal with the pair of you, you couldn't tell.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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oh-boleyn · 4 years

Text

dreams of her

words: 4007, one shot, language: english. f/f (parrlyn)

tw: alcohol, drowning, angst, if I forgot one just tell me

Catherine Parr met Anne Boleyn on a rainy midnight, while passing through the tower of London.

Anne’s dress was a mess, all white and out of fashion. Still Parr couldn’t stop watching the girl. She had bright green eyes, and long dark brown hair that almost got to her waist. A lost, confused look on her face got Catherine worried.

“Are you okay?” She asked. The girl saw her and smile.

Her smile was so bright it could light up the world.

“Yes, yes I am.”

(…)

Writing poetry is not quite a Catherine Parr thing, but she still does it.

Something about the white dress in the middle of the night that she can’t shake, not without pouring it into words.

(…)

It’s over a week before she sees the girl again. Just like she remembered her, but this time a choker on her neck catches her attention. Is white, the whole look is, just like last time. It matches almost perfectly with the porcelain skin.

“Good night.” Parr tries to sound casual, cool.

“Good night.” The other replies.

Cathy turns, heading to the tube. Without wanting to do that again, and lose back the gorgeous girl, she gives a glance back, but can’t find her again.

(…)

She dreams of her, which is something completely weird.

There is so much detail on the dream, things she can’t even quite put a finger on. They couldn’t possible have exchanged more than seven words, but in her dream, she knows exactly how the brunette would laugh and talk.

Even more strange, she wakes up with an ache on her neck.

(…)

Catherine hated having to cover in the bar, one of the advantages of being the goddaughter of the owner was having the best hours, and escaping dealing with drunk guys past ten. But since Jane had his son, little Edward, she had been pleading for a change of hours and Parr couldn’t just say no.

Staying in the bar late meant she had to write there, hiding behind the counter, wishing to be in her way too small apartment with the peace and quiet of her favourite Spotify playlist. Between college, bartending, and trying to write at least one good thing before finishing her studies she was constantly on the border of a mental breakdown.

The only thing she was glad about, was that apparently every time she made extra hours the white dressed girl would be standing near the tower of London. Catherine wished to be able to talk more to her, but was too anxious to create any more conversation that just casual greetings. Like written on stone, every night she would see the girl, a dream about her would come.

(…)

“Goodnight!” Cathy screamed, passing beside the other girl.

“Wait!” The paler responded. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

“Yeah.” She is taken aback, slowing her peace. “I’m Catherine Parr.”

The writer extends a hand, which the other takes without hesitation. The touch is soft, almost like silk, but so cold that it could be ice.

“Anne.”

Anne fits her. Even if Catherine is not sure if the name fits her or the way she says it, pronouncing slowly, needing the time because every part of it is important. It’s a really short name, but still sounds so elegant and distinguished coming from her. Parr is sure she is not going to be capable so pronounce a name so elegantly ever in her life.

(…)

“What are you thinking about, Cathy?” Anna asks.

“What?”

“You have your head in the clouds, what’s going on?” The German questions again.

“Nothing it’s just I’m having crazy days. With changing hours with Jane everything became catastrophic.” Parr excuses herself. “Do you want the usual?”

“It’s almost too late for that, I would prefer something stronger, what you got?”

Catherine smiles, mischief clear on her face.

“We have a new drink, it’s called bridge. One of these and you will be on the other side.”

She takes a long glass and starts mixing different alcoholics beverages, plus some other stuff like sugar and some fruit juice. Anna drinks it quickly, not bothering by the name of it.

“It is not that strong.” Cleves accuses Cathy.

“Try to stand up.”

The German does it quickly, stumbling on her feet and guiding a hand to her forehead in an attempt to drown the sudden numbness she feels.

“You were right.”

“I always am, linda.”

(…)

That night Anna is uncapable of standing up by herself, less to go home alone. Catherine dismisses her early, under the promise she will take her friend back to the apartment. Going through the streets of London with a really drunk woman, who is at least half a head taller than Parr it’s not quite easy task, but she manages.

“Friend of yours, Catherine?” Anne asks, smiling.

She almost shines, her white dress floating with the cold wind of the night. The clouds above them are grey, almost black, announcing a rain coming, but Catherine can’t bring herself to care, not even when Anna moves towards a trash can.

“Yes, you can say so.” Parr says, before adding: “She is your namesake, almost. It ends with an A.”

“Well, I’m Anne with an E.”

Cathy laughs.

“Why are you laughing?” Anne questions.

“You made a reference, to that show.” Cathy responds.

“What show?”

The girl seems confused, and for a second Catherine feels like that too, but when Anna takes her arm and request to please go home, the smaller complies.

“Good night, Anne!” She screams.

(…)

When the storm breaks, Catherine had barely time to get back to her house. She luckily didn’t catch the rain, or else her house would probably be a mess.

She wonders about Anne, Anne with her white dress and precious smile. With her cold touch and pale skin. Anne who is just as enchanting as anyone could be, elegant but still playful. Just thinking about her name makes Catherine have her head over heels.

Catherine Parr was not one to fall in love so abruptly, a first sight. Her love was usually slow, getting used to the person, knowing them completely. But it was not the case, outside the things she could got from their short talks, she knew nothing about Anne.

But she was still falling.

(…)

“Goodnight, Catherine!” Anne calls, voice clear in the not so populated street.

“Goodnight, Anne.”

(…)

There was something strange, a sickening feeling when Catherine got closer to Anne.

Just the sight of her pale, even slightly green, skin made Parr feel giddy and shaky. Her hands would start tremble, and her mouth would run out of words quicker than it usually did. Even the temperature seemed to get lower near her.

Catherine still felt attracted, an uneasy feeling of belonging. A need to get closer, even if it sickened her to the very core, letting her so tired that the only thing she could do when arriving home was sleeping.

And have nightmares about her.

(…)

“Yes, godmother, I’m getting to the bar right now.” Catherine says on the phone.

Arriving, she takes the key to the back door, letting herself in the vast place. Cold hits her skin while she changes into her uniform. Going into the bar, the music starts sounding more and more loud, until she shows up there.

A girl with brown and pink hair is singing for the karaoke night, totally careless but hitting the notes.

“There you are.” Catherine of Aragon calls. “I thought I had lost you to your books.”

“Funny.” Cathy said, straight-faced. “Who is that?”

“I’m not sure, Katherine something, but she is good.” Aragon explains. “You should go and sing.”

“I don’t think so.” Parr replies.

“Whatever you say.” She makes a pause. “I was wondering if you were going to take again Jane’s turn.”

“Yes, yes I will.”

(…)

Walking back home makes her stomach turn when thinking about watching Anne. It must have been a prediction, because when she finds the other woman, she doesn’t exactly look like always.

Her green eyes are not bright and gleeful, instead there is something obscure apart from the tears falling. Her white skin is left untouched, not a single mark of redness, still it is puffy and demonstrates signs of crying. The white dress is different, looking like a dirty white, almost grey, and the choker is thicker, wrapping itself tighter on her neck.

“Anne?” Catherine asks, getting closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so lost.” The woman cries. “Have you ever felt like that? Like you are slowly drowning? Is like there is just so much water weight on me, my lungs can’t take the pressure.”

Parr slowly moves, sitting beside her, she wonders for a moment, before putting a hand on Anne’s back. As expected, her skin is freezing, but the other doesn’t care. Slowly drawing paths in her back, she waits for words to come out, but they don’t.

“I am just so tired.”

“Let’s go out.” Catherine suddenly reacts.

“What?”

“Let’s do something. Right now. We deserve a free night.” Catherine slowly guides a hand to Anne’s face, attempting to dry the tears with her thumb. “What do you say?”

A timid smile appears on Anne’s face.

“I think you are right.”

Catherine quickly stands up, offering a hand.

“Lady…”

“Boleyn.”

“Lady Boleyn, would you do me the pleasure of being my companion for tonight?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

Both of them interlock their hands, while laughing at their silly manners.

Walking the streets of London never felt more magical to Parr. Everything seemed prettier, brighter. In her dream like state, everything is better, and she is no longer tired. She wonders if it is another fantasy of hers, but decides against it, even if it was, everything was just so wonderful that it wasn’t worth it to not relish it.

They get to a club, with dark lights and loud pop music. Anne smiles at Parr, who takes her lead. They start to make silly moves in the middle of the dance floor, not caring about the consequence of embarrassing themselves. Anne’s eyes have a certain gleam, shining every time she smiles for a move Cathy makes.

The atmosphere makes Cathy feel drunk, everything brilliant, dazzling, under the blue lights. People are moving in a blur, and the only static thing are green eyes watching her, attentive at every move she makes. It feels right, she keeps telling herself so, but at the same time an insanity to the whole situation keeps her out of that train of thought.

“Would you like to drink something?” Catherine questions, to which Anne gives half a smile.

“Of course.”

“I think I know a better place.”

Taking back Anne’s hand, they start making their way outside. An hour has already passed, and even less people can be found in the streets.

“Tell me about yourself, Catherine.” Boleyn questions.

“I’m not an interesting person.” The shorter claims.

“Don’t say that.” She fakes pouts. “Please, I want to know.”

“Okay.” Cathy laughs. “Where to begin? I am the oldest of three siblings, and we used to live in the north, in Cumbria to be more exact. I am good with languages, since I really love anything that has to do with words.”

“You sound like a bookworm.” Anne proclaims.

“I am! But really, I just love it.”

“I am not good with languages.” The taller explains. “But I speak French.”

“For real? I do too, and Italian. And Spanish. And I can translate from Latin but I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

“How long? Since somebody actually cared and talked Latin?” Anne mocks her.

“Shut up! It’s really interesting, and important. A lot of languages come from it.”

“What is your favourite word? In Latin, I mean.”

“I think vigil. It means sentinel.” Cathy makes a pause and signals the sky. “It can also mean stars. You know, they watch us.”

“The starts watch us?”

“Totally. So does the moon, and the sun.” Catherine slowly strokes Anne’s hand with her own. “I moved with my godmother when I was still young, departing was really hard. My mum told me that starts will be everywhere, watching over me even if she couldn’t. It was good to know, like a protection.”

“I used to live in France, my dad sent me there for boarding school.” Her voice grows darker. “I didn’t saw any of my siblings for a while and it was… It was really lonely. Still I found comfort in the sky too. I don’t think starts can see me, but I do think I can see them. Like stars, the moon. It doesn’t matter where you are, the moon is always the same.”

Anne hides her face.

“That’s a nice thought.”

“It’s dumb, Catherine.”

“It’s not.” Cathy reaffirms with a squeeze to Anne’s hand. “It’s something good to think. Like every person that has ever been on earth has known the moon. A million of civilizations, people we don’t even know their names. Every hero and villain saw the same moon.”

“The moon is beautiful.”

“No more than you.”

Anne gives a surprised look to Parr, who looks away.

“Keep telling me about you.”

“I told you I love words. I want to be a writer.”

She is trying hard to keep her breath under control, but deep inside her heart is racing. The sickening feeling makes her feel that she could overshare at any moment, which is something she would rather not happen.

“I am currently in University, and I am trying to write this book, but it is just so much and so hard. It’s like I can write a thousand pages, but when I proof read it, I hate it.” Catherine explains.

Way to go with no oversharing, Parr. She blames herself.

“I think you are probably just too perfectionist.” Anne’s voice is sweet, familiar. “I used to write, and I loved it, it was messy, a strange kind of poetry.”

“Really?” Cathy questions. “Since I met you, I have been writing little poems here and there. I was never one to write literal poems, maybe sonnets but nothing more.”

“That sounds really structured from you, Catherine.”

“Why do you always call me Catherine?” She burst out.

It’s Anne’s way to say here name, pronouncing it whole, making her feel so important and personal. Maybe it was something about living in France, having another language for so long, but still it doesn’t quite explain why.

��It’s your name; isn’t it, Catherine?”

There is a playful smirk on her face, which brings Parr to her edge. Saying her name into the conversation feels so intimate. She considers that the only other way to make her feel like that would be if Anne ran her fingers through her arms, through her face. It is confidential, affectionate.

“Yes, but people call me Cathy.”

“Well, I am not people.”

Fortunate or not for the shortest, the moment Anne finishes saying it is when they arrive to Aragon’s bar. Nobody is there, counting that the clock indicates 2AM, and it closes at one, but the mess is still there. Some chairs out of its places, while others are neatly sitting in tables. The floor is dirty, and there are glasses still sitting on the scenario.

Still, she can’t appreciate it more, with the fairy lights, and Anne by her side, the chaotic scene looks like something irreal, out of a dream.

“Welcome to my job, you wanted to know about me? I’m here most of the time.” Cathy grabs a clean glass. “What do you want to drink, milady?”

“What do you recommend me?” Catherine nods, but doesn’t say a word. “So, bartending. I couldn’t possibly have guessed it.”

“Well, it’s not my ideal job. I don’t enjoy crowds to be honest, but my godmother is the owner and I used to do my homework in the back, so I’m used to being here. It’s good.”

“Is it? Really?”

It takes Parr for surprise, how easily she asks, a smirk on her face. A nervous feeling creeping on the back of her mind.

“It is. Really.”

“Would you be a bartender forever?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why is it good?”

Catherine stays in silence while she finishes preparing the drink.

It feels tense, the atmosphere getting heavier instead of better, and none of them talking. Anne has a stern face, with her eyes fixed on Cathy’s hands. From being intimate, the talk became invasive, way too much for both of them to take.

Catherine finishes the drink, and hands it to Anne. She takes a sip, and makes a face.

“That was too much salt.” She jokes, a slight smile appearing on her lips.

“That was a great done margarita. If you can’t handle salt, I hope I see you trying to manage your tequila.”

“Alcohol and salt are two different things, Parr!” Anne slams her first on the table, dramatically. She makes a pause. “I’m sorry if I made things weird.”

“It’s alright, I don’t care.”

“It’s just… Lately nothing is what I expect. I wish I made things because they made me happy, and not because I felt obligated to.”

“I know that feeling.” Catherine explains. “I feel like I’m constantly running out of time, as if I sleep when I wake up there will be nothing there. It keeps me at edge most of the time, like I can’t just experience one moment, I have to do something else, and when I finish there is another thing to do. I think this is the first night I feel alive and living the moment in a while.”

“I feel the same Catherine.” Anne explains. “And you are a great bartender.”

“If you keep calling me by my whole name, I will start to feel important.”

“You should feel important, you are.”

Anne Boleyn was most definitely a flirt.

She didn’t sound forced, or uncomfortable, but it was rather just a way to be. With her long eyelashes, frisky smirk and porcelain complexion, it was impossible to resist. Elegant movements, a way with words, and the warm feeling she irradiated even if her skin was icy.

Catherine could feel herself painfully falling.

They talk about it all, play silly games with the cups and dancing slow dodging tables.

Deciding it was more than what Catherine could take, they opt to go and grab coffee at her apartment. The chill of the night still present, Parr gives Anne her jacket. Light revealing it was almost time for the sun to shine again, something dreadful for them, knowing their night off was about to end.

When they get to the spot where they usually part ways, the sky starts turning a pink colour, indicating the dawn.

Anne stays for a moment, watching the reflexion of the light on the river. She looks almost like a statue, firm, almost as if her chest is not breathing. Catherine takes out her phone, taking photos of Anne, until she realizes and turns her head, smiling.

“You are giving me a breath, Catherine. I never thought I would see another night like this one, but I can’t be any other thing that thankful.” She plays with her hands. “I know it was so brief, only a night when a year have so many, but there is nothing more I could’ve ask for.”

They stare at each other eyes.

“One last night.” She mutters, not loud enough for Catherine to hear. “I have to go.”

“Can I get a kiss?” The other one wonders.

Anne impacts her lips with Catherine.

The world suddenly goes on mute. There is no other sound, except the blood running through their veins. Anne’s lips are soft, softer than what Cathy remembered lips were, and her skin feels as if might break if she grabs it too hard.

Still, it is tender, caring. So warm despite everything being so cold around there.

Anne is the first to pull away, giving Catherine a smile.

“I hope the best for you, Catherine Parr.”

Catherine takes just a moment to get her eyes open again, and Anne is no longer there.

(…)

It drives her almost crazy at first, doing research about Anne Boleyn, but there is almost little to no information about her online, nothing about the past few years.

The pictures on her phone are still intact, and it is the only thing that keeps her from thinking it was a dream.

She waits for hours at midnight on their usual spot, but Anne never shows up again. There is no sight of her white dress or kryptonite eyes.

There’s nothing, as if she never existed.

(…)

Katherine Howard becomes a regular on the bar, singing almost every night.

She is young, around eighteen years, but she still becomes friends with Catherine and Anna. Aragon even becomes fond of the girl, offering her a weekly payment in exchange of singing. Jane is enamoured with her, but opinion biased since Edward was probably in love with her, not crying when he was on her arms.

(…)

Catherine has nightmares about it, followed by the feeling of being underwater.

She has nightmares of Anne, both of them lost in the middle of a sea, or a river, and when they are about to reach each other, they can’t. She can’t even clearly hear Anne talking on her dreams, but instead it is so much pressure on her chest she might faint from it.

But at least she remembers.

(…)

Times goes away flying.

It’s been two months, and Catherine haven’t seen Anne.

She almost even prayed to see her again, to hear her voice, a sight of her smirk, but it never comes, all she has is nothing, and three photos of that night. Parr wonders if she moved back to France, if that was why she was crying. If she is alright, writing poetry on a café. If her dress is still white and her choker still wraps around her neck.

Her mind can’t stop missing her.

(…)

“What’s up with that face, Cathy?” Katherine asks, Anna rolls her eyes.

“She has been painfully pinning on this girl for almost four months now, even if they only went out once.”

“Shut up, Anna!” Catherine bickers. “You don’t understand.”

“Keep saying that, is not my fault you dearest Anne Boleyn isn’t anywhere to be found.”

“Wait, what?” The younger’s face is pale, drained from any colour. “What do you mean Anne Boleyn?”

“Do you know her?” Cathy wonders, hopeful. “Look, I have these photos.”

She quickly goes through her gallery, showing the three pictures.

“Where do you get those?” Kat’s voice is panicking, and she is not bothering to hide it.

“Near the river, four months ago, why?”

“Anne was my cousin.”

“Was?” Catherine asks.

“She has been dead for seven years.”

(…)

Catherine can’t process it at first, but then it starts to make sense.

Weird dreams.

Not knowing a show from three years ago.

Pale skin.

Disappearing.

Always cold.

Never blushes.

Is like there is just so much water weight on me, my lungs can’t take the pressure.

Catherine feels sick to her very core, almost as much as she felt when she was with Anne.

(…)

It is the morbid thing to do, but Catherine begs her namesake to take her to Anne’s grave.

The cemetery is cold, rows and rows of grey pieces of stone laying around. The grass is almost as green as Anne eyes, and Catherine has a bouquet of white margarita flowers on her hand.

She wants to believe it is just another dream.

Dreading the moment, they get to stay on front of a grave, which clearly says Anne Boleyn, stating her death on the 19th day, of the fifth months of 2012.

What comes as a surprise is Parr’s jacket sitting on the grave.

“I hope you the best for you too, Anne Boleyn.”

#six fanfiction #six fanfic #six the musical #anne boleyn #Catherine Parr

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imhereforbvcky · 5 years

Text

Sweet

Summary: (Natasha x shy!reader) Your old friend Sam recruits your help for a low-key work party, ya know, at the Avengers Compound. Of course you’re the type of soft-hearted civvie that could fall head over heels for a particular red-headed assassin while you’re there.

Prompt/Request: This is not exactly the silly drunken interaction @whyhello-there requested… There are drinks and it’s lighthearted, but it’s more a bunch of sober spies being cute than it is drunk shenanigans.

Warnings: A little swearing, FLUFF

Word Count: 2518

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?”

Apprehension rippled through your voice like a current. You’d known Sam Wilson forever. Friends like him didn’t come around every lifetime. Refusal wasn’t even in your vocabulary when he invited you to a work party, but now… Well now, you were nervous.

“It’s just a barbecue.” He gave you that look, the one that’s half a smile and half an exasperated frown. It was the one he gave every time you worried too much. “No one’s makin’ you stay if you don’t have fun.”

“But you are makin’ me go even though I’m nervous,” you smirked, nudging his side with your elbow.

He chuckled, warm and infectious. “And you’ll be glad I did. Trust me.”

“I do,” you grumbled as he shoved the massive tray of food into your arms.

While Tony would be spinning up cocktails, tossing (and dropping) bottles of scotch, Clint planned to grill farm fresh chicken, and Wanda had already set to work stringing up lights and setting out vases of flowers with feather-soft petals. Sam, with a little help from a friend, covered the sides.

As a man of easy smiles and affectionate banter, the list of things Sam Wilson took seriously was not a huge one. But good food? Top of the list.

Your mouth watered just looking at the bright yellow corn on the cob, waiting to be slathered in creamy cheese sauce and a hint of cayenne. The tangy pineapple slices would sweeten with a few minutes on the grill. You’d helped Sam fill jalapenos with cheese before wrapping them in bacon. The peach halves were the hardest to resist, but you couldn’t wait for Sam to serve them up grilled with thin strips of basil and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

His was a tall order with such an unusual crowd, but on the bright side, it meant that today, he needed a hand. It meant you would meet your heroes. Everybody’s heroes. Real life, living breathing heroes. The Avengers.

Sam placed his palm on the biometric scanner and the panel came to life. After a few chirps from the machine, he pulled the door open and held it for you. The room looked like something out of Architecture Digest. Wide and open, concrete and glass stretched in every direction. The enormous retro furniture seemed lived in and relaxing. The space was austere but you immediately wanted to stretch out and nap in the sunlight pouring through the floor to ceiling windows.

“Woah,” you breathed, mouth still agape.

Lights ticked on as you moved through the space and powered down as you left. There were no clumsy TV remotes on coffee tables, no unsightly cables. It was all efficient, energy saving, and bright.

It absolutely screamed Tony Stark.

“C’mon,” Sam encouraged, taking the tray of food off your flagging hands. “Party’s out back.”

Feeling more out of place by the second, you followed close at his heels. The glass walls extended in every direction, like a thin skin wrapping around the entire building. It reminded you of a snow globe, holding a whole world safe within.

Except for here, at the entrance to the party. Here, the panels had been pushed to the side, like the wall itself had opened up. It felt like standing in the mouth of a great concrete cave, waiting to step into the sunlight of another reality.

It was a different world in more than just appearance. The Avengers lived a life you could only guess at. You watched them through the looking glass, through the lens of television and internet media. Apart from Sam, they were practically a work of fiction to you. Now they were a mere step away.

“Who’s your friend?” The voice drew your attention immediately. Smooth as silk, somehow low and vibrant all at once. The question was for Sam, but it had been aimed in your direction. She was staring at you, smiling, but sharp green eyes roved over every detail. You could feel it like the heat of the sun piercing through a cloud.

Sam called your name and you blinked quickly out of your reverie.

“Quit hiding in the shadows and gimme a hand!” he hollered from half way across the courtyard. He hadn’t stopped at the precipice as you had. He’d crossed it easily because this world of legends was his own.

You nodded, tried to laugh away your silliness, your anxiety, and stepped into the sun. The pair of you set to work about the food like clockwork. While you began unwrapping the corn, Sam had turned aside to light and oil the grill.

When you looked up she was standing there. The one from before. The one you were sure was some sort of enchantress, because once again your tongue stilled and you couldn’t drag your eyes away. Hell, you could barely breathe. Wasn’t breathing supposed to be involuntary?

She smiled again and this time it was warmer, her eyes were softer as she watched you for a moment before they flickered to the tray in front of you. You, however, couldn’t look away from her face long enough to see her reach for one of the peach slices.

“Uht-uh! You better not!” Sam scolded from your side as he returned from the grill for the corn.

She laughed and held up her hands in surrender.

“Some spy,” he teased her with a wink before turning back to the grill.

“I almost lost a finger trying to snag one earlier,” you admitted, surprised at your own voice.

“I think he’s hangry.” She said it loud enough for you to know it was more for Sam’s benefit. She was good at that. Saying things without really saying them at all. She could mold and move a conversation in the subtlest ways. You could see immediately why she was so good at her job.

“No, you deserved it,” Sam complained. “You both know there’s snitchin’ in my kitchen.”

She smiled at you and rolled her eyes. You felt that heat again as they slid back to you, skimming over your figure, a little more slowly this time. A little less sharp and a little more intrigued.

It seemed desperately far away when you heard Sam introduce you, give your name. “She’s an old friend,” he said. Next he pointed with his tongs to the woman whose gaze remained steady as ever on you. You hadn’t dared to even swallow. “And this is—“

“I know,” you blurted. The tension in your gut had simmered to a rippling boil and burst out of you with nervous energy. “I-I know who you are.”

She never faltered, but you noticed her posture stiffen slightly, and she gave the tiniest nod. The sun glinted in her red hair when she did, a shimmer of copper light was all that gave the motion away.

“But now that I’m talking, I’ve realized I should have just kept my mouth shut because I have no idea what to call you,” you laughed, tight and uncertain.

Her lips flinched, it was the only notice that she’d even heard you. If you weren’t so anxious, so instantly head over heels, you’d have recognized it for what it was: she was stifling a laugh, and only just managing it.

“And god, you are so impressive. I knew you were beautiful from TV and everything but I-I’m… oh my god I need to stop talking!” You looked over at Sam for help. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye with raised eyebrows and a laugh ready to erupt. But he offered no lifeline.

You jumped when warm soft hands closed around one of your own. Hers. Gentle and adept, soft. Skilled hands, not workman’s hands.

“I’m Natalia.” That damn smile again and you were lost. “But friends call me Natasha.” You nodded. “Good friends call me Nat.”

“And what should I--?”

“Hey Nat! You’re up!” Clint called from the other side of the open courtyard.

She looked over her shoulder and nodded.

“Hey, Happy Feet! You want in?” Tony called to Sam, holding up a handful of darts beside Barton. “I need a partner.”

“Penguins don’t even fly, Tony,” Rhodes lamented from the pool.

Sam tipped his beer bottle towards Rhodes in agreement, before glancing at you and Natasha, a sly grin drawing out the dimples in his cheeks. “I’ve got my hands full with these jalapeno poppers, but uh… you get my buddy here a drink and I bet she’ll play.”

“Okay, dear, we are down by a metric fuckton and I have a lot riding on this game,” Tony explained by way of pep talk. The world’s worst pep talk. “So if you could maybe make a bullseye on this shot, and save my dignity, I would be forever in your debt.”

“Tony,” Natasha drawled, half a reprimand. “You’re scaring her.”

“I-no. No pressure,” he smiled, laughing now as he threw an arm over your shoulder. You knew he was kidding. Mostly. “But don’t embarrass me in front of the super spies.”

With a sip of your drink for courage, and a deep breath for focus, you stepped up to the line and made aim.

It was the worst shot of your life.

The dart didn’t even make the board. It clattered off the concrete behind the target and sunk into the dirt. The little red tip waved up at you derisively.

Tony sighed and Clint whooped. You heard none of it because Natasha’s hand had begun to slide down your arm and wrap around your own.

“Damn it!” Tony cursed.

“Loser makes the next round,” Natasha explained beside you, tipping her empty glass. She said it so softly you knew without turning your head that she must be close, coiling around you and humming into the shell of your ear. You wanted to curl up against the warmth of her body, now pressed against your arm. “C’mon I’ll help you carry them.”

“Bet’s a bet, man!” Clint prodded behind you as you walked toward the bar.

“FRIDAY?” Tony called with the distinctive groan of defeat.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Change all my access codes to Tony Stank.”

Natasha laughed and glanced over her shoulder, allowing herself a moment to revel in her victory. It was a light breeze on your shoulder, a kiss of her warm breath as she turned her head. Her smile beamed buoyant and luminous. All the sharp edges chased away by the light of idle and pleasant company. Of trust and love. Family.

You’d always loved and been drawn to people who laughed easily, like Sam. But you’d never quite appreciated it like this. To hear it so freely given from someone so noticeably cautious with their everything, was truly captivating. You regarded it like a gift, a treasure, a breakable crown laid in your hands. You wouldn’t waste it or break it.

“So what will you make us?” she asked.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d reached the bar already.

“Uhm. I could make something with peaches?” you suggested, remembering.

“Sounds sweet.” Her eyebrow perked up and she leaned forward on her elbow, watching with mild interest as you got to work. “Are you as good with those ingredients as Sam?”

The laugh came at once. It was loud and mortifying before you quickly covered your mouth, eyes wide. She seemed to enjoy it though. She laughed with you; another gift.

You’d already lost count of how many ounces of vodka you’d poured into one of the glasses. So, no. Definitely not as good as Sam.

“No,” you finally managed. “Not even close. But I can follow direction.”

“So you’re sweet too,” she mused, eyes locked on her fingertips fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

She never touched you, never moved an inch closer, but you could feel the want of it like a match held an inch away from your skin. Like a heat arcing from her skin to yours. Instead she waited, measuring the breaths before you took half a step closer. And another, until you were close enough that her knuckles brushed against the smooth skin of your thigh.

“Am I?” you asked, hardly more than a whisper. It was a nonsensical question, but the sensible part of your brain had short-circuited the moment you felt her sun-warmed skin.

She nodded, slow and easy. The pads of her fingers traced the edge of your jaw. “You’re soft,” she murmured with a lazy smile.

“So are you,” you muttered, abandoning the vodka to entangle your fingers with hers, the ones that had stilled on the hem of your skirt.

A small non-committal laugh passed her lips. Softness was not a word often used to describe the Black Widow. At least, not in the way she had adorned you with it.

Instead of arguing this, she focused on the ways you were soft: soft skin beneath her palm, soft breath tickling her lips, soft nervous smiles, timid and kind. Natasha liked soft things. They were rare in her world and all the more beautiful for it.

Your eyes fluttered closed the moment she began to lean forward. Her kiss was soft and warm. Lips gently molded against yours, first your upper lip, twice, then the bottom. She didn’t probe or push, and neither did you. There was no expectation or demand, only an indefinable want simmering beneath your skin and a slow quiet affinity glowing in your eyes and hers.

“Gentle things are scarce around here,” she murmured, tracing your lips with her thumb. “I hope you won’t be, милая.”

The bright green trees and lush rolling hills of upstate New York passed by the window in a blur. It wasn’t quite regret that tugged at your spine, wound around your gut and squeezed your lungs until you heaved a long, deep sigh. No, not regret at all.

It was a longing, a sentimentality for something you’d only known for a brief moment. You shook your head and chuckled at yourself, at your own absurdity. How could one be sentimental for a time only just passed?

Sam glanced over at you from the driver’s side, fully aware that you hadn’t heard a word he’d said for the past twenty minutes. You’d walked out of that compound with stars in your eyes, and now you were giggling at nothing.

“So then I rode a hippo up Mount Everest and discovered there’s a cave up there with a cyclops named Hank. Hank makes a mean margarita.”

“Hmm sounds good,” you agreed absently. You probably would have agreed to anything. Probably already had. “Hey Sam-I-am?”

“What?” He glanced over at you with a warm grin. You always loved the way the apples of his cheeks swelled and his eyes shone when he was holding back a laugh. A real friend could make you laugh with just a look.

Or a word. And boy, did Sam laugh when you spoke next.

“I think I’m in love.”

“Only someone as soft as you could fall so hard, so fast.”

Will reblog with tags shortly.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader fluff #black widow x reader #black widow x reader fluff #natasha fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow fanfic #shy reader #natasha x shy!reader

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thenuanceddebater · 4 years

Text

Personal Post: Why I Disappear

Alright. This has been a long time coming. This might be one of the most open, personal, etc. posts that I’ve made on this blog. I’m not going to hide anything (save for some identifying details), and I’m going to go through messy stuff like emotions and whatnot. So, I’m putting it under a read more. Please do not think that you need to read this if you don’t want to.

When I first started this blog, I was in undergrad and almost failing out. I had some family issues going on with my grandfather (who is now deceased due to what I could charitably call medical malpractice to the point where it helped change a national procedural standard), and I was hurting. I didn’t have many (or really any) friends, and I needed something to vent to. I made an account to shout into the void – to post long content that wouldn’t ever really get popular or any traction whatsoever for my own benefit. I needed a place where I could yell at people and feel smart. I really didn’t think anything would ever happen, or that I’d even get like... 50 followers. And then my content it kind of... did take off to a degree.

I wasn’t really prepared for that, but at the time it was really fun. I’ve got a bit of an obssessive/ addictive personality, and tumblr became an addiction. At first, that was okay. I was involved in the culture-war discourse, but not really taking it any more seriously than I took other things. I had a summer internship during summer 2016 where I would make tumblr posts when I didn’t have enough work to do, and enjoyed talking to some of the friends I made on this platform. Then it got bad. I started disagreeing with people on “my side,” the 2016 election happened and I felt isolated from the left and the right, and the alt-right started to become a real thing on this website.

Charlottesville is what finally killed it for me. I saw so many people I had at least some respect for trotting out positions that were not only wrong, but odiously wrong. I had acquaintances, classmates, good friends who were affected there. Who were on the ground when it happened. And I know a lot more about Charlottesville than most people on this website. I got sick and tired of having to defend myself, of having people who didn’t know what they were talking about speak back on issues that they did not fully understand. At that point, tumblr became toxic for me. And it’s never really come back. It just took me a while to realize it.

I deleted the tumblr app from my phone in fall 2017, and it’s never come back. I took what was originally intended to be a 3 month sabbatical from tumblr, and then realized that I didn’t want it back in my life. It had kind of... fulfilled its purpose, and I was on to new things. I got a job, and started studying for law school. Then I got into law school. Tumblr was the last place I made that announcement. I used the fact that I had “gotten busy” as an excuse, but that’s not fully accurate. Yes, I was and am very busy. But if I really wanted to, I could make time to post. Maybe not the pages, upon pages, upon PAGES that I used to. But something. What it really was is that I no longer wanted to. The way this website works, at least on the political side, pushed me away.

Alright, now a MAJOR confession time. I have a lot of anxiety. As in, diagnosed “I went to therapy for a year to help deal with it” anxiety. I’m not in therapy anymore, and I cope with it pretty well (especially compared to some people I know and have a great deal of respect, love, and admiration for). I’m privileged in that regard. So many people have it worse. But, there are still certain things that trigger an immediate strong anxiety response. One of them is seeing that I have notes that aren’t just reblogs or likes. For some reason, when I see a number above that little lightning bolt (or when I saw the activity tracker go crazy on older tumblr) it just makes my heart start pounding. It’s not that I think I might be wrong. I still welcome correction and critique of my opinions. It’s not that I don’t want people to reblog my stuff, or comment on it. That’s (1) not my choice and (2) absolutely silly.

It’s more that I’m anxious about how the response is going to make me feel. Some of the angriest I’ve been in recent memory is reading tumblr posts. The angriest I’ve been since the whole... grandfather who was like a father to me died due to medical malpractice thing was when I read a response to a post I made about genocide. The second angriest is when I read a response to a post about Charlottesville. The angriest I’ve been in recent memory is when I read that post that brought me back to the website where people were encouraging others to resist unlawful arrest and citing to a case that was outdated.

I’m not an angry person. I don’t like annoying myself like that. But for some reason, I just can’t help myself sometimes. The number of times I’ve been annoyed enough to want to respond to something in recent memory is... quite high. Sure, there are times where I come back just because I want to check my messages, see something positive, or a question and then am inspired to write something. But that’s not what it usually is. Not really. It’s usually the educator/ elitist in me who wants to correct something that he sees as wrong. And when that thing is dangerously wrong or disingenuously wrong, well that creates some emotions considering that I like to believe that people operate in good-faith and this website really stretches that belief sometimes. And sometimes I can deal with that, and sometimes it really, really bothers me.

I’ve also discovered that I really don’t get very much from tumblr. I used to use it as shouting to the void, and as an activity I could do other than just playing video games and procrastinating on my school work. Well, I do a lot of things now. I have a lot of friends now, and more school work and obligations to student organizations, law journals, my summer internships, etc. I used to use tumblr as a way to feel like I was smart. To feel like I mattered and that I could do great things. I have other ways of doing that, as well as a lot more internal self-esteem and external validation of that self-esteem. Back when I made my tumblr, I was convinced that I was a bad person. Now, I know I’m not, and am in fact a pretty good person. Back when I made my tumblr, I had no outlet for the intellectual energy other than my long-term girlfriend and school work. Now, I have so many outlets for that energy, that it’s honestly mindboggling. Oh, and I still have that same now very-long-term girlfriend (just in case anyone was curious. Our ten year anniversary is next year. I’m 25. I’ve been dating this woman for almost 40% of my life. And she’s honestly fucking amazing, brilliant, and I’m so damn lucky to have her.). It’s not like I’m starved for interaction or avenues to pursue anymore. When I made my tumblr, I was convinced that I’d fucked my life up to such a degree that I was never really going to be able to un-fuck it. Now, I’ve shown myself that I was wrong. I was really, really wrong. About a lot of things, but especially that. I’m not the same person as when I made my tumblr. Not at all. And that’s a really good thing.

But when I go and look at some other people, some other blogs that I used to follow/ still follow (I’m not going to name names), I don’t see that kind of change. I see that they are still the same (or very similar) people. It’s been years. They’re talking about the same things, using the same words, etc. That’s... crazy to me. When I logged on to tumblr this fall and I saw that fucking Charlottesville was somehow still a debate topic, I just about lost it. There’s a post I made that accurately summarizes some of the emotions I felt, but really a lot of it was that this website is Neverland. If you stay here, you likely never grow up. All that happens is that the Wendys, Johns, and Michaels decide that they want to grow-up, and leave to go and do so. So, all that’s left are the Peter Pans and Captain Hooks engaged in constant warfare about the same things for weeks, months, years. And when a Wendy, John, or Michael decides to come back well. Neverland is still the same. Welcoming them back to the same fight that they remember from years ago – from when they were a different person. I don’t know why, but that’s just so damn sad to me. There’s a reason why my old bio said “just a human striving endlessly for the perfection that he can never hope to attain.” Because that’s what I do. And tumblr has kind of an... anathema to that and is antithetical to the concept.

So, tumblr gives me little to nothing, pisses me off, and its never-changing or evolving nature makes me sad and goes against my very being. So, why come back at all? That’s... a damn good question. Not really sure that I can answer it. I suppose the answer has to be that there’s no good reason to come back, but that I will likely continue to do so anyway. Call me a masochist if you must, but sometimes there’s something that I want to share (or that I think the people who SOMEHOW still follow this dead-ass blog should know), or an idea that I think is useful, or I just so happen to type a “t” on my keyboard and tumblr gets pulled-up and I see something and decide to post on it, etc. and I come back. VERY temporarily. Only until I’m pulled away or driven away again. I think that’ll probably keep happening. At least to some degree.

Will I ever come “back” like I was in undergrad or the summer before I got my job? I don’t know. Signs point to “no,” but I’ve been wrong before. I’ve been oh so very wrong before. And maybe I’m wrong about what tumblr gives me. Maybe I can have a healthy relationship with this website to the point where the reblogs don’t give me anxiety, and I’m not either sad or angry (to some degree) when I make a response. But right now, I really doubt it. And I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed anyone, but that’s just where I am right now.

So yeah. I think that’s it. I’ll be around temporarily right now (my internship has really good hours, and I’ve got time in the evenings before I game with friends and talk to my girlfriend to take a look at some things). But come the end of August, I’ll likely be gone again. Maybe even before that. I’m not going to close this blog (because I’ll likely be back again), but content or opinions are never going to be consistent.

If anyone wants to talk, feel free to message me, send an ask, etc. Seeing as I’ve basically dumped a lot of stuff at once (and broken some of the wall separating “TND” from me as a person) I’m down to answer pretty much anything.

#personal #personal thoughts #why i am like this #original content

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plus-size-reader · 5 years

Text

The Deal pt 2

King Alfred x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1950 words

Warnings:none

Summary: Reader agrees to meet with the King of Wessex, under the condition that if she doesn’t like him, Bjorn will take her back home to Kattegat? But what will King Ivar think of that?

———————————————————————————————————

The evening itself wasn’t meant to be a punishment, though as Lagertha finished lacing the back of this stupid dress, you felt as though you may die.

Never in your life had you worn a garment so constricting and infuriating.

It was torture.

You were a warrior, a fighter that needed as much range of motion as possible and yet, here you were in a corset with a skirt down to the floor. It just wasn’t practical for the life that you led.

However, you assumed that good christian woman rarely engaged in battle the way that you did, so they didn’t need to be able to actually move.

For whatever reason.

“This is all idiotic” you bellowed, huffing as she finished tying the strings. Lagertha laughed, taking in your words with as much grace as she could, though the idea of what you were going through made her physically ill.

Never in her life could she imagine a daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok, married off to some puny king in england. It was insulting to his image.

For a moment, she considered Gyda, her darling daughter who had been taken from her way before her time.

She would have never allowed her to be married off to some christian, far away from her home and her family.

Still, it wasn’t her call to make. Ubbe had made a deal in order to get what he wanted, and nothing was going to change that...not even as much begging as you’d been doing since you found out.

“I agree, but you know your brother, he can be so stubborn” she teased, earning a laugh from you. It was likely one of the last times she would hear it, but she enjoyed it all the same.

The two of you’d had an interesting relationship since the death of your mother. For a while, you shared in Ivar’s opinion of wanting to kill her to get revenge for your mother’s murder but the more time you spent together, the more you understood.

If you were in the position Lagertha was, you would have done the same thing.

You had come to terms with it, but this was something else entirely.

You were talking about giving up your freedom, your identity, and your life.

For the first time in a long time, you wanted Ivar to be here so that he could talk some sense into them, or fight for you. There was no way he would ever make a deal like this with the saxon’s.

Especially not one that forced you to give up the gods.

“Unfortunately, he’s a lot like Ragnar in that way” you agreed, thinking about your father as you looked in the mirror, admiring the features you shared with him, as well as the ones you got from your mother.

You could see his face, shining in your eyes, and that was all you needed to give you the strength to get through this.

If all went well tonight, you’d be on a ship with Bjorn, headed back to Kattegat with all this at your back.

You just had to survive tonight.

Your footsteps made funny sounds as you walked down the corridor toward the dining hall. The shoes you had on were far too tight on your feet and made your toes feel odd, not to mention the fact that you hardly knew how to walk in them.

Your dress about got caught under your feet with each unsure step, and you had already tripped against Bjorn three times as he led you toward where the king was waiting.

He had graciously agreed to escort you, so that you didn’t actually die on your way there.

Heels just weren’t something your people ever had the misfortune of wearing and right now, you would kill for your boots.

“Just breath, smile, and be nice” he whispered, opening the door for you.

You turned to reply but found him stopped at the door...leaving you to walk the rest of the way on your own.

The idea frightened you, but you weren’t going to let the saxon king know that. Instead, you picked your head up and walked forward with as much grace as you could muster, which wasn’t much at all.

In fact, you made it about a foot before your dress got caught under your foot and you fell to the ground in a mess of limbs and fabric.

Everyone in the room was unsure of what to do for a moment as you tried to gather yourself. There wasn’t really protocal for something like this, and Alfred, for one was lost.

It wasn’t until his mother urged him to help you that he stepped down from the throne and offered you a hand.

“Are you okay, M’lady?” he asked, shocked further still when you ignored him, your attention focused on your feet.

Without missing a beat, you plucked the offensive article from your foot and tossed it across the room, followed by the other one. The action left you barefoot, and allowed for you to stand on your own.

“I’m not a lady, call me Y/N, or nothing” you ordered, standing without hesitance and taking the hand he offered you. You shook it once, then dropped it to his side.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Bjorn was laughing behind you.

Everyone was understandably shocked by your behavior, but said nothing.

“Alright Y/N, thank you for joining me. Are you alright? That was quite the fall” He commented, trying to check on you, though you found insult in his word.

You had lived through much worse than a little fall. This king really must have been even weaker than you thought. He was pathetic.

“That was nothing, and I wouldn’t have done it, had it not been for those horrible things they put on my feet” You grumbled, taking in the faces of all the people around you.

Their jaws were practically hanging open as they studied you. They thought you were closer to a wild animal than a human, you bet. You could see it on all their stupid, smug faces.

They thought they were so much better than you and your people. How were you supposed to rule them if they wouldn’t even look at you without sneering.

What kind of King would want a savage bride anyway? They must have thought he was out of his mind.

“I do apologize for that, it’s tradition is all” he reasoned, as if that was supposed to somehow make it better. If you were following your traditions in courting a potential husband, there would have been a feast and a sacrifice…

Yet, there was no goat to be found?

Why did you have to follow their silly traditions if they had no care for yours? It didn’t make any sense to you.

“I understand, but I will not ever wear them again” you shrugged, as if it was as simple as breathing. Alfred knew one thing, you weren’t accustomed to being told what to do.

Which was going to make this whole thing a lot more difficult for him.

“And what if I could promise that you do not have to? Would you agree to have a meal with me then?” he asked, understanding that he was going to have to take a unique approach to this whole thing.

Alfred already had enough trouble as it was talking to women, led alone women who didn’t understand half of what he was saying, and already didn’t like him.

At least in Wessex he was the king, so there were certain elements of respect that had to be given to him at all times. But he wasn’t your king, and you didn’t revear him as such, so that respect wasn’t there.

“I would agree, but only if there’s ale” you countered, a slight smile perking up around the corners of your mouth.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start and Alfred could work with that. After all, this whole thing was just as new for him as it was for you and it would take some getting used to for both of you.

You recognized a lot of the food at the table where you sat, and didn’t hesitate to fill a goblet full of wine as you waited for Alfred to talk to you about whatever it was he wanted to.

That was the main difference between him and the viking. Viking men didn’t feel the need to fill the empty space ever time it presented itself. Instead, they allowed comfortable silence.

Silence seemed to make the boy king anxious, as if it meant something bad was about to happen. He couldn’t just enjoy the peace that came with long radiating silence.

He constantly insisted on talking.

“So, how are you finding wessex so far?” he wondered, cutting a bit of veal on his plate, his attention focused there, though he occasionally looked up at you as he waited for you to answer.

You weren’t a hundred percent sure how to answer his question, mostly because it was a stupid question. Wessex was nothing like what you were comfortable with, or where you were raised.

The people were cold toward you and treated you like an outsider, and even still, you couldn’t leave.

“I do not like it” you answered finally, just as blunt as the first time you spoke.

It was amazing to him that you didn’t even hesitate when saying something like that. You acted as if it was always better to say what you were thinking, rather than what the socially acceptable answer was.

In some ways, he envied that about you.

“No? And why is that?” he wondered, his meal long forgotten as he focused more and more as the words that fell from your lips.

Again, a stupid question on his part.

“It is not my home. Just as if I was to take you across the sea to Kattegat. You would not like it because it is not your home” you reasoned, getting bored of talking about yourself.

You found that men were most happy when they could talk about themselves and their accomplishment. If there was anything you wanted to get out of this conversation sooner, it would be for the king to be happy.

Though...making him unhappy could result in him taking back his foolish deal with your brother, which would make you happy.

If you could make him not want to marry you, the problem would solve itself.

“Your people think you’re stupid, have you noticed that?” you asked, out of the blue. Your question shocked him, but all Alfred could do was nod. You had a point.

For quite some time, his people had seen him as nothing more than a boy, incapable of ruling over a body of people such as themselves. They thought he was a fool, an imbecile, and even you’d noticed.

“Don’t feel bad, you’re only a boy...it isn’t their fault that you aren’t stronger, smarter or more intimidating” you continued, the insults springing from your tongue without issue.

You weren’t worried about any sort of punishment or repercussion. As far as you were concerned, being forced to marry the man in front of you was the worst thing that could happen.

“You’re right, All the things you’re saying about me are true” he started, momentarily shocking you before he continued. Of all the ways to react, this certainly was a choice.

“That is why I need a strong, capable queen like yourself” he grinned...this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

#king alfred #vikings #alfred #king alfred x ps reader #king alfred x plus size reader #vikings alfred #alfred x ps reader #alfred x plus size reader #vikings alfred x ps reader #vikings alfred x plus size reader #vikings x reader #vikings x plus size reader #vikings x ps reader

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things-can-be-seen-here · 4 years

Note

For the headcanons, since you did the German bros just before, how about you also do the Italian brothers? :D love ya

I love you more ~ Since I already did Romano, let me give you just Feli and Romeo (funnily enough, he really is Romeo Vargas ;) :D)

Affection = How affectionate are they? How do they show it?

Italy - Feliciano is the most affectionate of all of the brothers. He can’t keep his hand and lips to him, not even his eyes. He’s always close to him s/o, asking for kisses and pecks all the time. Asking, and giving (obviously). There is no such a things as “last goodbye kiss”.

Seborga - oh this giant puppy is almost as affectionate as Feliciano. He isn’t big on touches, he’s more of a petting guy. Always caressing the partner’s hair or hands or thighs... He’s got that puppy eyes look that just makes you want to cuddle and kiss him over and over again.

Built = How did their relationship begin? Who took the first step?

Italy - he says “I love you” so often, his partners don’t take him seriously. He really minds that (a lot) but he can’t help himself, he just have to remind everyone how important they are! In other words, it takes him a long time to actually begin a relationship.

Seborga - is the only one from the Italy brothers who does not confess ever. He hates

Care = Do they take care of each other - mentally and physically? Are they usually interested in how the other’s day was?

Italy - Feli is a very talkative boy. He spends hours talking about every color he saw that day and how pretty would bee with a tie be. But he likes to listen too. He can't stop himself from reacting to thing or two and add his own opinion, but he isn't a bad listener. To Feli, a good conversation means knowing everything important about his partner.

Seborga - is very hard to read. Sometimes he is quiet, because that's what he is used to. Back at home, it was always about Grandpa, or his older brothers and he was forgotten or ignored. He doesn't mind that, he got used to it. So talking or sharing his experiences is sometimes hard. There are days though, when he can't shut up and he forgets how important is for the others to talk to. Which sometimes leads to uncomfortable situations and sad face of his s/o. Poor boy just doesn't know his way with words. (One would think he knows better, but he isn't the best listener.)

Dates = How often do they go on dates? How do they look?

Italy - every day is a date day with Feliciano. Or at least he calls it a date. Whatever it is - a movie night, a dinner, hanging out with friends, a walk or just spending night at each other's place, Feliciano thinks it's a date as long as he gets to enjoy time with his favorite person.

Seborga - that boy does not know what a date is. He will invite you for an ice cream here, take you shopping there, goes with you to another city to visit your family, he plans a whole trip for you two and still he can't call it a date. And when he gets invited, he thinks it's just friendly hanging out.

Exceptions = What do they do, to make their partner happy (even if they don't enjoy it?)

Italy - Feliciano is always happy to do anything his s/o could possibly want. So he has no problem with that and doesn't have to make any exceptions.

Seborga - Romeo can be very stubborn. For example he doesn't like experimenting in kitchen. And we're not taking pineapple on pizza. He has to measure every ingredient correctly and properly. He is so against "cooking for fun", but if his s/o will ask him nicely to just try something new, he will.

Future = Do they think about it? How does it look?

Italy - Oh no. He never plans anything. We all know what happened - he won't let himself believe in happy ending again. Everyday with his partner is the happiest day for him, but he refuses to talk about future (which is followed by awkward silence because his partner does not feel loved. As if that was possible).

Seborga - is not a womanizer, but he enters a relationship with the thought that is just feeling good with given person and that they are just enjoying being together. He doesn't really think of a future and he thinks it's kind of stupid and definitely soon to think about it.

Gifts = How often do they give the other gifts? What are the gifts?

Italy - Feliciano is the type of partner who gives his s/o flowers or chocolate everyday. He is always surprised when he receives a gift, but he thinks giving them is amazing thing that makes them both happy. So why stopping?

Seborga - he likes getting, he likes giving. But he always asks what the other would like to get - just to make sure. And if they say "nothing", he gets them nothing. Romeo is a simple man. But he is always the one paying for ice cream and coffee!

Hiatus = Did they ever had to take a break from each other? Or is their relationship smooth?

Italy - Feliciano doesn't like the concept of "being on break". He takes that's as a "I wanted to break up with you, but I don't want to hurt you" thing. But relationships with him are usually very smooth and they last very long. He's just too good of a boyfriend!

Seborga - if you've seen Friends, Romeo is the "We were on a break!!" type of guy. But the energy is different, he's more like "but?? We were on a break???". But that happens just from time to time.

Item = What belongs to the other, but they always use it?

Italy - Feli isn't the one to borrow stuff, but he never gets the signals. So if he finds something that belongs to him, he just takes it back home. He is always confused when his s/o calls him, on the verge of tears, apologizing that they lost his hoodie/book/something he left behind. And Feliciano is usually holding the item in his hands...

Seborga - "I'm cold," says the partner. "Me too," says Romeo. That boy is oblivious and you can't tell me otherwise.

Jealousy = Are they jealous? Does it show?

Italy - He isn't jealous. He's making their partners very jealous since he can't stop flirting. He usually does apologize for his behavior, but he always adds something like "but they were really pretty!" "have you seen their hair! So pretty!". So his apology doesn't help the situation at all.

Seborga - is ridiculously jealous. He isn't worried about text messages received late at night, he isn't jealous when his s/o is talking on a phone and giggling.. but once they are somewhere and they meet somebody, oh boy. The moment his s/o is hugging someone, touching someone, having fun and inviting the person for a coffee or tea, Romeo can't stop frowning. He usually holds a grudge for half a day.

Kitchen = Who owns it?

Don't try to make be believe that they are bad at cooking. And that they don't like it. Every single one of them (though Lovino and Romeo aren't always feeling like doing so) is cooking his hands off for his s/o. They are the one to cook for world meetings, for parties, for festivals... They are the one to make their special someone breakfast to bed and midnight snack. And they never let anyone help them.

Likes and dislikes = What is the best and the worst thing about their partner?

Italy - Feli likes you for who you are. As cliché as it may sound, he isn't the one to judge you for your bad sides. If he likes you, he likes you for everything you are.

Seborga - is somewhere in the middle, compared to his brothers. He doesn't want anyone serious, but being too childish isn't good either. He won't date anyone who is very good and nice, but he won't date anyone who likes to argue and change their mood quickly.

Mistake = What did they do and how did the situation ended?

Italy - unfortunately for him, he makes a lot of mistakes. But he is easy to read so his partners usually know what is up, they aren't mad at him if he messes up. Usually all it takes to Feliciano to make up for his mistake is an apology and a date.

Seborga - is worried about little things. So even if he doesn't mess up, he is anxious he did and is apologizing nonstop. He buys a lots of little presents, he gives his partner attention, he's very needy and touchy... In other words, he doesn't have to apologize much, his partner knows he is sorry and he didn't mean it.

Nicknames = How do they call each other?

Italy - he's the king of petnames. He tries to use the ones his partner likes the most, but he isn't experimenting with them. Cute little names that are often used are his to go.

Seborga - Romeo likes to use animal pet names. Such as "kitty", "my pretty birdie" or "hey, you dangerous beast~". It's usually fun and games, but he gets used to using them and calls his partner like that all the time.

Out of character = What is something nobody would believe they do in a relationship?

Italy - he can get very very serious when the conversation is important. Either conversation or if they have to make an important decision. Usually he’s all fun and games, but he does take things seriously.

Seborga - tries to experience as much as he can with every of his partners. Kisses under water, dancing in spotlight, kissing under mistletoe and on midnight, recreating movie scenes...

PDA = Their opinion on PDA? How does it look?

Italy - we all know Feliciano. He does everything on public. Well, everything... He knows what belongs to their bedroom. But other than that, he’s okay with anything. His motto is “Nobody is forcing them to look”.

Seborga - he likes making his partner sit in his lap and kiss his back. He can do that for hours, just hugging his partner around their waist and tickling them on their neck. He wouldn’t make out with his partner in front of their friends, but he won’t stop holding their hand either.

Quirk = What is a silly activity they really enjoy?

Italy - He likes to play football with his partner and let them always win. And if his partner is against playing, he’s just rolling in the grass and collecting flowers (making crowns!).

Seborga - likes to go on picnics. Romeo loves to look at clouds and make up stories about what could possibly they look like and what the relationship between more clouds is. During winters, he likes to cuddle under a warm blanket and drink cocoa, listening to Christmas songs (from October to February).

Rough times = Do they argue? How often?

Italy - Feliciano is the one to cry during arguments. He never wants to make his partner sad or mad! He really doesn’t like confrontations. Thanks to his personality, arguments are very rare.

Seborga - Romeo does not argue. He is different than his brothers, if there is an argument to happen, Romeo does his best to stop it before it can mess things up. He is good with it, so his relationships are usually very smooth.

Sex = nothing too explicit, just a random headcanon

Italy - is terrible at dirty talking. He really likes it for some reason (Japan’s books and Germany’s DVDs) but he is not able to do it. He prefers being silent during sex, but he likes to hear his partner.

Seborga - likes to ride and be ridden. He just loves the angle, the position and how it feels on both sides. He doesn’t care if he’s on top or on the bottom, it’s his to go. And he is very loud.

Together time = How often does that happen? How are they usually spending it?

Italy - Feliciano will always make time for his partner. He is usually the one to leave his work in the middle of the process and go out, getting coffee, lunch, going on a walk...

Seborga - he’s using the free time giving tours to his partner, showing him nice things about his country or just generally about places he finds interesting. He just wants to amaze his s/o with his knowledge. He knows his work is important, but he does it only during the days his s/o is working, so they can be together as often as possible!

Unacceptable = What will they NEVER do in a relationship?

Italy - will never yell at his partner. Even if there is something he doesn’t like, he will try to carefully point out that he doesn’t like their attitude/the way they do something.

Seborga - Romeo will never watch movies about animals or rom-coms and movies where somebody will die. It’s not like he will cry, he just doesn’t like them, he really hates seeing everyone broken and he hates when his s/o starts crying because of that.

View worth millions = What is the part of their partners body they admire the most?

Italy - face. He doesn’t like or dislike people based on their faces, he always finds something that he stares at. He just can’t help it! Everyone is so pretty!

Seborga - Romeo doesn’t have a favourite part of anyone’s body. He is more of a soul type, he likes people who are fun to be around. That’s all that matters to him.

When separated = Are they calling each other? Missing each other much? What happens when they see each other after a loner while?

Italy - Feliciano is master of annoyance. He will text his s/o every three minutes sharp, he will try to call them during every of his breaks, he will pout if his partner isn’t answering. When they finally see each other, they spend few minutes just hugging each other. And Feli is usually the one to talk about how he’s been during their time alone.

Seborga - Romeo is like a puppy. He doesn’t really care when they are separated (he likes having his alone time just like everyone else) but he is always so happy when they see each other again! He usually takes thier partner to their home and cuddle them until the late night, listening to how their trip was. And the other way around too.

Xtra = extra headcanon

Italy - can play more than 13 musical instruments. He has a time to spare and he likes to learn how to play more and more of them. He has rarely got the chance to show his skills, but he is always the one playing on family gatherings and birthday parties.

Seborga - is a actor. He especially likes Romeo and Juliet, which isn’t a pun to his name. He likes the play, he likes the words and the message. But mostly, he had dated every single Juliet he had played with. They are always the most prettier girls around. (The costumes are nice to wear too!)

Yours only = marriage headcanon

Italy - if he ever gets married, he will invite everyone he knows. Even his ex partners. Why? Because he wants everyone to see how happy he is! And tell them all, that he wants them to be happy too.

Seborga - doesn’t want to get married. He thinks marriage is not important. Yes, if he will find the perfect match for him, he will marry them and he will be happy all the time. He won’t stop talking about how amazing his special day was for a month, but he wouldn’t mind if he didn’t get married.

They all will help each other at each other’s weddings. Feliciano is the one in charge of the food, Lovino takes care of the decoration and Romeo is responsible for colours, dresses, band and place the wedding will be held at.

Zzz = sleep headcanon

Italy - we know a lot from anime about how Feli sleeps, but I like to believe he is sleep-talking. It happens randomly, and sometimes he is quiet for weeks. But then when the night is the most silent and the most dark, a quiet “cheese smells” or “i wanna pet you” or even “you look funny” escapes his mouth.

Seborga - Romeo snores so loudly, he wakes up the whole house, It can’t be pushed or cured, but he does that only when his mouth is open. So he is sucking on his thumb when he sleeps.

#bringbackhetalia2020 #hetalia #italy brothers #alphabet headcanon #alphabet game #hetalia headcanons #headcanon game #headcanon #aph italy #aph romano #aph seborga

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discopiratetanis · 4 years

Text

In a Earth where magic exists, an immortal lineage of noble wardens is responsible for protecting magical creatures from humans.

Jaskier, the young grandson of Queen Calanthe, Poland's ancestral guardian, arrives at the small town of Blaviken, a refuge for magical beings who do not wish to have contact with humans, to complete his training as a warden.

There, in that haven of peace and safety, he'll meet strange but good people who will help him to learn and understand the true importance of his heritage and what really means to be a warden.

magical town!Geraskier AU. Sets in a not historically accurate Poland during the eighties, specifically 1984. So there will be a little bit of socialism (but decent socialism) here and a few references to WWII in a good way.

This is solely for my pure personal pleasure, so it will have an erratic update dates, sorry. But I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciate and encourage me to continue, thank you! ❤

Rating: M (for the moment)

Words: 6888

Chapter: 1/of many

Characters who show up in this chapter: Jaskier (of course, is his POV), the pack of wolves, Filavandrel as a humbled lumberjack, Yennefer, Renfri and Regis. Honorable mentions to Queen Calanthe, the Seven Dwarfs, a sleepy greyhound and a happy old woman on her rocking chair.

N/A: There will be Valdo Marx X Jaskier during the course of the story, but obviously Geraskier is the endgame pair!

You can also read the chapter on AO3!

If you want to support me I have a ko-fi!

It was raining when Jaskier got off the bus, a silent drizzle, a faint curtain of mist that you couldn't see if you didn't pay attention. But the air was wet.

Very wet.

Surprise, Jaskier, water wets! the boy thought, moving away from the road so that the bus would not soak him when it marched over the puddles in the ditch. He stepped on the mud beyond the asphalt. The bus stop was a simple wooden post, marked with a blue metal rectangle on which the number fifty-eight had been painted white. The road had two narrow lanes, one southbound, the other northbound. And everything else around was wilderness. Green, silent, lonely, deep woods. Jaskier grunted, hung better his duffel bag over his shoulder, and pulled a small piece of paper and a compass out of the front pocket of it.

"Alright," he said aloud, before reading what it had written on the paper, already getting wet because of the rain.

From the sixth stop of bus number fifty-eight, walk west until you find a big gray oak tree. Once you have arrived, pass underneath and continue straight ahead, Blaviken will appear before you.

If you encounter the wolves don't be afraid, they'll smell your magic and probably leave you alone.

The directions were simple but not much revealing. He knew it was for safety but. Jaskier clicked his tongue, crumpled the note into a ball, put it back in the pocket and opened the compass. Tiny dips blurred the glass, but the needle pointing north indicated the direction the bus had gone, so he looked on both sides of the road, crossed to the other side, and walked straight ahead, into the trees. Soon his silhouette was lost in the mist as if he had never been there.

The leaves crunched under his feet with an eerie noise at every step he took. The rain seemed to drown out the sounds of the woods, but Jaskier could still hear the peep of the boldest and bravest birds not scared by a little water. The wind was weak but sharp against the boy’s wet skin, who tried in vain to dry his cheeks and forehead every few moments with his also wet sleeve. It had been stupid not to grab an umbrella, despite his grandma's advice before he had parted his way, but it had been hellishly sunny in Warsaw for being September so he had felt rebellious and had dressed up with cotton trousers and a linen shirt with a lightweight wool jacket. Now he was starting to think that he was an idiot. The weather could be part of Blaviken's protection, yes. No traveler would want to get lost in those woodlands, in the middle of nowhere near mountains full of wolves and bears. But he also could be just a silly boy who had not taken an umbrella because he thought it would be sunny all over the country at the same time. At least he had his mountain boots.

It didn't take long for Jaskier to reach the tree that said the note, a huge gray oak in the middle of the forest. The boy stopped in front of it, noticing immediately that the rain was no longer drenching him. He checked the compass one last time before closing it and putting it in the bag. Then he took a deep breath. Yes, the tree was enormous. His trunk was so broad that Jaskier would need the help of ten more people to encircle it with his arms completely. It was covered with moss and tiny mushrooms everywhere and its branches stretched in all directions high in the sky, coating all the smaller trees within meters with their leafage. And then there was the hollow, the passage. It looked like an enchanted path, like those described in fairy tales.

Jaskier stepped into the entrance and looked up, tightening the strap of his bag. The way under the oak was not very long so he could see the other side of the tunnel perfectly. He walked slowly through that natural corridor of wet bark and lichen, fascinated, still looking up and around, amazed with all the magical static in the atmosphere. When he reached the end of the tunnel and came out into the open air again, the sun was shining and a cool, pleasant breeze shook his hair, playfully, and dried his clothes. A huge knee-high grassy clearing, sprinkled with yellow and white flowers, opened up before him. He reached the clearing with renewed energy, making his way through the grass and flowers under the sun, suddenly feeling that he was breathing much better, that his lungs were filling up with clear, clean air. There the birds sang louder, stronger, more beautifully.

Jaskier smiled.

He was in the middle of the meadow when he heard the rustling of a branch, the brushing of bushes and leaves on his back. Jaskier turned around, feeling his heart racing.

His throat went dry.

There, by the entrance to the oak tree, stood an enormous grey wolf. The animal was easily two heads taller than Jaskier himself, who was about five feet and nine inches tall. Its fur was streaked with darker flecks, and their dark green eyes glared the boy with interest. Jaskier didn't make any move and repressed a whimper, as if he feared the animal would jump on him with the slightest hint of activity. Then a new crackle made him look, this time to his left, and see another wolf, only one head taller than Jaskier. This one had murky brown fur and its right ear torn and ripped, probably by another wolf or a bear. It was wagging its tail quickly, staring at the boy. Jaskier blinked, feeling an awful and cold sense running up his back. A third wolf equally tall as the second one, with light hazel fur, appeared near the dark brown one. Both had intense green eyes.

Then, Jaskier remembered the note.

And it hit him.

It was weird. Even having been born and raised in the court of one of the great queens of the wardens, among magic and elements of all kinds, even though he had to know that these wolves were not merely wolves, Jaskier felt that he was an intruder.

The third wolf growled, low.

Jaskier swallowed.

“Uh, okay, alright,” he said, not sure if for himself or for the wolfs. “Uh, I… !” he tightened the strap of his backpack again as if that could calm him. “My name is–" he hesitated only for a second. "Jaskier! I came to Blaviken to train as a warden, Queen Calanthe told me to come here!” he paused again, looking at all the wolfs successively as he stood still, anxious, knowing that probably the animals were smelling his nervousness. He licked his lips, feeling his throat cracked and tight and, of course, still dry. “I’m… I’m sorry if I have bothered you stepping into your territory?!

The animals did not react to his words, except for the arrival of a fourth wolf, which emerged slowly among the bushes and foliage next to the big one and the oak tree. Its fur was white as freshly fallen snow, the cleanest, purest, most beautiful white that Jaskier had ever seen. It was slightly bigger than the smaller wolves, but not as large as the one in front of the tunnel. Its eyes were golden and gleamed bright and luminous, like the sun, like an endless field of mature wheat. Jaskier held his breath, looking directly at the white wolf, feeling dazzled and astounded.

It was as if time had stopped.

But then the grey wolf let out a hoarse bark, making Jaskier feel a chill, and the other three left immediately, disappearing just as they had appeared: from nowhere and in silence.

Jaskier exhaled all the air he was holding back, without taking his eyes off the animal. The wolf wagged his tail once, turned around and went into the trees next to the oak. The sound of paws scratching the ground, rustling leaves and twigs echoed for two seconds in the sudden silence of the clearing. Then that silence was broken by the joyful chirping of the birds and the breath of the wind.

Jaskier blinked, confused, still a little scared. He turned around as well, facing west, and ran. He did not look back even once.

* * * *

Blaviken was a little town located next to a lake nestled in a small valley between two arms of the mountain range. Jaskier discovered that because he not only had to go through the forest that hid it from the west, but he also had to go up the slope of the mountain to the entrance of the valley, where the river that drained the lake emerged from the ground a ran down the woods and the steep hills. By the time the boy reached the entrance of the canyon, the sun had already passed its zenith and was approaching the first hour of the afternoon. He stopped to rest near the road, a path full of grass that must have been carved by the wild animals.

Or the wolves.

Jaskier took a canteen out of his bag and took a sip of water. From there he could see the lake, so long that he almost couldn't discern its birth at the west; the mountains still with snow on their peaks, and the town itself. Jaskier had seen Blaviken's engravings and photographs. It was a picturesque, bucolic village, which did not seem to have changed much in centuries. It had the look of a medieval town, with a main street that was connecting the goat path and the entrance of the valley with the first houses, and was leading through the village to a central square where there was a fountain with a statue. Its houses, made of wood and stone, had two floors with smoking chimneys, orchards surrounded by small wooden fences, small sheds, barns... The more distant shacks were surrounded by larger fields of crops and fruit trees. A few horses and cows were grazing in the pastures that surrounded the village.

Jaskier took another sip of water and inhaled deeply. The air smelled and felt pure, fresh and lighter, healthier, than in Warsaw. In the distance, he could hear the squealing of the pigs and the rumor and echo of Blaviken's life. It seemed very peaceful... Jaskier bit his lips, put the canteen in the bag and stood up to continue the march. He knew that even though the village seemed to be close because of the slopes, the nooks and crannies, in reality it could be at least another hour's walk downhill.

He wasn't wrong, it took him an hour and a half to get to Blaviken.

There weren't many people at the entrance to the town. The first houses looked more like huts and storage sheds than real houses. A man with long blond hair tied in a ponytail and dressed with thick work pants and flannel shirt, was cutting wood near the main street road, next to one of the shacks. A pile of perfectly cut logs was piled against the wall of the shed, along with other smaller pieces made into more manageable firewood. A few hens with their chicks were pecking at the ground, paying no attention to any passers-by. A black dog, a greyhound, with a collar made of a leather band was lying, merrily asleep, not far from the log cabin. Jaskier took a deep breath and approached the man, being careful enough not to do it from behind.

"Excuse me?" he said.

The man, who had just finished splintering the log he was busy with, stopped, stood up with his axe in his hand and looked at the boy. Then Jaskier saw his pointy ears and noticed his strangely beautiful features, halfway between roughness and delicacy, and his so intense raven eyes. Jaskier blinked. The man, the elf, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a little.

"You're the kid, aren't you?"

His voice was melodious, like thick honey sliding down a wooden spoon. Jaskier cleared his throat.

"Uh... yes, I suppose?" he frowned, confused. "Could you tell me where Renfri lives?

The elf nodded and turned a bit towards the main street.

"Go straight on to the square, the house with the red roof is hers, you can't miss it," he said.

Jaskier peeked out a little. The road, even though it was the main artery of the village, was not very wide. From there you could see the fountain with the statue, but not much more.

"Thank you, uh..."

The elf smiled warmly.

"Filavandrel,"

Jaskier looked and smiled back at him.

"Jaskier,"

Filavandrel nodded again. He was watching Jaskier a bit curious, inquisitive. Jaskier parted his lips, feeling as the elf knew something he didn't quite understand. He was about to ask if there was something wrong when Filavandrel turned around to clean the supporting trunk of the pieces he had cut off and put a new log on top. He picked up the axe and cut it cleanly in half. Jaskier made a tired sound and headed for the square.

"Thank you again,"

Behind his back, Filavandrel continued with his task and responded:

"See you around!"

Jaskier advanced step by step down the street, trying not to look around too much as if it were the first time he had set foot there. It didn't matter anyway because every person who crossed his path gave him an odd look, except for a few groups of random kids who were more interested in his current games than in a stranger. The village was tiny, Jaskier knew that one glance was enough for everyone to know that he was the new face.

The new toy

The toy

Jaskier flinched and made a grimace at the thought.

The square was wide and long as four houses together, surely buildings for more important things than storing wood or food. The central fountain was an oval structure, made of very old stone eaten away by the years. Several springs of water flowed from the pipes rooted in the pedestal of the sculpture that adorned the fountain. Jaskier stopped for a moment to admire it. It was made of bronze, already rusty with green, and depicted eight figures, five women and three men. Seven of the statues were smaller than the eighth, located in the center of the pedestal, and they held up both rifles and swords with a defensive, dignified, and heroic attitude. They wore clothes that were at least forty years old. Jaskier held his breath for a second. The eighth figure was a young woman whose impressively realistic expression denoted loneliness and sadness. She also wore old-fashioned clothing from decades ago, on which she had a hooded cloak clasped with a fancy brooch. She carried a spear and a gun in a defeated stance. Jaskier looked down and saw a plaque, made of degraded bronze too, which read:

In memory of the brave men and women

who protected Blaviken from the nazis

The boy blinked. And then his eyes started to sting. He contemplated the memorial for a long time, in silence, unaware of the people, both those who were passing by and those who were quietly at the doors of their houses chatting with their neighbors or simply resting, that were staring at him more and more curiously.

"Hello,"

A soft, gentle voice drove Jaskier from his thoughts. As he looked at, Jaskier saw a deformed hunchback girl with black, wavy hair, pale skin, and absurdly beautiful lilac-colored eyes. She was wearing a brown woolen dress and a blue apron with a pocket from which hung a bouquet of flowers and several colored rags, and carrying a large earthenware jar in her arms which she started to fill it under one of the pipes.

"Oh, uh, hello," Jaskier replied. Then the girl looked away from him to see how much she was filling the container. Jaskier contemplated her with genuine interest as if her task was the most interesting thing in the world. "So it's potable, the water, right?" he said a little awkward.

She giggled, still not looking at him, attentive to her chore.

"Yes, it's from the mountain, "

"Ah,"

"The pedestal also has a purifier,"

"Oh," Jaskier glance at the pipes. "Oh, yeah, right,"

The boy was silent then, not exactly uncomfortable, and certainly not quite sure if the girl wanted something from him or she just had greeted him because in little towns everyone greeted everyone whether they knew them or not. Jaskier wondered what kind of creature she was. It was, and it would be, very rude to ask that to someone you had just met, and Jaskier didn't have enough experience or expertise to guess the nature of a creature by sight alone yet. His grandmother could do that even with her eyes closed, only by analyzing the magical pulse and the auras around someone.

"So... can I ask your name?" Jaskier said, watching the water pouring into the jar, again as if it was terribly interesting.

He knew he only had to walk away with a 'see you later' to go and find Renfri, but he was going to live there all year round, so it was all right to have a little chat with the rest of the locals if he has the chance. And she had been kind enough to address him without pointing out that he was new around even if it was something so obvious.

"Yes, of course," she looked up, with those stunningly beautiful purple eyes that were smiling even if she wasn't. A warm feeling ran down his back and he felt much better, less nervous and more relaxed. "I’m Yennefer, but you can call me Yen if you want, is what my friends call me,”

“Oh,” Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “That’s… Are you sure? You have just met me, I'm not exactly your friend,”

"Right, but you're going to be our warden, so..."

"Well, technically I'm an apprentice–wait, how do you know?" Jasper arched his eyebrows.

"Oh, I just know," she smiled and raised the jar to the thick edge of the fountain. Then she embraced it and lifted it with some effort.

"H-Hey, do you want me to help you?" Jaskier took two steps towards her, almost extending his hands to help her hold her load.

Yennefer shook his head without being bothered by the weight at all.

"Don't worry, I can handle it myself,” she said, cheerfully and definitely not annoyed, and starting to walk away. "See you later, Jaskier"

Jaskier blinked without answering and watcher her until she disappeared around the corner from the southbound street.

What the hell has just happened?

When he looked to one of the nearby houses, he saw an old woman sitting in a rocking chair, who chose that exact moment to wave jovially at him. Jaskier blinked again and waved back, perplex. Then he shook his head and headed for the red-roofed building.

It was like every other house in the village, made of stone and wood with two floors. Its windows were half-open, with curtains of floral motifs full of patches. Jaskier looked up in case he saw anything through the windows, but the curtains were flapping with the breeze and blocking the view, so he went to the door and raised his hand to knock. He stopped at the sight of the heavy, corroded iron knocker shaped like a sun half-hidden by a moon. He touched it, lost, feeling that the shape was familiar somehow. But he didn't think much more about it and knocked three times with blows that sounded hard and cavernous.

He waited.

And waited.

And when it was clear that nobody was home, Jaskier pouted for himself and turned around.

"If you are looking for Renfri she is in the tavern right now!" The old woman on the rocking chair exclaimed without stopping its swing.

Jaskier looked at her, feeling dumb.

"Oh, oh, thanks!" he said and asked immediately after. "Errrr, sorry… where's the tavern?"

He saw the smile spreading on her wrinkly lips.

"Across the square, that building with the little cute drawing of a tankard hanging over the door!" she replied.

Jaskier nodded, trying then to appear confident, and bowed too much pompous and grandiloquent.

"Thanks, nice old lady!" he said.

"You're welcome, young man!"

Jaskier snorted, hung better his bag, and walked towards the aforementioned edifice. It was another house almost indistinguishable from the others except for that sign hanging over the door like in the soap opera stories about Robin Hood. He could hear voices coming from inside. Jaskier took a deep breath and walked in as if he were putting his hand into the mouth of a bear.

The interior of the bar was exactly like the taverns that could be seen in the few films that the polish government agreed to show in cinemas: a long wooden counter that looked old and worn but was actually very well cared for, long tables for several people, round tables for smaller groups, barrels and bottles behind the counter. The tiny modern touches that broke the illusion consisted of an old TV placed on a shelf full of glass bottles next to the most visible wall of the establishment, the beer dispensers, the radio on the shelves behind the counter, and some photographs, both in black and white and in color, of the town and the surrounding area. On the TV there was what appeared to be a match with the polish national football team, and it seemed to have the few customers engrossed with it. Jaskier took a quick glance at the screen and slowly approached the counter. Behind it was an older-looking man with short gray hair, very pale skin and dark eyes. His features were sharp, hard, as if he were rock polished by time. He was dressed soberly but elegantly, with clothes that did not quite fit in a place like that. When the man looked at him, serious and severe, Jaskier felt a huge, dense weight on his shoulders, as if someone suddenly sat on him and would not let him breathe. But that feeling immediately faded as the barman, who was drying a line of glasses, raised his eyebrows weakly and blinked.

Jaskier swallowed, thinking that those eyes looked terribly deep and old. And that they knew everything.

"You are the boy," the man said.

The clients hissed in frustration and disgust, still oblivious to Jaskier's arrival.

"Uhm...yes?" Jaskier said, feeling he was repeating himself. "I was looking for Renfri, someone told me she was here," he said, glancing around.

He didn't need to be told who Renfri was. Jaskier immediately located the woman, sitting at one of the small round tables farthest from the door and the television cabinet. She was half lying on the table, with a metal cup in her outstretched hand and her face resting on the other arm, as if she were...

"Is she... drunk?" Jaskier asked.

The man sighed, resigned.

"Luckily not, no, not yet," he replied.

"Not yet," Jaskier repeated.

The barman made a sad grimace but didn’t add anything more about it. Instead, he said:

"Sit with her, you must be tired from the journey,"

Jaskier let out a deep exhausted, and only a little dramatic, sigh.

"A little, yes, this place hasn't exactly been easy to find,"

The man smiled.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked.

Jaskier put one arm on the counter, glancing at the barrels behind it, searching.

"Do you have Tyskie?" he inquired.

Then he noticed the smell. He knew it was coming from the owner of the bar. It was a heavy, not entirely unpleasant smell, a mixture of thick, wet earth and lavender, a curiously unique perfume for a man. Jaskier swallowed. The bartender grimaced and picked up a clean tankard from under the counter. He went to the dispensers and placed it at a certain angle under one of them.

"I assume you're legal, right?" he said.

"Well, technically I'm forty-eight, if that doesn't make me legal..." Jaskier shrugged, trying to inhale not too hard.

The man pulled the lever on the dispenser, shaking his head with a snort.

"In human terms, yes, but if we calculate your real age you would be about... what, eighteen, nineteen years old? You almost didn't pass,"

"What can I say?"

The man poured the beer, a fresh pint with a crown of white foam. Jaskier grabbed the tankard with both hands and started to head for Renfri's table, from where she hadn't moved an inch. A wave of whispers and hisses indicated that a play in the match had not gone well.

"Thank you, sir,"

"No, no formalities. You're going to be spending a lot of time here, you call me Regis, "

Well, that's...

"Sure, thanks, Regis,"

Jaskier sat quietly at Renfri's table, leaving his tankard in the gap that she did not occupy with her body and arm. As soon as he touched the table surface, Renfri raised her head like a cat caught by surprise. Jaskier stared at her, taking a sip of his beer as she narrowed her eyes, slowly, and wrinkled her nose, finally rising to rest her back on the chair. She looked exactly the same as in the fountain sculpture, with slightly longer hair, a more wavy mane. But his eyes were just as sad.

Terribly sad.

The two watched each other silently for minutes, Jaskier sipping from his tankard, and Renfri holding her metal cup, making no attempt to drink from it, if there was any drink left. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw Regis and various of the clients who had been watching the game up until then, were very attentive to them. Jaskier licked his lips and clicked his tongue, not taking his eyes off the woman who had to train him in the ancient arts of the wardens from that day forward. He thought his grandmother had a slightly strange sense of humor, sending him to a little town like that, and to a warden with alcohol problems.

He couldn’t blame her, though, if he had the statue in mind.

But still...

“So…” he said, realizing that she wasn't going to be the one to break the ice first. He also noticed that she was looking at him in a very cautious way, scrutinizing him as if she was taking note of each and every one of his features, the color of his eyes, the shape of his face, the arch of his nose, the curve of his lips, or was estimating the number of moles he could have, or looking for the exact words to describe the color of his hair. “I’m here…”

Jaskier counted five seconds. When he was about to open his mouth again, the woman spoke and her voice sounded also tired and exhausted, though definitely sober thanks to God.

“Yeah, you are here,” she scoffed, blinked slowly and made a weak grimace. Then she drank from her cup and whipped the remained drops off her lips with the back of her hand “Let's make this easy, okay?”

“Okay?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows.

“There's not much to do in this place really, but since the queen is so interested in you finishing your training here, I'll do my best to fulfill her wish,"

Jaskier noticed the clear, perfect tone of sarcasm in her voice as if she was deeply annoyed that Calanthe had sent him there and didn't like the idea at all. He felt a bitter, awful sensation in the pit of his stomach and swallowed hard. It hurt him as if he had a stone stuck in his throat.

“Okay,” he said, lower.

She huffed.

"Today it's late and I've finished all the tasks, but tomorrow morning I'll start teaching you. I usually get up at sunrise, so I expect you to do the same,"

“Okay,”

Then she smiled leaned a little over the table, resting her arms on it.

"So... everything’s okay?"

Jaskier blinked, baffled.

"Uh… yes?"

"Has anyone said anything to you?"

"Uh... No?"

Renfri glanced at the rest of the bar. Jaskier followed her gaze. The clients turned around on their seats immediately, except for Regis, who slowly looked down with a sigh. More and more Jaskier had the feeling that something was going on or people knew something he didn't understand. And it was starting to get a little bit annoying for him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Renfri looked at him with a flat and apparently disinterested expression.

"Nothing," she replied. "As I was saying, rules. Luckily for both of us, I have two bathrooms at home, yours is upstairs. Take a bath before you go to sleep, you won't have time in the morning. We have access to hot water but don't waste it or I'll kill you, do you understand?"

"Yes,"

"Good," Renfri took another sip from her cup, pensive. Jaskier did the same, staring at her intently. "We'll have breakfast here at the bar, then we'll start with the routine duties. At noon we’ll eat here again and continue until we finish whatever needs to be done. There are days when you finish early, but others..." she grimaced.

"Yeah, sure, I understand,"

"Don't worry, kid, you'll do fine. As I said, there's not much to do really, it's a small town,"

Jaskier nodded and took the last drink, then reached into the pockets of the bag, looking for the purse. Renfri snorted.

"Don't bother, we barely use money here," she said.

"But–"

"You'll pay him with your wardenship, it works that way,"

Jaskier arched an eyebrow.

"Let me guess, everyone lets you pay by doing your job,"

For the first time since he had sat at Renfri's table, Jaskier saw the outline of a faint, small smile on her lips.

"You'll understand," she mumbled. Then she handed him her cup and waved him up. "Go on, be a good boy and get me more drink, and ask Regis to make us dinner,"

Jaskier pursed his lips, took his tankard and Renfri’s cup and went to the counter, where Regis was still drying glasses as if seconds before he hadn't been watching them.

"She wants–" Jaskier started to say.

"I know, I heard her, don't worry," Regis put down the rag and the glass in his hands, took Jaskier's cup and tankard and brought new ones. When Jaskier looked at him he saw his old, tired eyes and felt a wave, like a vibration in the air, of concern that sent a chill down his back. Regis sighed again. "You'll have to be patient with her, it's the first time–" The man hesitated for a second, as if he was looking for the right words. "It's the first time she has an apprentice,"

Jaskier blinked, suppressing the urge to look at her. A little further down the line, at the end of the counter, the spectators at the game were cheering their team on to score. Jaskier clicked his tongue.

"I see..." he whispered.

Was that it? Am I the first student she has?

"Do you like leek soup?" Regis asked then, leaving the new drinks in front of the boy.

Jaskier blinked, and thought about how little he had eaten soup in his life just because his grandmother didn't let the cooks prepare lower class meals in the palace.

"Sure," he said, nodding enthusiastically.

He took the cup and the tankard and brought them to Renfri's table, which was waiting impatiently for his return. The woman took her drink with energy and gave a sip. Jaskier sighed.

They drank in relative silence, Renfri more and more concentrated in her cup and Jaskier feeling more and more tired, both from the trip and from the alcohol. By the time Regis brought each of them a bowl of soup, both were lost in their own thoughts. The man gave them a silent glance before giving them the spoons and returning to the counter. The bar had been left empty, with the game about to end and the few remaining customers marching home for dinner.

Jaskier tasted a spoonful of soup after blowing on it a little and found a myriad of flavors so strong and delicious that he thought it was probably the best soup in the world. Not only did he notice the leek, but there was also potato, carrot, onion, he even rosemary and pepper, all perfectly mixed together. The soup wasn't quite broth, it was thick enough to melt in your mouth. After a whole trip based on cold meat sandwiches, that first hot meal in Blaviken would be forever his favorite.

Jaskier might have cried for joy if he hadn't had Renfri watching him over her own bowl with a strange expression. Jaskier swallowed the soup and looked at her.

"What?" he inquired.

Renfri instantly looked down, at his own food. She did not answer. The boy pressed his lips and stirred the soup with the spoon, watching the potato and leek lumps go around. He ate one, thinking. As he swallowed, he looked up again.

"Renfri?" he said.

"Hm?" She made no attempt to pay more attention to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

She shrugged.

"What's up?"

Jaskier licked his lips, feeling the taste of the soup. He took a deep breath.

"On my way here, after crossing the tree passage... I came across four giant wolves. They were... Are they from here, from Blaviken?"

Renfri took a quick and… a curious look at him.

"Yes, of course they're from here. You noticed they weren't normal, right?"

"Well, yes," Jaskier stirred in his seat. "So they're werewolves?"

She nodded.

"Vesemir and his pups, they help me to patrol Blaviken's territory. It's pretty huge and it would take me weeks by myself. If you saw them at the tree entrance they'll be back in two or three days,"

"Ah,"

"I'll introduce you to them when they get back, although... they probably know you better than you know them by now,"

"Oh, yeah? How?" He sounded more interested than concerned.

"The smell. There's no one in all of Blaviken with a better sense of smell. Vesemir could track you back to Warsaw if he wanted to. And in the rain. If you've seen them, they'll have smelled you enough to know your trouser size,”

Jaskier whimpered and took another spoonful. So he had made a bit of a fool of himself in that clearing. Renfri snorted.

"Don't worry, they're wolves, the most harmless and friendly creatures in town,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

"Regis doesn't look dangerous," Jaskier said, pointing his head at the bartender.

Renfri snorted again and leaned over the table a little and lower her voice.

"Regis could break you in half, though before that he'd sink his fangs into your neck and drink all your blood in one gulp,"

Jaskier opened his eyes wide and arched his eyebrows, suddenly feeling his throat dry. Of course, the smell of earth...

"I wouldn't do that, don't be absurd," Regis said from the counter. Jaskier looked at him. Although the man had the same calm expression as before, the boy noticed the irritation in his tone of voice. "Don't put such old-fashioned ideas into the kid, please,"

"But is it true?" Jaskier held his breath, turning in his seat to look at the man.

Then Renfri burst into a clean, heartfelt laugh that somehow that made Jaskier's heart skip a beat.

"What?" Regis asked.

"Could you break a person in half? Or drink their blood in one gulp?"

Regis looked at him in complete and utter disbelief, and resignation. Renfri's laughter slowly faded. He gave Renfri an annoying look for instigating such questions and then grunted.

"I could. Split someone in half I mean. Drink five liters of blood in one sitting? No, ancestors no. And I wouldn't sink my teeth into your neck either, there's too much muscle to go through. If I wanted to drink someone else's blood, I would first ask them nicely and then, if they said yes, I would drink from their wrist, or forearm,"

"What a gentleman," Renfri mocked, eating his soup.

"Oh, shut up, Renfri,"

She laughed again, much shorter and lower than before. Jaskier felt excited.

A pack of werewolves

A vampire

An elf

And whatever Yennefer was.

He had known from the beginning that this town was a refuge for magical creatures, but he had imagined goblins, elves, yes, okay, maybe some trolls, but werewolves, vampires? All he knew about them was from reading books that not even his tutors wanted him to read.

"Hey, don't look so excited and finish eating that, you'll want to go to bed early tonight," Renfri said, pointing him with her spoon.

Jaskier bit his lips, thinking fast and concentrated on eating what was left of the soup and drinking the beer. Renfri grunted approvingly and ended up with his own dinner.

By the time they left the tavern, it was already dark and there was no one left on the street. The sound of the animals in the village had turned into a silence broken only by the singing of the crickets and the sound of the families finishing their own dinners. There was little light, no lamppost. When Jaskier looked up, he could see the dark blue and purple sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars. He did not need to make an effort to discern the trail of the Milky Way over the lake.

He had never seen it before.

It was beautiful.

"Hey,"

Renfri got his attention. Jaskier swallowed, stopped gawking at the sky, and walked faster to follow in his master's footsteps. Once in the square and in front of the red-roofed house, Renfri took a rather large and quirky key out of his pocket. He opened the door with it.

Inside, the house looked like a ghost hostel.

Jaskier didn't have time to explore much, Renfri made him climb the stairs, made of crisp, dry wood, up to the second floor. There, in addition to the aforementioned second bathroom, there was a corridor with seven little rooms where, with luck, a bed would fit. In some of them there were small closets. Jaskier chose one of the rooms with a wardrobe, which had one of the windows with flower curtains overlooking the square.

"Remember, at dawn," Renfri said, before he went down the stairs back to the bottom floor.

Inside his new tiny room, Jaskier heard the sound of a door closing. When he was sure Renfri would not return, he sighed deeply, left his bag on the bed, a mattress with no sheets or blankets ready, and closed the window. He also drew the curtains. The window faced north, so it wouldn't get much light during the day, but.

He didn't think he'd be spending much time in that room anyway.

He took the bag off the bed and opened the closet. He found several bed sets, so he picked the first one in the pile and he laid out the sheets, the pillow, and the quilt. Then he opened his bag and took out what little clothing he had brought with him. Only clothes, no personal belongings that were not strictly necessary. He found his toothbrush and toothpaste at the bottom of the bag, along with the hairbrush. Jaskier brushed his teeth while filling the bathtub. He was grateful to find soap in the bathroom cabinet. He also took note of the first aid supplies he had. He assumed Renfri didn't spend much time in the house either, judging by how poorly conditioned it was. It didn't matter. Jaskier took a towel and his pajamas into the bathroom.

It took him a lot less time than it used to at home to take a bath, and not because he was sleepy.

When he came out of the bathroom, with his pajamas on and the towel over his shoulders, he walked down the hall and past the empty rooms quickly to his own. He closed the door and breathed a long sigh. Even if he did not smell closed or old, or a house that had not been used in a long time, Jaskier sensed an energetic tension in there.

He couldn't explain what it was.

Bit it was… nasty.

He turned off the light and got into bed looking at the door. There was silence, a tight silence. Jaskier gripped the sheets with his fingers. With all his senses alert, he only heard that silence. Not the crickets outside, not Renfri at the bottom floor. He held his breath.

But he was tired, so he soon closed his eyes, and his mind wandered into forests full of crisp leaves, vampires serving beer, and golden-eyed white wolves. It was fast.

That night Jaskier did not dream, exhausted, and slept soundly.

So soundly that he did not notice that, after midnight, the door of his room opened slowly with a faint squeak and stayed open all night.

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher au #wardens of magic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #gerlion

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alj4890 · 4 years

Text

Christmas Prompt

Day 22 of @jlpplays1-41daysofcheerchallenge with the prompt being a holiday and requests for more first impressions for Thomas and Amanda.

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) one shot. (RCD x TRR)

A/N Not a part of any particular storyline of mine. I had recieved some more first meeting during the holidays requests for this pair and I just couldn't resist this idea for her duchy, LOL. And I might have given Amanda my own birthday and the reason why my own family goes crazy with Christmas decorations.

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @annekebbphotography @cora-nova @hopelessromantic1352. @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @pixieferry @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker. @trappedinfandoms

Masterlist

Lighten Up

Three weeks before Christmas in St Orella, Cordonia...

"How are you not more excited about this?" Addison asked, holding tightly to Matt when she nearly slid down on a patch of ice.

Thomas frowned more as he looked at the rather picturesque duchy of St Orella.

"Because old Scrooge here would rather be beside his palm tree shaded pool with a glass of scotch and no people around." Holly muttered.

His frown deepened beyond comprehension. "I can respect a town coming together for the holidays. I would rather respect them from afar."

"How often though are you invited by a king and queen to spend Christmas with them?" Jessica exclaimed. "This by far beats every Christmas party invitation ever!"

Ryan squeezed in between Holly and Thomas. "He won't admit it, but he had to be honored receiving that call."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "It is nice to be recognized as attributing to a country's growing economy--"

"There's that not boring toast speech we have all been waiting for." Chris nudged his wife Shannon causing her to giggle.

Thomas looked at the group that had been invited to spend the holidays in Cordonia. Being stuck with them must mean he had not been put on the nice list for presents this year.

"It was kind of King Liam to host us. I had hoped we wouldn't be dragged all over the country to attend events." He muttered.

"Dragged?" Seth snorted as he wrapped his arm snuggly around Jessica. "More like I knocked nobles over to get here."

"At least this is the most festive." Holly added. "From what I read, this duchy goes all out with decorations. It dates back to the current duchess's birth. Seems she was due on Christmas Day, but her mother had been struggling health wise with being diagnosed a year earlier with type one diabetes. The doctor did not think she would survive a natural birth. They planned a cesarean for three weeks earlier and she insisted on having their home decorated before she left for the hospital. The whole town caught wind of it and decided to decorate early also in celebration of the next heir."

"So this is basically a gigantic birthday party?" Seth asked. "Wow. I was so meant for this lifestyle."

"It's not a birthday party." Holly corrected. "It has simply become a tradition and one that brings in tourists."

"A tourist trap." Thomas muttered. "For some spoiled woman. Ridiculous."

"Thomas!" Addison exclaimed. "We will be staying in her home for the next week. You can't be mean to her! Not after King Liam invited us here in celebration of the success of The Last Duchess."

"I know how to keep my thoughts to myself, Ms. Sinclaire!" He snapped. "Just don't expect me to enjoy this part of our trek." He buttoned his coat and mumbled to himself. "The stuck up woman couldn't even bother to be home and greet her guests."

________________

"Where is she?" Olivia stood on her tiptoes to look out over the crowd. "The tree lighting ceremony will be starting soon."

Liam and Riley scanned the growing crowd from the gazebo. "I don't see her anywhere." He whispered.

"Amanda won't miss this." Maxwell climbed a lamp post to see even further. "She never has."

"They won't start without her, will they?" Nadia asked.

"Amanda is the one to give the holiday message and flip the switch to light up St. Orella." Hana explained, turning toward Rashad for more warmth. "They can't start without her."

"She's probably stuck talking to someone." Drake added. "She won't miss this."

_________________

A few blocks away...

"I'm too old to be changing that marquee every few weeks. Haven't you heard of digital?" Gustav complained.

His wife, Kata, hit his shoulder. "Don't speak to her grace like that!"

Amanda chuckled while setting up the extension ladder. "He's right. It is silly to keep doing this when there are easier methods. I'm afraid I have a soft spot for this marquee. My grandmother's journal revealed that her first date was here with my grandfather, before he left to fight in the war in Korea. They had their first kiss under this marquee."

She started climbing up to add the letters of the holiday movies that would be shown over the next few weeks.

"I can't believe you would let her up there!" Kata hissed. "Have you no shame? The tree lighting will be at any moment and you stick her ladyship on that rickety ladder."

Gustav grumbled back a retort.

"It is no trouble, Mrs. Wangsgard." Amanda called down.

"Where is your coat, lille en ?!" The matron theater owner exclaimed. "Idiot! You let her out here with no coat!"

"Vær stille!" He shouted. The two argued as they went back inside to find the duchess's coat.

"I'm fine!" She called out after them. When silence was her only answer, she continued adding the letters for the movie titles.

________________

Thomas breathed a bit easier once he was away from his circle of friends. He stopped every few feet to admire a storefront. Even with strings of lights that awaited to be turned on, the aesthetics of the town were charming.

He noticed what had to be a theater further down and made his way over to it. He then saw the woman on the wobbly ladder adding letters to spell out It's a Wonderful Life on one side of a bright marquee.

"L. I. F. Eeeeee--OH!" She tried to catch the falling letter, making the ladder tilt more precariously.

"Hold on!" Thomas rushed over and held onto the ladder, keeping it upright.

Amanda held fast. She looked down at her savior. "Thank you. I'm afraid I was in too much of a hurry."

He nodded and picked up the lost letter. "There is no need to rush is there?"

She climbed down a few steps to reach the letter he held. "The tree lighting ceremony will start at any moment, but I wanted to finish this task first. Mr. And Mrs. Wangsgard have needed assistance since their son received a fellowship in London. I stopped by to check on them beforehand."

Thomas frowned at seeing her working in the cold. Where was the spoiled duchess? "One would think the duchess would care for her people more than leaving the burden on the shoulders of people like you."

"Oh, but you don't understand. I am--" Amanda hurried to correct his mistake.

"As admirable as it is that you are about to defend one who I must assume is a self absorbed person, you should not have to worry so about something like this. After seeing that estate she lives on, surely she can afford to hire people to take care of needs like this." Thomas took his coat off when he noticed her shivering. "Here. Put this on if you insist on continuing."

A smile slowly formed on her lips. "But then you will be cold."

He shrugged, coloring some at how pretty he thought she was when she smiled. Her icy fingers brushed his as she took his coat.

"Thank you." She said softly. She slipped it on and could smell the lingering aroma of his aftershave. "You are not from around here, are you?"

"No." He looked over his shoulder at the townspeople making their way to the center of a park. "This is my first visit to this part of Cordonia."

"Welcome to St Orella, Mr..." She finished one side and climbed down to look at it.

"Thomas. Thomas Hunt." He looked at her face, lips curving at seeing her up close. "Thank you, Ms...."

She smiled at him. "Amanda." Her head tilted some in realization. "Thomas Hunt. You are the one who filmed The Last Duchess in Cordonia."

"I am." He helped her move the ladder to the other side and kept it steady as she quickly added the movie titles. "Did you watch it?"

"I did." She responded. "I was quite swept away with the story. To live in such fear of a king forcing you to marry someone else and possibly lose your home," she shook her head. "I can't imagine Liam doing something like that."

"After meeting him, I can't either." He reached up to steady her as she started back down. "He seems like the type that would do all he can to help his people."

"That sums him up perfectly." She handed him his coat back. "Thank you so much for your help and for your coat."

"It was no trouble." His attention was torn away from her by the still arguing couple that walked out with an extra coat.

"Forgive us, your grace," Kata glared at her husband. "We had trouble finding this."

"The fault is mine." Amanda told them. "I drive everyone mad with my always forgetting where I last left it." She smiled happily when the couple looked up at the marquee.

"You finished it! Thank you, your grace!" Gustav exclaimed.

"It was my pleasure. Hudson knows some young men that would like to move here if they are able to find work." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Being so far away from family has made them anxious to settle down somewhere with kind people. They miss their parents terribly."

Kata and Gustav quickly offered to meet with them.

"They will stay once they have tasted Kata's baklava." Gustav boasted.

His wife shushed him as she kissed his cheek. "Flatterer."

Amanda looked down at her watch and grimaced. "I hate to rush off, but I must hurry."

Thomas stood there in disbelief at finding out that she was the duchess.

She looked up at him. "Would you care to come with me, Mr. Hunt? I feel terrible that I wasn't able to greet you and your party when you arrived. There were some people like the Wangsgard's that I wanted to make sure would make the ceremony in time."

She took his arm and began to walk with him as he remained in silent thought.

_________________

Once his shock and irritation subsided, Thomas finally spoke. "Forgive me for insulting you."

She gently squeezed his arm. "When did you insult me?"

He snorted. "No need to pretend it didn't happen, Lady--"

"Just Amanda." She looked up at him. "You only said what any caring person would if they thought a noble wasn't taking responsibility for his or her people. I hope seeing that I honestly do will improve your opinion of me."

His dark eyes widened at being referred to as caring. "I see that I was wrong on many accounts. Regardless, my opinion should not matter."

He noticed how her eyes seemed to sparkle before saying something a touch heartfelt mixed with humor.

"I believe it was Mr. Darcy who told Elizabeth that he would still like to have her approval of himself and Pemberly. I should like the same from you." She released his arm as people of her duchy cleared a path for her. "Once I finish the ceremony, perhaps you would allow me a chance to show you my duchy. It is the least I can do after you saved me from falling over."

Thomas slowly nodded. "I would like that."

Amanda's smile glowed at his answer. "Then I will await you at the gazebo." She hurried off, pausing every few steps to greet her people and recieve hugs from some of the children.

__________________

"Ah, here she is!" Liam said with a relieved smile. "You will no longer have to suffer with my speeches."

The crowd chuckled.

"He's so dreamy." Addison sighed.

"He's so married." Matt muttered.

"Where did you go?" Holly asked when Thomas came up behind them. "We thought you returned to the estate."

"I went for a walk." He replied while watching Amanda laugh with the King and Queen.

"See anything interesting?" Ryan asked.

Thomas grunted noncommitally with a shrug.

They all turned back around when the crowd cheered.

"I'm sorry I'm so late." Amanda said. "I misplaced my coat."

"Again?" One of the townspeople called out, causing everyone to laugh.

"I will learn one day Mr. Skousen." She replied with a wink. "I will also make certain not to leave it where paint is being mixed."

His wife and children laughed as he covered his face. "Your grace!" He yelled back. "You promised never to tell!"

"I would never use your coat of many colors as a way to take the heat off me." She teased.

Her eyes swept the crowd. "I welcome you all to this special night. It never fails in touching my heart to see old friends," her hazel eyes drifted over those closest to her heart then landed on Thomas, "and new join us."

"Is she looking at me?" Seth whispered.

"No one is ever looking at you." Holly corrected.

"I know I end up saying the same thing year after year." Amanda paused a moment. "But do know that I will never forget nor allow future generations to when it comes to how much joy you brought my mother that night. Her journal pages still have the watermarks where tears landed from describing your generosity and kindness. You continuing this tradition long after my parents' deaths," she stepped back from the microphone as she tried to swallow down the lump of emotion.

Addison, Jessica, and Shannon started sniffling.

"Please don't cry." Holly whispered toward the stage. "Then we all will."

Amanda stepped back in the spotlight. "It means everything to me." She smiled through the tears filling her eyes. "I think it's time to lighten things up, don't you?"

The crowd clapped and cheered as she began the countdown.

Thomas glanced around at the people looking up at her with such adoration. Their excitment over lights being flipped on was contagious. His group of friends were shouting out the numbers louder than some of the townspeople.

The darkness left with the flick of a switch.

The crowd released a collective gasp as the entire town and large tree came to light.

"Woohoo! Visible from space baby!" Maxwell yelled while clapping.

"Now, St Orellans, enjoy yourselves!" Amanda commanded.

"Another winning year!" Maxwell told her when she stepped out of the gazebo. "Beautiful!"

"At least we know where your Christmas obsession came from." Olivia teased with a smirk. "And though it isn't near as perfect as Lythikos, it still holds a certain charm."

"Liam," Riley said, "Me. You. Sledding now." She playfully pushed him toward the hills some people were already doing so.

"I smell cinnamon." Hana took a deep breath as she wound her arm around Rashad's "Let's find out what it is."

"We are following her." Nadia grabbed Maxwell's hand and trailed behind the ones that always discovered the best treats.

"Buy you a drink, Walker?" Olivia motioned toward one of the vendors selling hot drinks liberally laced with brandy and whiskey.

"Thought you would never ask." He followed her through the crowd.

Thomas and the rest approached Amanda once she was free.

"Hello!" She shook their hands. "Forgive me for not being home when you arrived. I hope you found your rooms and all comfortable."

"We did, thank you." Shannon answered. "Your home is beautiful!"

"And everyone has been so friendly!" Addison chimed in.

Amanda seemed to relax somewhat. "Thank you. Let me know if you need anything at all."

"Iowa!" Seth grabbed Jessica. "Christmas. Cookie. Eating contest!" He yanked her away while shouting thanks to Amanda.

Matt tugged Addison's hand. "Let's walk through the tunnel of lights."

"There's bound to be plenty of mistletoe in there." Amanda added with a wink.

Addison took his arm and hurried over to it.

"Let's go watch the parade. Sophie will love that." Shannon and Chris pushed the stroller holding their nine month old daughter toward the roads that had the parade route starting.

Ryan and Holly looked back and forth between Thomas and Amanda. The movie star smiled knowingly at Thomas then winked at Holly. "Let's go see what we can find to do. You don't mind taking care of Old Scrooge Hunt, do you duchess?"

Amanda's lips trembled with laughter. "Not at all. I promised Mr. Hunt a tour."

"Oh really? A private tour? Nice." Ryan smiled even more. "I see you did find something on your walk after all."

___________________

"This isn't necessary." Thomas said once they were away from the park. "I don't want to take you away from your people and friends."

"I usually walk the quieter areas to enjoy the lights." She explained. "You don't have to come with me though." Her cheeks seemed a touch redder than before. "I don't want you to feel obligated to do so just because you are staying in my home."

"No, no. This is nice." He quickly said.

She smiled and turned her eyes back to the decorations. "I never can decide which I love more, multicolored lights or when one decorates in one solid color."

Thomas nodded. "There is something to be said for both, I suppose."

She chuckled and shook her head. "I know it sounds silly, debating over something like that, but you would be surprised how often I am asked that very question. There is such beauty in both. The multicolored remind me of all the excitment and joy the holidays bring while strands of nothing but say, blue, make me feel the peacefulness of these cold winter nights."

Thomas nodded. "Hard to choose then when they evoke those emotions."

"Exactly!" She took a step and slid on a patch of ice.

Thomas tried to grab her but ended up sliding on the same spot. They tumbled down to the ground.

"Are you alirght?" He managed to say once he lifted his head.

She turned her face toward his, bumping his nose with hers. "I think so. One can survive bruises everywhere, right?"

He looked down in her eyes and smiled softly. "I believe you'll make it. He pushed off the ground then helped her stand. He kept hold of one of her hands in his as they continued down the road.

She glanced down at their hands and felt her heart speed up when he laced his fingers with hers. "How long are you planning to visit, Thomas?"

"At least until the new year, why?" He asked, cutting his eyes to her.

"No reason." She replied with a smile. "No reason at all."

#choices thomas hunt #thomas hunt x amanda #thomas hunt rcd #thomas hunt x oc #liam x riley #drake x olivia #hana x rashad #maxwell x nadia #ryan x holly #matt x addison #seth x mc #jlpplays1 #41 days of cheer challenge #rcd x trr

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mikkomacko · 5 years

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Sweet As Honey 2

Harry doesn't get uncomfortable anymore. After being kicked out of his home and forced to sleep on the couch of the man that introduced Harry to boxing, he's pretty good at keeping a level head in sensitive situations.

But he couldn't stand to stay in his house while y/n slept in. He's usually the first one awake, checking on Arlo and starting to make breakfast. Weekends are his time at home, no gym day, no morning runs, no fight reviewing.

However, the ball of nerves that ate at his stomach this morning, creeping up his spine and into his brain, reminded him of everything his mom had done.

He kept thinking back on the first months of living with Nick. He had been too depressed to keep up with school, too depressed to go to the gym, to depressed to find a job and too depressed to box.

It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest and left in his empty bedroom back at his mom's house. Nick had been a God send, letting Harry sort through his feelings, not asking anything of him except that he eat and help out around the house a bit.

For months, Harry had been twisted up with anxiety. What was he going to do? He had no money, no job, no school, no family. How was he going to make a life for himself? The unknowns had made him physically sick, throwing up and triggering panic attacks.

The day finally came where he could no longer do nothing. He had gotten up, dug around in a bag for workout clothes and decided to go for a run. He ran for miles, mind going blank and the endorphins from running taking over. It was the best he had felt in months.

He ended up running to the gym Nick worked at, sweaty and breathless, requesting a sparring partner. Nick got him in the practice ring, got him boxing again. Finally, he was well enough for Nick to give him a trainer. Liam spent day after day in the gym with Harry, pushing him fight after fight until Harry was one of the most popular boxers in the city.

He started winning fights, starting drawing in crowds, starting making money. He got an apartment, took care of himself and kept boxing three times a week. He met y/n, asked her to get a drink, and planned on taking her home just for the night. Instead he found the woman of his dreams, fell in love, got married and had his wonderful son.

Everything he had today, he got from the one run he went on.

So when he woke up this morning, on the verge of a panic attack, he gently woke y/n. He apologized for leaving but said he needed some air, happily accepted her kiss of assurance, morning breath and all.

And he went for a run. He ran until the panic in his chest had been set free and his legs were cramping and his brain felt clear. He ran until all he could think about was y/n and Arlo and how happy they make him. Then he ran home.

Anne knows if Harry were to walk into the house right now, he'd see her snooping. He'd probably be peeved at her, ridicule her for suddenly having an interest in his life but she doesn't care. After the few photos she saw last night, the ones in which Harry looked unbelievably happy, she couldn't help herself. She wanted to see what she missed.

So she tip-toed to the living room, not wanting to disturb y/n or Gemma, and began examining the dozens of pictures of her son's little family. With guilt sitting heavily in her chest, Anne notices that in most of the photos, Harry's still the loving, sweet boy she raised.

There's a photo of a younger Harry, face still a bit chubby and curls at his shoulders with Mickey Mouse ears holding the wild locks down. Y/n is with him, her own set of Minnie Mouse ears on. They're standing in front of Cinderella's Castle, fireworks exploding behind them as they share a kiss.

A photo of them on Halloween, both dressed in Kangaroo costumes with boxing gloves on, Y/n's stomach swollen with their baby. Y/n is holding up her fists, ready to fight Harry who's got his arms crossed over his chest, grinning down fondly at his wife.

Another silly photo of Harry and y/n. They're still young in this photo, not as young as the Disney one but Harry's still got a bit of baby chub on his face and y/n still has the cute child-like look in her eyes. They're sat in front of a fire place, Christmas stockings hanging behind them. Harry's dressed as Santa Claus, minus the fake beard and y/n is perched in his lap in a Mrs. Claus dress. Y/n is grinning at the camera but Harry's smile is pointed towards her.

Anne reaches the last picture of the shelf she's looking at, tears welling in her eyes at the photo. Harry's sitting on the edge of a pool, long hair up in a bun on top of his head but most of his unruly curls have slipped out. The photo's taken by someone who's in the pool, far enough to capture Harry's legs in the water but close enough to show the water droplets on his torso.

Perched in his lap sits Arlo, a gummy smile lighting up his face and making his green eyes brighter. Harry's got a similar smile on his face, dimples bigger than his sons but in the exact same spot. And his eyes are reflecting the same blazing green.

Anne can't believe she got rid of one Harry and came crawling back to find two. Overcome with shame, she's heading back towards the bedroom when commotion in the kitchen stops her. Anne freezes, listening to the wife of her son break her heart even more.

"I know we're late, Harry's on his way." Is the first thing y/n says when she answers her mother's phone call.

"Don't worry dear, I was just checking to make sure everything was fine after last night." Her mom responds, offering a light laugh to calm a slightly frazzled y/n.

Y/n freezes, dropping the spoon she was washing into the soapy dish water. "Harry told you about last night?"

"Yes m'a'm," She says proudly. "called me pretty late last night, asked if he could chat with me about something bothering him. Of course I said yes, I love that boy with all my heart."

Y/n looks down at her phone that's resting on the counter, a bit confused that Harry called her mother. Harry's never been one to voice his complaints or even rant to anyone that's not Liam, Nick or herself. He often plays his cards close to his chest so y/n can't imagine how alone he must have felt to call her mom.

"Oh," y/n replies. "I should've known when he didn't say anything before bed, at least not relating to his mom. He got it all out talking to you."

"Don't sound do disappointed," Marie jokes. "he told me he didn't want to further burden you last night after filling in for him at dinner and setting up the guest rooms for those people."

Y/n chuckles at her mom's tone, scrubbing the scrambled eggs off the pan in the sink. "Don't say it like that, you haven't even met them yet."

"I don't need to meet them." Marie scoffs. "They abandoned my son because he was hurt, he had just lost his father. The only thing he knew to do was fight, whether in the ring or against the man that was hurting his mother. The only thing he's guilty of is having the biggest heart. You of all people should know that."

"I do know that." Y/n defends, offended that her mother would even imply that y/n isn't on Harry's side in this situation. "I know what happened, I know how much it's hurt him. I see him wake up anxious and sad because he's had another nightmare that he didn't get to see his mom again. But I can't just let him throw away the first chance he's gotten in eight years to fix his family. As his wife, it's my job to take care of him and I don't want to be waking up when I'm eighty to find him in another panic attack."

Marie is silent on the other side for a moment. "You're right," She huffs. "when did you get so smart, huh?"

"After all these years, I've gotten used to fixing him up. This is just another cut that needs more than a bandaid."

"In that case, I'll make sure to give him an extra big hug when he gets here."

"We're home!" Harry calls out playfully, shutting the front door behind him. Arlo coos against Harry's chest, lifting his head a bit as he realizes he's back home.

"We're in here!" Y/n calls from the living room.

"Mumma," Arlo whimpers, pressing his chubby hands into Harry's chest to push himself away from Harry and closer to y/n.

"Don't worry bub," Harry murmurs, adjusting the baby bag that was slipping off his shoulder. "I'm taking ya to mumma."

The resistance against his chest ceases, Arlo peering up at Harry with curious green eyes. Harry brushes his thumb over his baby's soft cheek, adoration flooding through him and putting a giddy smile on his lips.

His smile falters when he enters the living room to find his mom and sister sat beside y/n on the couch, surrounded by photo albums and all of them sporting smiles.

Harry hates the sight. He hates that they can just sit there, looking at photos of him growing up without them and still be smiling. He hates that his mother doesn't even look guilty or regretful.

"There's ma baby!" Y/n cheers, jumping up from the couch. She rushes towards them, arms outstretched for Arlo.

Stomach swimming with nausea, Harry kisses Arlo's forehead softly and hands him over to y/n. He ignores her concerned eyes as she shifts Arlo to one arm, cupping his jaw with the other one. He grabs her wrist, squeezing it gently and letting the tears build in his eyes.

"M'gonna go unpack his bag, yeah?"

Harry doesn't wait for an answer. He turns on his heel, marching up the steps and ignoring the sound of his mom dolt over Arlo.

Harry's sat on the hospital bed, y/n's back against his chest and their newborn baby cradled in her arms.

Arlo's still pink in the face from crying but he's sleeping now, snuggled into a blue blanket and beanie the doctors wrapped him in.

Harry can hear the quiet shuffles of loved ones entering the room, eager to meet the first born of the Styles family. He hears the gasp of y/n's mom and sister in law, followed by a tearful, "Oh, he's beautiful." But Harry can't take his eyes away from his son.

With his arms under y/n's, as if he's the one cradling the baby, Harry brings his family closer to his chest.

He doesn't know how to describe the amount of love that's taken over his body. His heart is full, so full it feels squished in his body. It feels like it could bust right out of his chest and still need room. He thinks the world's not even big enough to contain how much love he has for Arlo.

"You want to hold him?"

Harry's head snaps up at y/n's words, an offended crease in his brow and glare in his eyes.

He deflates as Arlo is passed to y/n's mom, falling back into the hospital bed with a huff. His arms feel light without the weight of his baby in them and he doesn't like it. He wants him back, he doesn't want anyone to hold Arlo because Arlo is his to hold.

"Hi dad,"

Harry pulls his protective glare away from y/n's parents to look down at her. She's still pressed into his chest, head tilted up to peer up at him.

"Hi mumma." He grins, taking in her puffy eyes and beaming smile. He smoothes his hands over her messy hair, not caring that it's matted with sweat from the delivery of Arlo.

She looks exhausted, positively recked, but she's so beautiful. She's still glowing. Harry's not sure if it's from the remaining sweat or if being a mother just looks that good on her. Either way, he's not complaining.

"What are you pouting for?" She whispers, wrapping her hands around his wrists. Harry nuzzles his nose into her cheek, pecking a kiss into her flush skin.

"Want my son back." Harry murmurs, a whine present in his tone.

Y/n giggles, tilting her head more to look at him. She cups his jaw with one hand, kissing the corner of his lips. "Let them hold him for a moment. We get him for the rest of our lives."

Harry hums, accepting her words but not being particularly happy with them. He knows that Arlo is his forever but that's not enough, Harry wants him back. He wants to hold him for the rest of his life.

"Can't believe my mum went through this, she knows this feeling and she st-"

"Stop it Harry." Y/n interrupts, catching on to the rising anger in his voice and the way he tensed up. "I know it hurts but she made an awful mistake and she doesn't deserve your anger or tears. You're too good for her."

Harry nods, watching with teary eyes as his new family gathers around Arlo. They're all looking at him with so much love and adoration, Harry doesn't understand how someone could ever give their child up.

"S'just shitty." Harry whispers, his lanky fingers wrapping around the wrist of her hand that's caressing his face.

She gives him a sympathetic smile, leaning into him as he sponges kisses over the bridge of her nose and grins when he hears y/n's grandmother claim Arlo is the cutest baby in the world.

"Ya hear that?" Y/n breathes. "The cutest baby in the world, must take after his daddy."

"No way," Harry sucks a kiss to her bottom lip. "it's all you."

Harry had a smirked a bit when he first heard Arlo fussing, a bit proud that his son didn't want to be held by Anne. It made Harry feel like he has someone else on his side.

He unpacked Arlo's bag, straightening up the nursery and listening to y/n assure Anne and Gemma that the baby is just tired.

Harry was tucking bunny into Arlo's crib when y/n entered with the sniffling baby. As glad as Harry was that Arlo was refusing his families affection, it broke his heart to hear his bub crying.

Arms outstretched, ready to take Arlo and dry up all the tears, Harry was shocked when he ceased crying the second y/n placed Arlo in Harry's hold.

"Ok I know you're his favorite, but this is ridiculous." Y/n scoffs, hands finding a home on her hips.

Harry chuckles, snuggling Arlo into his chest. Arlo tucks his nose into Harry's neck, arms squished between his little torso and Harry's large one.

"Oh come on pet," Harry shushes, still proudly grinning. "As soon as he gets hungry he'll be whining for ya."

She huffs but accepts his answer. Grinning softly, Harry leans down to lay Arlo in the crib. He freezes when Arlo let's out a loud wail of protest, chubby hands locking around Harry's bicep as much as possible.

"What's the matter bub?" Harry coos, bringing Arlo back up to his chest. Arlo presses even closer this time, scrunching Harry's tee-shirt up in his hands.

Confused, Harry tries to lay Arlo down once more. Arlo cries and clings to Harry again, this time adding a cry of "dadda!"

Harry gives y/n a bewildered look, hoping she knows why Arlo's being extremely dependent on Harry. Usually he goes down easily, only getting fussy if he's teething or doesn't feel well. But he's never cried at Harry like that before.

With the softest gleam in her eyes, y/n coos at the two boys.

"I think someone's noticed that daddy's not very happy today." She explains, slinking forward to wrap her arms around Harry's waist.

As soon as her cheek comes in contact with Harry's chest, Arlo is grumbling and gently pushing his mom away by the shoulder.

"Hey!" Harry scolds, trying to keep his laugh at bay. "Be nice to mumma!"

Arlo, still pouting, stops fighting and falls back against his father's chest. Harry brings his arm around y/n's shoulders and presses his lips to her forehead.

"Movie night tonight?"

Y/n's lips breaks into a smile, beaming up at Harry. Saturday nights are always movie nights but with Anne and Gemma showing up, y/n was afraid Harry would want to hide out in the bedroom.

"Absolutely."

Anne felt out of place.

Granted, she's in a new house in an unfamiliar city with an unfamiliar family. But that shouldn't be the case and she's knows that.

She should be able to recognize the man that's sprawled out across the couch, miniature version of himself napping on his chest. She should know the giggle that leaves his mouth when y/n trips over the coffee table while trying to hang a sheet up.

Most importantly, she should know the loose waves of his hair, the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw. She should know the ink on his arms that are a lot bigger that she remembers. She should know her son.

But the Harry sitting across from her isn't her son. He's not the small, curly headed boy she kicked out. He's a man, a father, a husband. He's lost the chub of his cheeks, the soft curve of his nose, the fluffy hair.

It breaks Anne's heart to look over and recognize the snoozing baby more than she recognizes Harry.

"Do you have a particular movie you want to watch, love?"

Harry shrugs, rhythmically soothing his big hand up and down Arlo's back. Waiting for an answer, y/n continues hanging up the final sheet for their fort, something y/n said is always included in every movie night.

"What'sa the one with the pants?" Harry murmurs, reaching a hand up to help his wife hop down from the back of the couch.

"The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants?" Y/n and Gemma answer in unison. They both giggle, flashing each other smiles.

"Ya, let's watch that one."

Y/n nods, settling into the couch next to Harry and pulling the movie up on Netflix. The house falls silent, all of them focused on the movie. From the outside, it probably looks like they're one big happy family, enjoying a movie night.

But every time one of the girls mentions a family issue, Anne can feel Harry's eyes burning holes into the side of her head. Like usual, she ignores it.

Rolling his sore shoulders, Harry tip toes away from the nursery, careful to not disturb Arlo. He follows the patter of the running shower water, entering the steamy master bathroom.

Harry smirks, being able to make out the silhouette of his wife as she rinses out her hair. He sets the baby monitor on the bathroom counter, immediately stripping off all of his clothes.

"Finally got him down?"

Harry hums, stepping into the hot water and letting it ease his aching muscles. Y/n steps back so he can fully stand under the water, reaching up and draping her arms around Harry's shoulders.

Harry purrs when she soothingly massages her fingers across his back and neck. Taking ahold of her waist, Harry pulls her into him and connects their lips.

"You're an angel," Harry breathes into her mouth. She giggles, continuing to massage his back. He sponges kisses down her neck and across her shoulders, occasionally groaning into her skin when y/n hits a particularly sore spot.

"How are you feeling H?"

Her words are barely audible over the sound of the shower. If she hadn't whispered them directly into his ear Harry probably wouldn't have heard her.

"M'feeling good," Harry says gruffly, head lulling to the side so y/n has more room to massage his neck. She squeezes her hand, pinching hard enough to have Harry groaning as his toes tingle.

"Good enough to fuck you."

A breathy laugh washes over Harry's shoulder. Simpering, he squeezes her hip and then follows the path of water down her leg.

He cups his palm over her cunt, middle finger slipping between her lips so just the tip of his finger teases her walls.

Y/n sighs, falling into his chest. Her fingers remained locked around his shoulder and the back of his neck, clinging to his wet skin.

"Harry,"

He cups the back of her head with his free hand, kissing her forehead. Her thighs open for him, allowing him to sink his finger all the way into her.

"Can I?" He husks, lips catching the water droplets on hers. "Can I fuck you? Please?"

She tightens around his digit, her own gripping his skin tighter. He grunts, using his knee to nudge her leg up and onto the edge.

"We're gonna run out of water if you don't get a move on." Y/n laughs, cutting herself off with a kiss to his lips.

Harry grins, pressing his palm down onto her clit. She huffs out a sigh of bliss, sucking another kiss into his mouth.

"I'll fuck you when you tell me I can."

Y/n whines, squeezing the back of his neck for firmly. "You can fuck me Harry. I want you to fuck me."

Harry slips his finger out, rubbing her juices around to make sure she's ready. "Want you up around my waist baby."

She quick to jump up, mostly with the help of Harry, and slip her legs around his waist. He catches her, supporting her with a hand on her lower back. With the other, he guides himself between her legs.

Harry presses her against the wall, squeezing the base of his cock as he slowly sinks into y/n's wet cunt.

"Harry,"

Locking his knees, Harry pulls back and then drives forward again. She presses into the tender flesh of his back, the pain sparking something in his hips that has him rutting into her harder.

He squeezes her hips, busying his mouth with hers in hopes to encourage her to keep kneading his back.

She does, her fingers working magic on his pain kink as his cock works magic on the spongy spot inside her. Y/n is the first to come, moaning into Harry's mouth and squeezing him between her thighs.

Harry follows, legs jittery and hips tired but he doesn't care. She makes him feel so fucking good, all the time.

"Christ," Harry grunts. "I love you, love you so much. Love me?"

"I'll always love you."

"Harry!"

Nick's waving him over. He's off to the side of the ring, enthusiastically flailing his arm about to get Harry's attention.

But not even his spastic behavior can hold Harry's attention because as soon as he sees her, he's completely stuck.

She's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Of course standing next to Nick, anything is beautiful but Harry knows even if she were hanging in the Met, she'd be too beautiful for everything around her.

She smiles at him, shyly and with a nervous tiit in her lip. Her gaze is unnaturally locked on his eyes or the empty ring as if she's purposely not looking at Harry's bare torso.

"Excellent fight!" Nick exclaims, clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry smirks somewhat bashfully, removing himself from Nick to greet her.

"Harry," He holds out his taped hand. "what's your name?"

Her hand is cold in his, fingers soft on his callouses. She sends tingles up his arm and down his spine, chilling him but still pulling him in. He can't take his eyes off of her.

"Y/n."

"Nice to meet ya darling." Harry grins, giving her a quick once over just to fluster her. His grin grows cocky when he sees her cheeks turn pink.

"M'heading to the bar, want to come?" Nick interrupts.

"Depends," Harry says, nonchalant. "Are you coming, y/n?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I'd love to."

Harry's fucked after that. He can't stay away from her, he can't keep his eyes off of her. He can't stop glaring at all the bar rats that were trying to hit on her. He can't stop sharing drinks with her just because he likes the way she licks her lips after taking a sip of his beer.

And he really can't stop himself from taking her home in his car, his hand up her skirt to play with her clit while his lips suck kisses across her jaw.

Harry gets two orgasms out of her in the car, licking his hand clean as he takes her up to his apartment. They didn't make far into his apartment before she's jumping his bones, legs locked around his waist.

He's got her pressed against the door, shoes and jeans tossed somewhere in the living room with her top and bra.

"Wanna. . .can I. . . may I fuck you?"

She giggles into his mouth, hands holding his jaw tightly and thighs squeezing his lean hips.

"God, yes please!" Y/n laughs, capturing Harry's lips again.

Harry's beaming, holding her tightly with one arm while he digs around in the junk draw of the cabinet for a condom.

He finds it, tearing it open with the assistance of y/n. Once he's got it rolled on and her skirt up around her hips, he's thrusting into her.

She's tight, so tight that Harry's having trouble breathing but in the most delicious way possible. His thumb finds her clit, furiously circling it while he fucks up into her.

They come together, Harry's balls snug against her ass while she pulses around him. He's buried in her neck, sponging kisses across all the sweaty skin he can reach. She smells good and she's so warm in his arms, Harry can't stop the next words that leave his mouth.

"Want you stay with me. Will you stay?"

"I'll always stay Harry."

She's wrapped around him, head resting over his heart and arm around his waist. He can feel her uneasiness, her hesitation to say whatever it is she's been wanting to say.

Harry's sure it's something that he doesn't want to hear but needs to so he squeezes her shoulder, brushing her damp hair away from her face.

"What is it darling?"

Y/n shuffles, turning her body so she can look up at him. Her eyes are puffy with sleep and she's got dark circles underneath but she's still so beautiful. Harry cups her cheek, wondering how in the hell he got her.

"You've got to talk to them eventually." Y/n says softly, her hand covering his to comfort him.

Harry nods despite the twist of uneasiness that's rushed through his stomach. She reaches up, soothing her thumb over the crease that's found its usual spot between his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to rush you babe," She tickles over the bridge of his nose. "but I know you'll feel better when you tell them how you feel."

Harry smiles, eyes fluttering shut as she continues to brush her fingers over his nose and lips.

"Love you." He murmurs, kissing the tips of her fingers. "I promise I'll fix this, I'll take care of our family."

"I know you will H."

#harry styles #harry imagine #solo harry #harry styles imagine #one direction #sweet as honey #boxer harry styles #boxer harry #fanfic #fanfiction

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