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primofate · 2 years

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The Ruthless Prince (Part 12) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: not much actually, it’s a pretty slow chapter, just a transition to the next “arc” as I would call it hahahaha, lots of interaction between reader and Scaramouche though

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

Were you proud of yourself for causing a scuffle between two princes? No. Well, maybe. Just a little.

It didn’t last long though. Tartaglia was just as shocked as you were when he realized Scaramouche punched him, but he was up on his feet in the next second and grabbed Scaramouche by the collar managing to scuff his chin before the two of them were pulled apart.

And so here you were, sitting in your shared room with Scaramouche as Kuni retrieved ice for him. There’s still an annoyed look on his face, glaring at nothing in particular, his chin a little red from the contact. Still, it was nothing compared to Tartaglia’s bleeding nose. You were sure it would bruise beautifully.

“...You didn’t have to punch him, you know,” The whole thing was 100% unprincelike and the two would surely be the talk of the country for the next few weeks. In your normal world, however, guys getting into scuffles wasn’t really an unusual thing.

“...I didn’t do it for you,” Scaramouche stated rather easily. There he was again with his “this has nothing to do with you” speech. The last time he said that was…

“What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.”

You winced a little at the irony because Tartaglia had indeed gone ahead and kissed you. Scaramouche didn’t know that, in fact, you wondered if you should say something about it, but decided that you wouldn’t say anything if not asked.

You mock glared at Scaramouche’s stubbornness. “Okay? Why’d you punch him then?” you challenged, crossing your arms above your chest.

“Because he annoys me,” he answers immediately, not even a second after your question.

You pursed your lips because you were sure he was lying. He was clearly irked, he had definitely sensed that something was wrong and that Tartaglia was the culprit. “Liar,” a smirk threatens to appear on your face.

Scaramouche half growls and half grumbles. “Drop it or I’ll punch you next,” He absolutely had no excuse ready, and so opted to get you to stop talking about the incident and move on with it instead. Still, there was a nagging at the back of his mind, he wanted to ask what exactly happened, but your stifled laughter breaks him out of thought.

“You wouldn’t,” There is an incredibly, loopy, wide grin on your face. One might think that you had too much alcohol, but in reality you were just incredibly relieved and reassured. The incident had proven something about Scaramouche.

He might threaten people but he wouldn’t actually raise a hand against anyone…Well, not unless necessary.

The picture of him socking Tartaglia on the face replays in your head. It was rather satisfying to recall.

Kuni strolls in a second later and hands the ice wrapped in a towel over to the prince. “Unusual that you would get into a scuffle, milord. Highly out of etiquette rules, though you don’t usually follow them,”

Scaramouche lets out an annoyed sigh. Not wanting to talk about it anymore and yet the topic just kept going back to it. “...I’ve always had a personal hatred towards him,” Scaramouche simply explains, to which Kuni hums in understanding. “I suppose that’s true…Though I don’t see why you would choose to attack him now… as opposed to the hundreds of other times you had the chance,”

You hid a smile behind your hand, pretending that the side of your lip itched when in reality you just couldn’t stop from enjoying Scaramouche dig a deeper hole for himself. Thankfully, Kuni is considerate of the time.

“I’ll leave the two of you to rest, milord.” Kuni bows towards Scaramouche, then towards you. “Milady, have a good evening,”

You return the sentiment before going back to watching Scaramouche ice his chin. Another curtain of silence falls over the two of you, though, strangely, it was a comfortable one this time. With him sitting back on the armchair and you relaxed on the sofa adjacent to him, it almost felt like a normal morning in a mundane living room.

“I told you, didn’t I? Not as nice as you thought he was, wasn’t he?” Scaramouche’s accusatory tone wasn’t hidden and he had directed it at you. You expected an ‘I told you so,’ from him. He was RIGHT and you were wrong, of course he was going to shove that in your face.

Scaramouche met your eyes, wanting to gauge your reaction because he had no idea what really happened. Your sudden meekness and the way you reacted to Tartaglia’s presence was enough to tell him something had transpired, but did it mean that it was something displeasing or offending? Scaramouche merely equated your uncomfortable manner to something disagreeable, whether he actually had proof of that was arguable.

You leaned back into the sofa and played with your fingers, having trouble admitting that you were terribly wrong about the guy. “...No…Not nice at all,” you whispered, replaying the events in fast forward. Just the thought of it made you want to shudder.

You figured it was also a calculated move by Tartaglia, to have led you away from the crowd. He had most likely thought about the fact that Scaramouche wasn’t around either. All of that piled up told you that the Snezhnayan prince was craftier than you thought.

“He’s planning something,” Scaramouche changes the angle of the ice on his chin. He realizes he’s actually holding a normal conversation with you and perhaps that was because there was an impending doom that he feels in his veins. Something was about to happen and he didn’t know what it was, just that his gut feeling was telling him that it wasn’t the best time to make enemies or engage in squabbles with you.

So, at the very least, he took Kuni’s advice.

“I only offer suggestions, my lord, but perhaps, when she’s well and awake again, you might consider learning a bit more about her…She may one day be your greatest ally. Your father is a great king, prince, but there were also many a times he would turn to the queen for guidance and support,”

“So if he told you something you’d better tell me what it is,” though, Scaramouche’s rough way of talking wasn’t something he could change. You’d just have to put up with that. You hesitated, looking away from him icing his chin but relayed to him of what Tartaglia said, leaving out the bits about what he had done to you, and told him only the conversation that you thought was important: Tartaglia thought that he had full entitlement to Scaramouche’s electro vision.

“As I thought, he’s still obsessed with it,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. He went inside his head for a moment, wondering if it really was Tartagla who shot the arrow meant for him, or at least if he was the one who plotted it. Scaramouche tried picking up pieces and throwing them together to form some sort of picture, some sort of clue as to what the Snezhnayan Prince was planning. But he couldn’t grasp at a full one, and all he could do was speculate.

“...He seems to think I’ll help him, or something,” You added after a moment of thinking, recalling that Tartaglia was largely disillusioned–almost like he was hallucinating really–about what you thought of him. Sure you did appreciate his niceness and his stories at one point and even enjoyed listening to him, but… the way he spoke as if you belonged to him, in the same way that he thought Scaramouche’s electro vision was rightfully his…it was a little unsettling.

“What do you mean?” Scaramouche asks, and you falter a little.

“Well…I…” you pause, remembering word for word what Tartaglia said, despite your embarrassment.

“...Although, I must say…there’s something else of his that’s caught my interest these days…”

“...And you’ll help me, won’t you, dear Y/N?”

Scaramouche would describe the feeling as wanting to gag in his throat. It was such a cheesy line, but he didn’t have any visible or verbal response to you sharing that information.

He was back to pondering things in his own world. You could see it in the way his eyes stared at nothing, yet flickered about from time to time. Scaramouche wondered if Tartaglia had you in some kind of bigger picture, if you were part of his plans or if he was just using you as a decoy. Did the Snezhnayan prince really take an interest in you? Or was he feigning it so that his real motive was hidden? Pretending to be interested in you so that the attention was there, and not on his real goal.

“It’s late, there’s no use thinking about it right now,” You finally broke his peace and he flicked the cold and damp towel onto the table in front of the two of you, the ice having melted already. He stood, hesitated, but opened his mouth to say “Stop getting into so much damn trouble,” as if you had any control over it.

You huffed and slightly glared up at him. “Well excuse me for saving your life,” He acted as if he didn’t hear that statement but he continued to stand there as if tossing an idea back and forth in his mind. Finally, he opens his mouth, but is slow when stating his plan.

“You have to learn how to fight,” You thought he was joking, your mouth already forming into a humorous smile, but his eyes held yours and the only thing you could see was seriousness.

“What? What for?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, head tilting sideways slightly to accentuate it. Scaramouche sighs and darts his eyes towards the curtain covered windows of the room. It seems that there was more going on in that brain of his than you anticipated, and he just wouldn’t let you know what it was.

“Just… a feeling,” your shoulders slumped, giving him a blank look, letting him know that his explanation was not enlightening at all, but he was frustrated with himself too. There was just something in him that thought things were going to go south very soon. “I told you, he’s planning something.”

“Well, the knights are here to protect me, aren’t they?” Scaramouche winced a little at your hopeful conclusion, but he offers you a fact that you haven’t thought about before.

“My mother and father are away at the moment. They’re accompanied only by our best knights… So the ones left here are…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and instead starts a new one. “My parents are set to come back in a few weeks…but I suspect Tartaglia will have his plan in motion before then. He’s already made a bold move, trying to shoot me dead with an arrow,”

“That was him?” You immediately ask, and Scaramouche sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, I don’t know. There’s no evidence that it’s him, the arrow was analyzed and there was no links to him nor Snezhnaya, I just… and after what you told me about him, who else could it be?” He’s crossed his arms over his chest, and you look him over. For once, he didn’t look angry. Only wildly thoughtful, just as you’ve observed ever since you came back to the castle. Then you realize…maybe, maybe this is what vulnerability looks like on him.

It’s subtle, he doesn’t give off the fact that he’s worried, but it suddenly registers in your mind that he’s rambled–or at least his version of rambling–he’s talking to you. He’s confiding in what’s bothering him.

Your eyes widen a little as it dawns on you, looking up at him almost with awe in your expression. He doesn’t notice it at all. Your body relaxes and a small smile appears on your lips. “Well, like I said, it’s too late to think about it right now. Let’s talk about it again tomorrow,” You stand and excuse yourself, disappearing into the bathroom to freshen up for a good 20 or so minutes.

You take turns, and once he’s done, clad in his silk, purple sleeping attire and sitting on his side of the bed, toweling his still damp hair, you lay on your side looking at his back. Pondering on certain things that he said, you ask “...Why would your mom and dad leave the kingdom without its best knights?”

His arms slow down on drying his hair, “...Because Kuni is here and so am I,” the light shuffling sound of the towel encompasses the room until he speaks up again. “With my vision, I can fight well enough to take down armies…” The towel slips to his shoulders and he moves on to patting his face dry.

“...Then aren’t you enough to protect me?” From your view of his back, you can tell that he’s frozen up, his arm has stopped moving. Slowly, he drops the towel altogether and tethers his hand to the bed.

“Battle…War. It gets messy,” he offers a non-answer. “...My obligation is to the kingdom so if a war does happen… I have to be at the front,” that was a clearer answer to you. He had such ways to go around a question, to indirectly tell you that he can’t be guarding you 24/7. But did it mean that he wanted to? That fact was unclear. His answer was largely biased towards his kingdom, and not towards you.

Then you hear him click his tongue, he turns his head to glare at you. For a moment you think to yourself that you hadn’t seen that glare in a while. “Stop being an idiot trying to get away from combat training. I’ll get Kuni to start training you on the basics so just shut up and do it. Stop complaining,”

You don’t get offended like the other times, instead you tried not to smile, secretly biting the inside of your lip as he grumbles to himself but gets in bed. You close your eyes and say nothing more of his demands only a simple and slightly mocking “Yes, sir,” to which you hear a slight growl at.

You must have been more tired than you thought. Closing your eyes was enough to lull you into a comfortable sleep.

You and him don’t realize it, but it’s possibly the very first time the two of you have fallen asleep facing each other.

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#genshin impact #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche royal au #the ruthless prince #scaramouche fanfiction #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff

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scarlettriot · 2 years

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⭑ FRIENDLY REMINDERS FOR WHEN LOOKING AT MY WORK ⭑

Please check the warnings, content, and/or tags of each specific fic before reading.

⭑ If you see this fire symbol 🔥 at the end of any of my works on this list, there is smut, and that especially means if you're under 18 you should not be on that fic!

⭑ Currently, all my Readers are afab (using either she/her or they/them or some variation of the two).

⭑ I age up my characters! You can assume they’re in their late 20s - mid 30s unless otherwise stated.

⭑ If you'd like to be added to a tag list for any of my upcoming or ongoing works, shoot me a message. Upcoming work can be found on my pinned post.

⭑ In light of the tag ban, it has become harder for creators' work to be shared. If you like any of these, please consider reblogging. As always, thank you so very much ☻

⭑ Updated 10/16/22 ⭑

| C H A P T E R • F I C S |

• I wish I could commit to a regular release schedule for my chapter pieces but it's just not in the cards right now. I have been putting a lot of time into She Lit a Fire, you can probably expect more updates to that fic coming soon. Thank you for sticking with me on these, you have no idea how much that means to me •

Breaking Point | College AU (the hockey AU) | Kirishima X Reader Starting college after a tragic event is hard to handle, as anyone would expect. It's why you mostly kept your head low and hung around by yourself. That didn't stop you from being a kind person though, offering your shower to the guy with bleach on his head when his roommates locked him out. A stranger that quickly wiggled his way into your life, and simultaneously, your heart.

Along For The Ride | Kirishima X Reader You accidentally marked that you'd be bringing a plus one to your snobby cousin's wedding and, rather than correcting the mistake, your best guy friend, Kiri, tells you he'd go with you if you don't have a S/O or a date by the time of the wedding. When that wedding gets moved up, you're out of time, and before you know it, you're traveling to America with Kiri... on a private jet no less...

She Lit A Fire | (the dad AU) | Kirishima X Reader In an effort to outrun your past you were sitting on a park bench one warm evening, taking a short break from job hunting. You were trying to get out of the hero life but that didn't take away those instincts when you saw a little girl in trouble and no one around to help. You went to her, helped her find her father, and parted ways shortly after. But, you hadn't been able to get either of them out of your head for a whole week. When a villain attack has you hurtling down a valley, wreckage from the train you'd been on tumbling around you, a Pro Hero rushes to your aid, but, you didn't recognize the hero, you only saw the man who'd been terrified he'd lost his daughter that day in the park.

| S E R I E S |

• My series consists of more than one piece under the same storyline, prompt, and/or theme. These works may have started out as one-shots and then I opted to add another part to them but don't intend on making them chapter fics •

🍒 Stood Up | X Reader 🔥 ALL A series in which a Reader is stood up from a date and a certain guy comes to the rescue. Disclaimer, I might be adding more characters to this in time but for right now, this is who you've got!

🍒 Poly Life | Bakugo X Reader X Kirishima 🔥

A small series about Reader’s life with her two partners and the ups and downs they come across along the way.

★ | Take You Home | Head Over Heels | ★

| O N E • S H O T S |

• One-shots are stand-alone fics that have over 1K word count •

🍓 Alone With You | Bakugo X Reader (BakuBirthday Fic) 🔥

🍓 Arrangements | Bakugo X Reader 🔥

🍓 Autumn Mornings | Kirishima X Reader (Kiri Bday Fic) 🔥

🍓 Birthday Spoils | Kirishima X Reader (Reader Bday Fic) 🔥

🍓 Birthday Surprises | Kirishima X Reader (Kiri Bday Fic) 🔥

🍓 Do More |once part of the Breaking Point Series| Kirishima X Reader 🔥

🍓 Faking It | Bakugo X Reader X Kirishima 🔥

🍓 Pajama Party | Mina X Bakugo X Kirishima X Reader 🔥

🍓 Quirked - 1920's Piece | In Time (Decades Theme) Collab | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

🍓 Take Him Seriously | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

🍓 Taken | Kirishima X Reader

🍓 Unconventional Means | Kirishima x Reader ft. Monoma 🔥

| D R A B B L E S |

• Drabbles are stand-alone fics that range from 500 - 1.5K words •

💋 Not Afraid | Kirishima X Reader

💋 Dealing with the Past | KiriBaku X Reader

💋 Eat Out | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

💋 Handle with Care | Kirishima X Reader

💋 Hearing Loss | BakuSquad + Midoriya

💋 HR Manager Kiri | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

💋 Late Night | Kirishima X Mina

💋 Making Sundaes | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

💋 Movie Nights | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

| T H I R S T S |

• Thirsts are quick fics or thoughts that are under 500 words •

❤️ Close Calls | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

❤️ Grind Time | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

❤️ Popcorn | Kirishima X Reader 🔥

| M Y • C O L L A B S |

• Collabs I have hosted/co-hosted •

💕 And They Were Roommates!

• all personal works on this blog belong to scarlettriot. Please do not repost my work anywhere, or claim my work as your own. Please do not share or recommend my work on TikTok or other similar platforms. Thank you.

#scarlettriot info ⭐️#just in case you're looking for something to read #mha fan fic #bnha fan fic #kirishima #bakugo #kaminari #sero #deku #midoriya #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #kirishima smut #bakugo smut #best red rock shark ♥️🦈#boomboomboi 💥

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flightlessangelwings · 3 years

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Mine

Comandante Veracruz x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), no use of y/n, unprotected sex, fucking into the mattress, a hint of cockwarming, possessive!Veracruz, protective!Veracruz, feelings...?!

Notes: So this idea was brought to me by @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa like months ago and I finally got around to writing it!! The smut here is actually pretty tame for V but there’s been more and more feelings every time I write for him. Just wait til y’all read the next part I have planned... 😈

God that gif.... 🥵

“Comandante… Comandante?”

Veracruz groaned as the voice on the other side of his tent called his name. The sun was barely up, and he was not ready to face the day and his men just yet. Instead, he buried his head in the crook of your neck as you slept soundly on your side next to him. You were a welcome warmth against his body, even in the heat of the jungle. Veracruz didn’t care about the heat as long as he had you securely in his grip, and he could have stayed like that for longer had the sound of his name not interrupted the moment.

“V,” you croaked in a sleep-ridden voice as you shifted yourself, “You should see what he wants.”

The comandante huffed against your skin, though he knew you were right. You both knew that voice too: a new young private who recently joined the team. He was a good soldier, and was very ambitious, which was a great trait to have unless it was the crack of dawn and Veracruz wanted to be left alone just a bit longer.

With a grunt, Veracruz pulled himself off of the cot that the two of you shared. You barely moved as you opted to stay in place and go back to sleep, and for that Veracruz was envious. He ran his hands through his hair to smooth it out before he stood up and into his pants and boots. He left his pants low on his hips and loose with the intention of tossing them off the moment the private left his tent.

Before he moved to open the entrance flap to the tent, Veracruz turned around and admired your beautiful sleeping form. You were still completely bare from the night before, just how he liked it. However, Veracruz would not stand for anyone else to see you that intimately, so he pulled the sheet up to cover your body completely.

You let out a groan of protest, “V, it’s too hot for that,” you rolled over so that your back was to him once more and lifted your arm up over the sheet. You also kicked your leg out to try and get as much air against your skin as possible.

“Stay covered while they’re in here,” he told you in a firm tone as he made sure your midsection was covered.

You decided not to argue and you let Veracruz cover you while keeping your limbs over the sheet. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep anyway, so you stayed still while he tucked the sheet under your arm and secured it tightly before he gave a satisfied grunt and turned towards the tent entrance.

“What is it?” Veracruz greeted the young private in an annoyed tone.

“I-I wanted,” he stuttered as his eyes ran over Veracruz’s bare chest, “We have to go over the maps,” he finally completed his thought.

“Very well,” Veracruz sighed as he stepped aside to let the young man in.

He sheepishly slunk by and placed the maps in his arms on the table before he started to go over the routes and possible locations of their targets. Veracruz leaned over onto the table as his pants hung low on his hips. The two men stayed locked in a low conversation until movement from behind Veracruz caught the young private’s attention.

You had rolled a bit in your sleep and as you did, the blanket slipped down off your shoulder. The private was caught awestruck as he stared at your bare skin that peeked out from under the sheet. His eyes trailed down as he took in all the curves of your body under the sheet until he saw the hint of leg that stuck out from the end. He bit his lip and his breath caught in his throat. That was until Veracruz noticed the way his gaze lingered on you and he snapped.

Veracruz swifty placed himself in front of the private to block his line of sight and he grabbed the young man by the jaw, “Avert your eyes or I will remove them,” he sneered in warning through gritted teeth.

“Y-yes sir,” he mumbled as his gaze moved from you to the comandante’s bare chest. The new sight only made him more flustered and Veracruz felt the way his skin heated up under his grip. “Sorry sir,” he added in a hushed tone as he dropped his gaze down to the ground.

Veracruz grinned in satisfaction as the two of them finished up their meeting. It gave him a great sense of enjoyment to see how flustered the young man became at just the slightest threat. The comandante knew how his men talked, and he knew that it was well known how protective he was of you. You were untouchable, everyone knew that, but sometimes the men couldn’t help but stare at times when they thought he wasn’t looking.

The private quickly finished up his thoughts and scrambled out of the tent like a little mouse under the gaze of a hungry cat. Veracruz smirked as he zipped the tent shut and immediately rushed back to be at your side once more.

You let out a contented sigh when you felt his possessive hold on you once more as you slowly woke up, “Everything alright, V?”

He nodded subtly against your shoulder as he gently bit down on your exposed skin there, determined to leave a mark where everyone could see.

While you had been half asleep during the whole meeting, you had heard enough to know what happened to make Veracruz act extra protective of you. You closed your eyes and nuzzled your head against his as you took his hand in yours, “Don’t be so hard on him, V,” you spoke softly, “He’s just a kid, he didn’t mean any harm.”

“That doesn’t excuse staring at what is mine,” Veracruz growled against your skin as he kissed and nipped along the sensitive skin of your neck. He grinned against you when you let out a soft moan. Encouraged, he bit down harder and rocked his hips against you.

You let out a sigh as you bucked your ass back against him, knowing full well how much that wound him up. You wanted it, though, you wanted him. And he wanted you.

Veracruz shifted his weight as he grabbed your chin and turned your face around to face him. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and when the fire behind your eyes matched his own, Veracruz crushed your lips together in a heated and passionate kiss. You moaned into his mouth as you parted your lips for him. Both of you felt how hard he got already as he pressed his cosk against your body.

With the fire lit, Veracruz pushed you back down onto the mattress and ripped the sheet off your body. His hand quickly found its way between your legs and he let out a primal growl when he felt how wet you were already. You clutched at the mattress as he pushed two fingers into you while his thumb played with your clit.

“V…”

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he commanded in a tone that made you clench around his fingers.

Your voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper, “You.”

“Good answer,” he groaned into your ear as he pulled his fingers out and lined himself up before you even had a chance to whimper at the loss. Slowly but firmly, he pushed himself into you and he savored every moan and cry of pleasure you let out as he filled you. Once he was completely sheathed in you, Veracruz stilled himself and just savored the feeling of you around his cock and underneath his body.

Despite the heat, you welcomed the warmth from Veracruz’s body that engulfed you, and the feeling of how he filled and stretched you drove all your senses wild. You couldn’t help but babble incoherent praises for him as he pressed himself against you as much as possible. “You V… I only want you… Feels so good, V…”

Your words made his cock twitch inside you, and the more you went on, the harder it was for Veracruz to keep himself still, “Good girl,” he growled as he slowly rocked himself in and out of you.

The only sounds that filled the tent were the squeak of the cot as Veracruz sped up his thrusts and your moans. You tightened your grip on the mattress as he pushed your body into it and fucked you harder. His hands gripped at your hips as he pounded into you, fueled by all the beautiful noises you made for him and him alone.

“Louder, cariño,” Veracruz fully pushed himself into you and stilled for a moment, “Let everyone know who you belong to.”

The cry you let out was downright sinful as Veracruz started his hard and fast pace again, and you only cried out loud when he snaked a hand around your stomach and fiddled at your clit.

“Mine,” he growled as a rush of possessive fury flowed through him and fueled his hips.

“Yours… V…” you moaned his name as you let him take complete control of your body.

Veracruz pounded into you as your moans turned into screams when he hit that sweet spot inside you, “Come for me cariño,” he ordered as he thrusted into you furiously, his grip on you tight enough to leave marks but neither of you cared. It didn’t take much longer for you to come undone as you came with a loud scream. Your entire body trembled as you shook with the intensity of your orgasm while Veracruz continued to pound into you until he came as well. His own groan of your name was drowned out by your moans, but that was just how he wanted it.

Once he rode out both of your intense orgasms, Veracruz collapsed down on top of you. Even through the tiredness, he was still careful in how he landed on you so as to not cause you any harm. His cock stayed buried deep inside you, a connection that neither of you wanted to break.

The two of you could have been content to stay like that for hours if it weren't for the sound of the comandante’s name in a new voice just outside the tent. You both let out exasperated sighs as you knew your blissful moment was gone. Reluctantly, Veracruz pulled out of you and rolled off the cot. You stayed face down for another few moments before you too got up and the two of you dressed in silence.

Once you were both dressed, you locked eyes again, and your breath caught in your throat. There were moments when you felt like it was your first time setting eyes on him, and his intense fire took your breath away every single time. Especially when he was dressed in his uniform, it drove you absolutely wild. Without a word, you crossed the small space of the tent and grabbed Veracruz’s collar and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

Veracruz froze for a quick moment, completely caught off guard at your brazen action, but reciprocated the kiss with just as much passion. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against his body again like you had been separated for weeks instead of just minutes. The two of you could have stayed locked together for longer, had the sound of a clearing throat interrupted you.

“Stay safe out there, comandante,” you told him with a wink as you fixed the collar you messed up when you grabbed him.

He smirked at you as he brushed the side of your face with the back of his hand. Veracruz opened his mouth to say something back, but he closed it again and walked out of the tent with nothing more than a nod. You watched him leave and even though the heat of the jungle was in the air all around you, you suddenly felt cold without him there.

As the comandante left his tent and made his way across the camp, he grabbed one of his men stationed along the perimeter. “Stay with her,” he growled his order to his subordinate, “Do not let her leave your sight for a second.”

“Sir she’s perfectly safe in the camp…”

“I don’t care!” Veracruz roared, “If anything happens to her, I’ll…” he clenched his jaw and didn’t even finish the thought. After a moment of intense eye contact, Veracruz pushed the man away as he stormed off and left a slew of stunned and confused faces behind him. Everyone knew how possessive he was of you, but this outburst was something else, and no one knew what to make of it.

Was the comandante actually…?

#comandante veracruz #comandante veracruz x reader #comandante veracruz imagine #comandante veracruz x you #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Burn Notice The Fall of Sam Axe

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flightlessnightingale · 3 years

Text

On Lesbianism

I’ll state it at the top here, because many have not understood my stance. The purpose of this essay is not to say that Lesbian cannot mean “Female homosexual.” Rather, my objective is to show that Lesbian means more than that single definition suggests. Female Homosexuals are lesbians, unless they personally do not want to use that label. Now, on with the show: Lesbianism is not about gatekeeping, and I don’t want to have to keep convincing people that the movement popularized by someone who wrote a book full of lies and hate speech then immediately worked with Ronald Reagan is a bad movement. In the early ’70s, groups of what would now be called “gender critical” feminists threatened violence against many trans women who dared exist in women’s and lesbian spaces. For example, trans woman Beth Elliott, who was at the 1973 West Coast Lesbian Feminist Conference to perform with her lesbian band, was ridiculed onstage and had her existence protested. In 1979, radical feminist Janice Raymond, a professor at the University of Massachusetts, wrote the defining work of the TERF movement, “Transsexual Empire: The Making of the Shemale,” in which she argued that “transsexualism” should be “morally mandating it out of existence”—mainly by restricting access to transition care (a political position shared by the Trump administration). Soon after she wrote another paper, published for the government-funded, National Center for Healthcare Technology — and the Reagan administration cut off Medicare and private health insurance coverage for transition-related care.

Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminism is a fundamentally unsustainable ideology. Lesbianism is a fundamentally sustainable existence.

There used to be a lesbian bar or queer bar or gay bar in practically every small town — sometimes one of each. After surviving constant police raids, these queer spaces began closing even Before the AIDS epidemic. Because TERFs would take them over, kick out transfems and their friends. Suddenly, there weren’t enough local patrons to keep the bars open, because the majority had been kicked out. With America’s lack of public transportation, not enough people were coming from out of town either.

TERFs, even beyond that, were a fundamental part of the state apparatus that let AIDS kill millions.

For those who don’t know, Lesbian, from the time of Sappho of Lesbos to the about 1970′s, referred to someone who rejects the patriarchal hierarchy. It was not only a sexuality, but almost akin to a gender spectrum.

That changed in the 1970′s when TERFs co-opted 2nd Wave feminism, working with Ronald fucking Reagan to ban insurance for trans healthcare.

TERFs took over the narrative, the bars, the movement, and changed Lesbian from the most revolutionary and integral queer communal identity of 2 fucking THOUSAND years, from “Someone who rejects the patriarchal hierarchy” to “A woman with a vagina who’s sexually attracted to other women with vaginas”

How does this fit into the bi lesbian debate? As I said, Lesbian is more of a Gender Spectrum than anything else, it was used much in the same way that we use queer or genderqueer today.

And it’s intersectional too.

See, if you were to try to ascribe a rigid, biological, or localized model of an identity across multiple cultures, it will fail. It will exclude people who should not be excluded. ESPECIALLY Intersex people. That’s why “Two Spirit” isn’t something rigid- it is an umbrella term for the identities within over a dozen different cultures. In the next two sections, I have excerpts on Two-Spirit and Butch identity, to give a better idea of the linguistics of queer culture: This section on Two-Spirit comes from wikipedia, as it has the most links to further sources, I have linked all sources directly, though you can also access them from the Wikipedia page’s bibliography: Two-Spirit is a pan-Indian, umbrella term used by some Indigenous North Americans to describe Native people who fulfill a traditional ceremonial and social role that does not correlate to the western binary. [1] [2] [3] Created at the 1990 Indigenous lesbian and gay international gathering in Winnipeg, it was "specifically chosen to distinguish and distance Native American/First Nations people from non-Native peoples." [4] Criticism of Two-Spirit arises from 2 major points, 1. That it can exasperate the erasure of the traditional terms and identities of specific cultures. a. Notice how this parallels criticisms of Gay being used as the umbrella term for queer culture in general. 2. That it implies adherence to the Western binary; that Natives believe these individuals are "both male and female" [4] a. Again, you’ll notice that this parallels my criticisms of the TERF definition of Lesbian, that tying LGBT+ identities to a rigid western gender binary does a disservice to LGBT+ people,—especially across cultures. “Two Spirit" wasn’t intended to be interchangeable with "LGBT Native American" or "Gay Indian"; [2] nor was it meant to replace traditional terms in Indigenous languages. Rather, it was created to serve as a pan-Indian unifier. [1] [2] [4] —The term and identity of two-spirit "does not make sense" unless it is contextualized within a Native American or First Nations framework and traditional cultural understanding. [3] [10] [11] The ceremonial roles intended to be under the modern umbrella of two-spirit can vary widely, even among the Indigenous people who accept the English-language term. No one Native American/First Nations' culture's gender or sexuality categories apply to all, or even a majority of, these cultures. [4] [8] Butch: At the turn of the 20th century, the word “butch” meant “tough kid” or referred to a men’s haircut. It surfaced as a term used among women who identified as lesbians in the 1940s, but historians and scholars have struggled to identify exactly how or when it entered the queer lexicon. However it happened, "Butch” has come to mean a “lesbian of masculine appearance or behavior.” (I have heard that, though the words originate from French, Femme & Butch came into Lesbian culture from Latina lesbian culture, and if I find a good source for that I will share. If I had to guess, there may be some wonderful history to find of it in New Orleans—or somewhere similar.) Before “butch” became a term used by lesbians, there were other terms in the 1920s that described masculinity among queer women. According to the historian Lillian Faderman,“bull dagger” and “bull dyke” came out of the Black lesbian subculture of Harlem, where there were “mama” and “papa” relationships that looked like butch-femme partnerships. Performer Gladys Bentley epitomized this style with her men’s hats, ties and jackets. Women in same-sex relationships at this time didn’t yet use the word “lesbian” to describe themselves. Prison slang introduced the terms “daddy,” “husband,” and “top sargeant” into the working class lesbian subculture of the 1930s. This lesbian history happened alongside Trans history, and often intersected, just as the Harlem renaissance had music at the forefront of black and lesbian (and trans!) culture, so too can trans musicians, actresses, and more be found all across history, and all across the US. Some of the earliest known trans musicians are Billy Tipton and Willmer “Little Ax” Broadnax—Both transmasculine musicians who hold an important place in not just queer history, but music history.

Lesbian isn’t rigid & biological, it’s social and personal, built up of community and self-determination.

And it has been for millennia.

So when people say that nonbinary lesbians aren’t lesbian, or asexual lesboromantics aren’t lesbian, or bisexual lesbians aren’t lesbian, it’s not if those things are technically true within the framework — It’s that those statements are working off a fundamentally claustrophobic, regressive, reductionist, Incorrect definition You’ll notice that whilst I have been able to give citations for TERFs, for Butch, and especially for Two-Spirit, there is little to say for Lesbianism. The chief reason for this is that lesbian history has been quite effectively erased-but it is not forgotten, and the anthropological work to recover what was lost is still ongoing. One of the primary issues is that so many who know or remember the history have so much trauma connected to "Lesbian” that they feel unable to reclaim it. Despite this trauma, just like the anthropological work, reclamation is ongoing.

Since Sappho, lesbian was someone who rejects the patriarchal hierarchy. For centuries, esbian wasn’t just a sexuality, it was intersectional community, kin to a gender spectrum, like today’s “queer”. When TERFs co-opted 2nd Wave feminism, they redefined Lesbian to “woman w/ a vag attracted to other women w/ vags”. So when you say “bi lesbians aren’t lesbian” it’s not whether that’s true within the framework, it’s that you’re working off a claustrophobic, regressive, and reductionist definition.

I want Feminism, Queerness, Lesbianism, to be fucking sustainable.

I wanna see happy trans and lesbian and queer kids in a green and blue fucking world some day.

I want them to be able to grow old in a world we made good.

#Lesbian #Trans #Transgender #Queer #Queer positivity #Queer history #Police brutality #Gay #Linguistics #Sappho #History #Femme #Butch #R #TERF #Terf friendly haha jk fuck tERFS

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morphinethevaccine · 3 years

Text

Fukuzawa and Poe Relationship Headcanons with a female s/o (N/SFW)

In response to this ask

Warnings; n/sfw. the rest of Fukuzawa’s and the entirety of Poe’s is under the cut.

There's a certain intensity to Fukuzawa's love style. He's an individual firm in his beliefs and steadfast in the principles essential to him; naturally that passion extends, quite strongly, to one of the most important people in his life: you. Fukuzawa is not one for shallow infatuations.

To have his heart means, through time and trials, you have proven yourself a dependable and faithful partner. As such, there is nothing insincere or trifle about his love for you: Fukuzawa does nothing by halves. Position considered, there are often more important things for him to attend to than leisure activities.

Because of this, on occasion, the extent of your interactions are a walk through Yokohama at sunrise or discussing current affairs over tea. Fukuzawa is sure you understand the value you hold without the point needing to be reiterated, but he's discerning enough to recognize the importance of making time in his life for you.

Since his responsibilities mean the frequency of such encounters are often outside of his control, the quality and substance of his time with you is important. While you might get the occasional smile or humorous remark out of him, lovemaking is generally a very serious affair for Fukuzawa.

You are his sole focus in the moment, a level of attention that can result in an experience almost as intimidating as it is intense. You'll find you rarely need to tell him what you need; he has a particular way of figuring it out, guided by your hands along his back, the uptake in noises you make, the way you stir beneath or clench around him.

Fukuzawa is not an impulsive type: he's thorough in his approach to pleasing you, not with the intention of agonizing or teasing, but with an adoring stroke, intention of inspecting every valley, every curve, every place on and within you.

In him you have a lover who can appreciate imperfections; one quite perceptive to your needs, observant of the hitch of your breath, the noises you make as his hand dips below your waist or strays along your breasts. Years of sword training have left his hands nicely calloused and they provide a pleasant textural experience, one he'll indulge you in if you enjoy it.

Fukuzawa is a simple man: there isn't much need for lingerie or performative behavior. Your natural charm and body alone do more for him than elaborate attempts at seduction or showy garments, though recognizing the effort that goes into such gestures, he'll be appreciative nonetheless.

He finds you attractive without additions, without you feeling the need to 'seduce' him. Subtle sensuality goes a long way: skip the corset or bustier and instead opt for a long silk robe or yukata, material ever so gently slipping off one shoulder to innocently reveal nothing underneath...

This is not to say he doesn't find enjoyment in extras for he is, in fact, quite satisfied with a gentle massage or shared bath if you have them in mind.

For Fukuzawa, sex is more than just a bodily act; its one of the few opportunities he has to get completely lost in you. Though it might not be as often as you both desire, when he does have you all to himself in private, rest assured it's an all day event, for Fukuzawa isn't short on stamina, and one in which he ensures you never have any doubts about his love and dedication.

Poe's a little clueless in matters of love and relationships. It's not that he's unintelligent, but rather that his knowledge of certain situations is more likely to come from secondhand sources rather than his own experiences. And when it comes to something he has little experience in, Poe would rather do it as it's ‘usually’ done; problematic if its based on a cheesy or unreliable source.

Watch his expression devolve into defeat if you take one look around the room and explain... well, you don't eat that kind of chocolate, the placement of those candles looks questionable at best, and honestly, people really don't recite serenades outside of Shakespeare or harlequin romances...

Even if the delivery ends up being just a little off, his heart is always in the right place. He's willing to recreate your favorite romantic scene from a movie or book you enjoy, down to minor elements like the engraving on the end table or color of the frames flanking the wall portraits.

If there's one upside to him being a writer and mystery-lover, it's knowing both how to set a scene and the possession of an above average attention to detail. He's got both the time and resources to invest in crafting such an experience.

Despite some of his more unusual qualities and fixations, Poe can be a rather conventional partner. If it's a night planned in advance, dinner someplace secluded is a given, complete with a gift or token of appreciation.

Poe's quite willing to please, both inside and outside the bedroom. If there's anything in particular you want him to do, you only need ask. He might express reservations, but he isn't likely to reject a request coming from someone he loves.

Poe has a bit of a low tolerance for provocative stuff. It's not that he hates it, but enjoying something and being used to it aren't mutually exclusive. Indirect approaches are more disarming: wear a shirt with a button or two conveniently misplaced, or have a discussion that seems just a little more suggestive than usual.

Something that gets his attention: layers. Instead of going straight for the tantalizing getups, do the reverse and pick something with pieces to shed. As the day gets on into the evening and your attire falls more and more into racy territory, he'll find himself getting offly warm under the collar. Anticipation is part of the fun, after all, and a slow build up has a particular way of getting him antsy long before the deed is even done.

Poe's not even too used to hearing his own voice in a normal context, so he's definitely not one to be very vocal in bed. He’s probably imagining he’ll sound stupid panting in your ear, so consciously muffled noises should be your expectation, unless he slips up.

Oral is particularly good for this reason: he’ll find it harder to restrain himself, and the angle provides you an excellent view for observing how flushed and breathless he is, and the facial expressions he's surely doing a poor poor job of managing. One thing Poe happens to enjoy, however: your voice, whether that be sounds of pleasure or gasps or mutters or merely reading a book out loud around him.

His name said in an admiring tone does things to him. Want to make his night? A well-timed compliment works wonders, and while his desire to be recognized isn't quite at praise kink levels, a little acknowledgement goes a long way. Tell him he's doing a great job or how wonderful it feels during, or talk about how lovely of an evening it was afterward-- and watch him melt just a little.

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Tarnish

Summary: y/n finds a letter with a heartbreaking revelation

Warnings: angst, mentions of vomiting

Word Count: 3756 words

A/N: a collab with @devilinbetweenthesheet-s !! we’re so excited to share this with you guys. we love you 💓

Tarnish (1) . Halo (2) . Reign (3) .

Tarnish Taglist

____

It was one of those days where Y/N had a sudden itching in her body to clean. Not just her closet, or her and Harry’s room—but the entire fricking house. The size of their shared home was ridiculous. There were many times when Y/N suggested moving into a smaller home, a cozy house with just enough rooms to hold them and an unexpected guest for the rest of their nights. It led to numerous fights about how Harry felt like she was dictating how to spend his hard-earned money, but they all ended in mushy hugs and soft-spoken apologies.

Y/N learned how to wake up in an empty house. The sudden chill raised goosebumps on her skin as she walked into the home studio Harry had installed a few months after buying the mansion. He felt as though he would be more productive knowing that he didn’t have to travel when inspiration struck. Harry was a bit private with the room, opting to not have anyone else in there unless he was present; not even Y/N. She understood that he needed something that was just for him. Living in the spotlight surely strips an individual out of their humanity and presented in a cookie-cutter way as if he was perfect. All his childhood memories were simply origin stories—a life he once lived before it changed forever. Now, he was Harry Styles the singer/songwriter, actor, host, and situational comedian.

Despite the voice at the back of her head practically screaming at her to not enter, Y/N was stubborn enough to ignore it. It was the last room she had yet to clean and she wanted to feel accomplished knowing that she was productive today. Y/N hummed mindlessly, twisting the knob before pushing it open. The lights flickered on to dim lighting, the clear glass reflecting a subdued figure of her as the glowing bulbs highlighted the expensive instruments littering the room.

Y/N puffed her cheeks out as she inspected the space. It wasn’t as messy as she had expected, only a few crumpled pieces of paper probably thrown out of frustration beside the trash can, the couch and the mechanic board. She rolled her eyes at Harry’s tendency to not clean up, especially after scratching ideas that weren’t good enough. He didn't want to give those a second thought.

As she approached the coffee table in front of the sofa, Y/N couldn’t help but notice one of the many leather-bound journals that Harry kept to scribble his thoughts and ideas into. A sharp corner of a crisp envelope was buried beneath it.

My love.

Y/N raised her brow at the cursive lettering on the back, assuming that it was her for her. She should have known better when she caught sight of the stamp at the left-hand corner, ready to be mailed but her excitement overshadowed the looming truth, gently raising the flap to pull the handwritten letter out.

My love,

I hope you find this letter well. I apologize for acting like such an old man, sending a letter by post instead of living in the modern age of instant messaging.

She chuckled at the words Harry wrote. He really did have an interesting sense of humour.

First of all, I’d like to thank you for sticking with me throughout our relationship. I know that we’ve had our ups and downs but I wouldn’t have anyone to spend it with aside from you, my love. I’m away too much—I know. I leave for work to see the world, to see the fans while sharing them a piece of myself. But I could never forget giving a piece of myself to you. You absolutely have my whole heart in the palm of your hands’.

Y/N blushed at his confession. She felt a little guilty for reading without his explicit permission but there was no doubt in her head that he was getting the best treatment as soon as he walks through the front door. Y/N couldn’t believe how lucky she was for finding a man like Harry willing to be so open and vulnerable with his feelings.

The times at the cafe where we read together, sipping on our coffees and I’d catch your eyes staring at me.

She sighed dreamily, picturing his forest green eyes in her head. The intensity that he wore whenever he observed made a flush appear on her cheeks and butterflies to go haywire in her stomach. It was what they had done during his break. Starting a book club with him made the actual book interesting because he read to her in the softest voice and asked her what she thought when a character seemingly has done something out of the blue.

The Beachwood Cafe will always have a special place in my heart.

That was the moment when anxiety struck her like a bolt of lightning; quick to change the enchanted feeling in her heart and replacing it with fear. Harry talked about the cafe with such adoration that Y/N requested for him to bring her there one day. They haven’t done so yet.

Y/N bit her lip nervously, gnawing at the skin despite applying lip scrub on it the night prior. The organ in her chest pounded with each syllable sticking to her tongue as she silently whispered along. Hands shaking with passing seconds, Y/N almost did not want to let her eyes drift to the bottom of the page, fearing that what she feared would stare at her straight in the face.

I’m finally ready to face my fears of telling her that our relationship isn’t working out. I know that we have both been wanting it to be just us for a while.

She repeated the statement over and over, trying to make sense of who he was talking about. Was it their relationship? It couldn’t be because that would mean that Harry was being unfaithful. Was he cheating on her? Y/N’s mind was dizzy with thoughts being fired back and forth. The impulsive side of her was dead set on confronting Harry about this letter but the logical pair wanted to reach the end of the letter before making an assumption. She couldn’t just start a fight based on a misunderstanding; that was one of the things that Harry hated about his exes. They were too easily manipulated by the media to immediately doubt him when the tiniest rumour rose.

But this letter was written right from Harry’s hand, his pen lying innocently on the table beside the journal.

You're the love of my life, Camille. I promise I'll end it with Y/N soon. We're meant to be, I truly believe it. I love you so much.

Petrified. If there was one word to describe the lump building in her throat and the churning of her stomach going awry; it was petrified. The sinking feeling as if her esophagus was stretched to its extent, swallowing a chunk of realization down her throat to the pit of her stomach swelling in nausea and nervousness.

Four years, Harry and Y/N have been together. There was no doubt in her mind that she loves him dearly, dreaming of a life that they would share in the future. He wanted it with someone else. He was building it with someone else. Y/N released a sob from her soft lips, her breath hitching as she tried to calm down. Talk to him first, she reminded herself. But what was there to talk about? Y/N had evidence in her hand that he was still speaking to Camille (Did he even stop?). That Harry was going to leave her, that he was cheating on Y/N.

Y/N had a plan in case this happened to her. She has watched way too many movies and snickered at the way the character always seemed to let the news of a cheating partner break their whole being. And she would like to apologize to them right now because she understood exactly the type of weight smashed unto her shoulders; too heavy to lift up by herself and it seemed as if she was crushed, watching Harry walk away from them; from her.

The words appeared to jump out of the page, especially her name. Camille. Written so prettily as if Harry took the time to pen her name with such carefulness and design. Y/N wanted to projectile vomit from her discovery but she couldn’t leave a mess in his fancy studio. And God, she hated herself right now for thinking about how Harry would react when her world was crumbling around her.

I’m leaving Y/N. We can finally be together and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught, Camille. I’m sorry that it’s taken me such a long time. I’ve kept you waiting for me but your patience is something that I greatly appreciate.

With her heart rate picking up, Y/N’s hand shook as she struggled to fold the letter properly as if she never saw it. One glance at the paper showed dotted streaks of wetness and only then did she realize the tears lathering her cheeks. Her cornea stung slightly, sensitive to the air as she blinked hard to will her tears back in. How long has this been going on?

“Y/N!?” Harry’s husky shout of her name boomed from the entrance. The large interior reverberating his voice, yet she failed to hear.

Harry quickly walked to the studio to retrieve the letter he was supposed to mail out today before he came home. Unfortunately, he forgot it in the midst of rushing after a slow-session of love-making with Y/N between the sheets early this morning.

Y/N did not know who’s heartbeat was thumping in her ears; hers or Harry. His lids peeled back to showcase surprise and horror plastered on his lips in the shape of an ‘o’. Harry could only hope that Y/N hadn’t gotten too far in reading the private letter. However, the way she rejected to meet his gaze after catching the guilty expression of his features; it was too late.

“Baby, please,” He whispered, the humming of the mechanic board switched on from last night’s session. Y/N shook her head, refusing to hear a bullshit apology spewing out of his mouth in a word vomit of ‘sorry’s’ and ‘i didn’t mean to’ because if he didn’t, why did he do it in the first place?

She walked past him, flinching as her shoulder brushed his and a gasp fell out of her mouth. Y/N didn’t know what to do but she knew that she wasn't to be surrounded by the one person who she thought would never hurt her. Long strides led her to the bedroom where she swiftly grabbed a duffel bag hidden away in the corners of the closet to pack a few items.

Harry stared at the piece of paper gracefully wisping against the air to fall on the ground. It was crumpled slightly on where Y/N held it. Tear stains blotted some of the ink, causing it to bleed through. Did he feel guilty? Of course, he did. Harry felt terrible that Y/N had to find out this way, but he cannot lie that he felt relieved because it’s finally over.

He walked to the seating area just after the entryway to the main door. He stood in the middle of the room with the letter tucked away properly in the envelope. Harry guessed that he didn’t have to mail this anymore. He heard her before he saw her, huffing slightly from the heavy bag on her shoulder. Sniffles scrunching up her nose like a cute bunny.

“Y/N, I’m—,” Harry reached out to her, not knowing why he did but seeing her struggle was never a sight he wanted to see.

Y/N stuck the palm of her hand out to him, pausing him in his footsteps, “I never want to see you again. Don’t contact me.”

The shiver crawling up his spine was something that he would never admit. Fear was picking away at his insides but he won’t let it show. Not when Harry was the one that insinuated it in the first place. And he won’t lie, his ego was as bruised as a ripe peach because annoyance immediately filled his body right after.

“Thank God,” He rolled his eyes upwards, placing his hands on his hips, “Took you long enough to realize that I don’t want you around anymore,” The moment the words leave his lips, Harry regretted even thinking about them. It wasn’t exactly the whole truth. He still cared for and he still wanted her around—just not in the way he used to. Maybe they could even be friends but he fucked up that chance when he decided to speak like an asshole to her, especially when he could practically see Y/N holding on to her last thread of not letting the tears fall in front of him.

His ego clawed at his muscled chest, exacerbating everything when he continued, "I'm not in love with you. Don't think I ever was. You're nothing compared to her and you know it. Can't believe I ever dated you,”

Y/N was trying to process his words on top of the emotions that were swirling inside of her. She felt as though her mind was about to explode. It was overwhelming. All these feelings and new information confusing her to the point where she was rendered speechless because didn’t Harry just tell her that he loved her last night? And weren’t they talking about starting a family last Christmas in his childhood home? Anne had even dropped the ‘baby’ bomb during dinner to which Harry blushed and stuttered his words over. Memories flashed before her, yet the only thing that came out of her mouth was a dreary, flat question of, “How long?”

“A year,’

Y/N knew that she had opened a can of worms ready to plague every happy memory she shared with him because a year ago, Harry and her were celebrating their third year together in Italy. A year ago, he promised to stay by her side ‘forever, until the end of time’. Exactly twelve months ago did Harry slow dance with Y/N at a friend’s wedding, drunk off his ass but coherent enough to mumble, ‘Want you to be my wife, Y/N,’ in her ear.

Harry was remorsing it more and more with every word that came out of his mouth. Though, he could not stop because he wanted to get the last word before she left.

“Y’know when I said I wanted a family with you? I lied. I felt sorry for you. No one else is going to want you anyway, so I thought I might try.” He was close to tears himself, his lip pursing tightly because all he ever wanted was a family with her. They had spent so many nights planning where to live if kids came up in the future. Harry can’t give up his façade now, not when suddenly apologizing will make him look like a jerk and an asshole.

“She's pretty y’know? Could’ve never have lived up to that. . . Camille, she's someone I'd want a family with. I'd marry her because she's worthy of me. Who are you in comparison?"

Who was she? Who was Y/N without Harry? Her life was centered around the one man she thought would stick around until her skin wrinkled in old age. Until her voice withered with a shaky plead. Until her arms felt too weak lift and so they had to settled for a simple graze on the hand.

Her shoulders slouched with emotional exertion. She didn’t even notice her fingernails digging into her skin as she pondered over her next words. Staring at him with a wilting confidence as he breathed heavily, daring her to talk back at him. To answer his difficult question fully knowing that Y/N didn’t know the answer to it and Harry has no problem taking full advantage of the way he was put on a pedestal in this relationship with her.

Y/N was trying her hardest to be strong. No way was she going to let Harry see her cry. Harry who has seen her cry many times before due to serious reasons and silly breakdowns because the book she had been reading didn’t end the way she wanted it to. And this relationship wasn’t progressing like how she had envisioned it to.

He was blatantly describing how much he did not appreciate her. Putting her down by attacking her with dreams that she had discussed with him because it was the easiest way for him to dispose of the guilt and sorrow he would’ve been feeling otherwise. Making it seem like it was her fault for not being enough for him when she has always been a match for him. Y/N knew that she was worth something and Harry not seeing how valuable she is doesn’t mean she had lost the ability to see herself as someone worth loving.

Y/N held his gaze, memorizing every speck of gold litter on his irises as she took off her engagement ring, throwing the jewellery at him without a second thought. In a rush of confidence, Y/N raised her arm to retreat behind her and shoot forward with a slapping sound as her palm met his cheek. If Harry taught her anything during their relationship, it would be to ‘treat people with kindness’ and that included herself.

She staggered a few steps back, watching as he stayed unmoving, his cheek reddening with a handprint. Shaking her head, Y/N aimed for the exit, opening the door to leave.

“Wait!”

She was only human to admit that that one word sparkled the light of hope within her. Y/N turned around, gripping the door handle.

“I feel guilty, my love. Please don’t leave, let’s talk about this properly,”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but you’re a liar for making me think that this relationship wasn’t over a year ago when you started cheating on me with her. You’re a coward for not telling me that your feelings have changed and an arrogant son of a bitch to not admit that you’re sorry,” It was her turn to speak now and it was best if Harry stayed put and listened. Perhaps it would even be the last time that he shared this close distance with her.

“I can see it in your eyes, H. I know you. You don’t mean it when you say you didn’t love me because I felt it and you showed me. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t tell me when—” Y/N suddenly clutched her stomach, cupping her hand over her mouth.

Harry’s body moved before he could even think, reaching his arms to steady her as she stumbled slightly. The hinge of the door creaked as she used the momentum to stabilize herself and push him away from her. She coughed harshly, piercing his ears as the dreadful sound scratched her throat. Harry was scared because Y/N wouldn’t let him touch her.

Y/N gagged, racing to the kitchen sink to empty her stomach. Retching sounds filled the otherwise quiet home as Y/N held her hair away from her face. Harry offered to thread his fingers through but she shook her head. He backed away.

Hushed coughs dripped past her lips, her body slouched and panting over the sink.

“Love? Are you okay?” Harry remained his distance, following her body in case she fell. The furrow in his brow warmed Y/N’s heart but she soon realized that caring was in his nature.

The refrigerator door opened, Y/N grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap open and putting the opening against her mouth. “Don't touch me. I don’t want you near me. I never want to see you again,” She slammed the half-drunk bottle on the counter, not caring if the water spilled; it’s his mess now.

Harry followed her like a lost puppy, “Where are you going? You can't go out in that state,"

Y/N ignored him, opting to crouch down to pick up the duffle bag she had dropped with a searing glare directed to him.

"Please wait, stay here. You're sick. Y’can't go out, love,”

At the sound of the word ‘love’ leaving his lips, Y/N shuddered. All she can remember was reading the letter addressed to someone else when all this time she thought it was reserved for her. She turned around, gasping in surprise when he abruptly stopped in front of her. Harry’s hands wrapped around her waist to prevent Y/N from falling backwards.

Upon inspection, Harry could see that Y/N was paler than usual. Her eyes decked out with glossiness and he wasn’t sure if it was from the tears she had managed to hold back or from the recent sickness. She pushed him away harshly, heaving all her strength to create distance between them.

“No,” Y/N spoke with grit, “You wanted to leave, right? I’ll make it easier for you—I’m gonna leave first.” Her clumsy nature decided to act up, causing her to stumble down the short steps of the door to the walkway. Harry caught Y/N by the forearm.

Y/N shrugged his warm hand off of her, “Get away from me!” Her shrill voice pierced a knife in his chest. Harry’s lips began to quiver because she has never pushed him away before.

“You'll never speak to me again?"

The door slammed in front of his face in response.

“Hmm, I guess not.”

The driveway is littered by the sound of her engine starting, then driving away. Now, Harry’s alone in the spotless house that Y/N had cleaned all day. He sat on the sofa, fiddling with the ring that Y/N had taken off. He had not let himself fully immerse in the gravity of how much he had hurt Y/N yet. He was about to—but one ring of his phone distracted him.

Harry smiled at the caller ID, swiping his thumb to answer.

“Hi, my love.”

____

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eminems-skittles · 3 years

Text

please don’t let go [spencer reid x reader]

spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: this focuses heavily on depression so read at your own caution word count: 4.1k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

It wasn't hard for her to tell when it was getting bad again. It was a gradual change but she could always tell when it was happening. It'd start off small, she'd have trouble forcing a smile around her friends. Her friends never seemed to notice the difference between her fake smile or her real smile, but even if they did, they didn't remark. After awhile, she would lose motivation for work and her efforts became minimal. She stopped putting effort into her appearance. Her normal makeup was replaced with chapstick, if she could be bothered to put it on, and her dresses and heels were replaced with sneakers and comfier clothes. When it gets really bad, she is unable to pull herself from the shelter her bed provides her, not moving for days at a time, with the exception of using the bathroom and getting food. During those times, her mind was held hostage by the negative thoughts.

The BAU team noticed something was off the first day she started wearing the facade. They often reached out to her when they noticed something was off but they were met with the same answer every time. 'I'm fine, just tired.' They knew she wasn't fine but they didn't want to push. She wasn't a very private person, sharing almost everything with the team, except for this. They decided that if Y/N didn't want to share this, then they shouldn't force her too. The team only hoped that she would come to them if things got really bad. Hotch was the only one who knew what Y/N was dealing with, as she disclosed it during her interview. After he knew she was the one for the job, he helped Y/N make an arrangement with Strauss so that she could take days off when it got really bad. When Strauss asked why Hotch was pushing to hire her, he told her that no one should be looked over simply because they have a mental illness. The deal was that when she could, she'd be at work and when she had to take days off, she'd do as much as possible at home. Y/N tried to be at work as much as possible, only working from home if she felt it would be too much to handle.

While she was normally able to somewhat predict when the harsh cycle would start again, there were often times when it would just hit her full force without warning. She was currently experiencing an unexpected 'episode' and there was nothing she could do to fix it. The team was currently on their way to work on a case in a small town in Illinois.She had never been on a case when she felt her lowest, always opting to stay back and assist with Penelope, or just working from home. By now, she knew the cycle. It would only be a matter of a few days before she would find herself immobilized by anxiety and depression. She could only hope that the case would be over in time for her to climb into bed and wait out the storm. The team of profilers were beginning to notice the signs too. They noticed how she was withdrawn from conversation and how she wouldn't attend outings with them unless it was for the case. On the jet, Y/N didn't give her usual input or witty remark. She sat silent, her head leaning against the window, silently observing and taking notes, already feeling drained of energy. Spencer watched his best friend intently to see if she was just tired or if she was falling back into the cycle.

He knew the signs better than most of the team. In fact he was the first one to point out that something might be wrong. He was able to spot the fake smile, because he had been the cause of the real smile on more occasions than he count on both hands. Spencer noticed when she didn't put as much as effort into her appearance, when her (y/h/c) wasn't curled or styled but thrown into a messy ponytail. Not that it mattered to him, he thought she looked beautiful whether she wore a ball gown or sweats and a hoodie. He was the only one who would visit her when she was at home, always volunteering to deliver the case file to her. She often wouldn't answer but when she did, his heart would break. Her eyes would be red and puffy, with dark purple bags under them, and the joy they held just days before, would be replaced with an empty gaze. He never pushed her to tell him what was wrong, but he knew what was happening.

Y/N had avoided speaking to anyone for the whole flight. It wasn't something she did on purpose but she was so lost in her own mind she didn't hear when people were calling her name or asking her questions. It wasn't until Spencer put his hand on her knee that she snapped back into reality. She shot a small, embarrassed smile Spencer's way, silently apologizing for being out of it.

"We landed, Y/N/N," Spencer said quietly. He watched as a shocked look crossed Y/N's features. She quickly looked around the jet only to find that they were the only two still occupying it.

"Oh, sorry for making you wait," Y/N said, so softly Spencer almost didn't hear it. She grabbed her bag before getting off of the jet with Spencer following closely behind her. 'I zoned out for the entire flight?' Y/N asked herself, bewildered by the fact she could get so lost in her mind that she didn't notice the plane landing. Y/N and Spencer climbed into one of the SUV's. They sat in the back while Emily and Rossi sat up front. Emily sent Y/N a sympathetic smile, having noticed the withdrawn behavior of her friend. Y/N smiled back, trying her best to force a convincing smile on her face.

The car ride to the first crime scene was relatively quiet, with the exception of a few comments about the town from Rossi, witty remarks from Emily and a few facts from Spencer. Y/N silently observed, not feeling anything she had to say was important enough to share. She saw the looks Spencer and Emily shared when they had gotten to the car. 'You're such a burden to them. They don't want to deal with you and your mood swings.' She thought to herself, and a frown settled on her face. She looked out the window, already dreading the case.

When they got to the crime scene, Emily and Rossi went to speak with the local police and Spencer and Y/N investigated the crime scene. Y/N opted to search through books and personal belongings while Spencer investigated the area where the body was found.

"Spencer," Y/N said, in almost a whisper when she found something. "Can you look at this? I think it might be helpful." She knew what she found was helpful but she second guessed herself.

"Yeah, let me see," Spencer said, jogging over to her. He grabbed the book from Y/N and read the page she had the book open on. The page had a passage that was highlighted blue. "What do you see?"

"See, this passage is highlighted, which isn't weird if you flip through the rest of the book. But this is the only thing highlighted blue. Someone who takes notes as diligently as this person did wouldn't change the color they used. It would throw off their whole balance," Y/N rambled, stopping when she noticed Spencer staring at her, a smile on his face. "Sorry." She said quietly. She thought Spencer was smiling because she was making a mistake. 'He thinks you're stupid.' The thought alone was enough to throw her through a loop.

"What for?" Spencer asked her, but she just shook her head and didn't answer. "I'll send this back to the department so we can analyze it more closely. Did you see anything else like this?"

Y/N shook her head, and Spencer frowned. "I can take it with me. I need to go talk to Hotch," Y/N said, desperately avoiding eye contact with Spencer.

"Is everything okay?" Spencer knew it was a question he shouldn't have asked, knowing she wasn't going to reply honestly. Y/N just muttered "i'm fine." almost as if she was trying to convince herself everything was okay, before going to find Rossi to ask for a ride back to the station. Emily walked over to Spencer, a concerned look on her face.

"Is Y/N okay?" Emily asked, her eyes shifting to watch Y/N and Rossi having a quiet conversation, before getting in the car to wait for the other two agents.

"I don't know. She's falling back into the same patterns," Spencer stated simply. Emily nodded solemnly. Spencer decided to change the subject. "Did you guys find anything?"

Emily shook her head. "The locals aren't too happy we are here and they don't want to help up out. We're heading back right now."

Spencer and Emily joined the other two in the car. The ride back to the station was silent except for the low hum of the radio. Spencer found himself sneaking glances at the (y/h/c) agent. She had her head leaning against the window and her eyes were scrunched closed. He was almost positive she was trying to push the overwhelming thoughts away, as he had been there so many times himself. The car went over a speed bump which caused Y/N's eyes to snap open. She looked down at her lap, sniffling quietly, before looking over at Spencer, smiling halfheartedly when she saw he was already looking at her. He reached out to grab her hand that was resting on the seat next to her and squeezed it gently. The gesture, while small, made Y/N's heart soar and grounded her for just a few seconds. She craved more of his touch, longing for him to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. Much to her dismay, he moved his hand away from hers shortly after they pulled into the parking lot of the police station.

As soon as the four agents were inside the station, Y/N made a bee line to the small conference room that Hotch was in. He was talking to the lead local detective on the case, when Y/N walked in the small room. Hotch asked the detective if he could excuse the two for a minute. The detective nodded before exiting the room, greeting Y/N with a 'hello ma'am' when he walked past her.

"Is everything okay?" Hotch asked, taking in Y/N's broken and tired expression. Y/N could have laughed at the question, obviously everything wasn't okay.

"Um, no-not exactly," Y/N's voice shook as she spoke. "I just...I just wanted to let you know that it's starting again."

Hotch's face softened. "Do you need to head back?"

"No, I can stay. I just wanted to let you know," Y/N said.

"Okay, but I want you to let me know if it gets worse," Hotch said.

"I will," Y/N said quietly. Hotch looked at her with sympathy in his eyes, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was his way of showing he was there for her.

After their conversation, the team filed into the room to come up with different theories about the unsub. They worked several different angles, trying to figure out the connection between the victims. They took a break to eat dinner before delving back into their work. The entire time, Y/N tried to keep herself busy, hoping that if she was busy enough, she could keep the negative thoughts at bay.

"Hotch, it's almost eleven. Why don't we call it a night?" Derek asked, pushing the file that he was holding away from his face. The team let out sighs of agreeance.

"Yeah, we've done as much as we can tonight. Go get some rest and we'll look at this with fresh eyes," Hotch dismissed the team. Everyone gathered their stuff before leaving the police station.

Y/N decided to hang back for a second to gather her thoughts. She sat at the conference table and rested her head in her hands, taking a deep breath. It had been a long, tiring, and mentally draining day to say the least.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, causing Y/N to jump at least three feet in the air. She sighed heavily. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. And I know you're probably sick of hearing that question, but I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You seemed out of it today."

"I thought you went back to the motel," Y/N said not bothering to make eye contact and completely dodging his question. She knew that if she did, there'd be nothing stopping her from launching herself into his arms.

"I did. But I noticed you weren't there. I wanted to make sure you didn't kidnapped by our unsub," Spencer said, eliciting a small laugh from Y/N. "Are you ready to head back to the motel?"

Y/N nodded, grabbing all of her stuff and heading over to where Spencer stood by the door. "Okay, let's go."

Spencer and Y/N left the small station before crossing the street and entering the rundown motel. Spencer and Y/N's rooms were right next to each other on the second floor.

"Goodnight Spencer," Y/N said when they reached her room.

"Goodnight Y/N," Spencer smiled at her softly. Once again, he grabbed her hand gently and squeezed it. "If you need anything, I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Spence," Y/N said quietly, her eyes filling with tears. She blinked them back before Spencer could see them. "I'll see you tomorrow morning okay?"

Spencer nodded, watching Y/N retreat into the dark motel room. After he made sure she was safe inside the room, he went to his room. Spencer changed into his pajama's and instantly fell asleep.

His sleep was cut off by his phone ringing loudly on the nightstand next to his bed. He looked at the clock and groaned when the red numbers showed the time being twelve thirty.

"Hello," Spencer said, not bothering to check the caller I.D.

"Spencer?" Y/N's voice came through the speaker. Spencer shot up instantly when he heard how sad and broken she sounded. "Ca-Can you come to my room? I really don't want to be alone right now."

"Yeah, I'm coming right now," Spencer said, rushing out of his room and over to her door. "I'm outside."

He waited for a minute before the door opened and he hung up the call. His heart broke when he saw her with tears streaming down her cheeks. The sight before him reminded him of the times he would drop of case files for her. Except this time he'd be able to comfort his best friend instead of standing idly by, watching her mind destroy herself. Y/N opened the door enough for Spencer to walk into the cramped motel room, and shut the door when he was inside.

Y/N practically launched herself into Spencer's arms and held on for dear life. Spencer immediately held her, his arms going around her torso. Y/N dug her head into the crook of his neck and Spencer felt her tears sliding onto his neck.

"I can't take it anymore," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as she held Spencer as close as she possibly could. He pressed several kisses to the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, that you've been dealing with this all by yourself. I wish there was a way I could take the pain away. I'll do anything you need me to do to help," Spencer said quietly, against her hair.

"Please don't let go." Y/N whispered desperately.

Spencer's face softened and he hugged her tighter, if that was even possible. "I won't. I promise."

They stood in each other's embrace for a few minutes. Spencer would rub Y/N's back and kiss the top of her head whenever she let out a strangled sob. His heart broke for his best friend, wishing he could take away all the pain she was feeling.

"Let's sit down," Spencer suggested. He lead Y/N to the bed, pulling her into his lap. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet," Y/N said, her voice gravelly. "It's too much to talk about right now. I'm sorry for waking you up."

"Love, I wouldn't have been able to sleep knowing you're hurting the way you are. I'm here for you, day or night," Spencer said. One of his hands rubbed her knee gently, and she snuggled closer to his chest. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

"Yes, please. I need you here." Y/N begged. "If that's okay."

"It's more than okay, my love," Spencer said, his hand still tracing shapes on her knee. "I know it's been a really hard day for you, darling. Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thank you, Spence," Y/N whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I don't know how I would have got through today without you."

"I'll always be here. I know I won't be able to make bad days go away completely, but I want to help as much as I possibly can. I hate seeing you so broken because of your mind. And I've been there too, so please don't ever hesitate to ask me for help," Spencer said, finishing his little rant by kissing her nose.

"I know I keep saying it, but thank you, Spence," Y/N said, her voice laced with sleep. "We should probably go to sleep, we have to be up in a few hours."

Spencer and Y/N moved so Spencer was laying on his back and Y/N was laying on his chest. His arms stayed wrapped around her torso, and hers around his neck.

"Spence," Y/N paused, and Spencer hummed in response. "Can you tell me a story? I don't care what it's about, just wanna hear you talk."

"Of course, my love," Spencer said. "Do you want to hear the story of when I knew I was in love?"

"In love with who?" Y/N said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. She was already enjoying the distraction his voice offered.

"You'll just have to see. Do you want to hear it or not?" Spencer asked. Y/N nodded, her nose brushing his shoulder. "Okay, good. So it was a blustery day in October, and the sun was nowhere to be found. It almost felt like it should have been raining. We were working a case in Oregon, the one with the unsub who was going to different inn's...." Spencer decided not to include the gory details. "We went to one of the crime scenes, just you and me. We were inspecting the property and there were leaves all over the ground. The trees had just changed colors. I could go into the science behind why the leaves change colors, but I'll spare you the boring details. It was a beautiful day, really. The trees stood out with their orange leaves against the gray sky. And you, you looked as beautiful as ever. You were wearing your giant hoodie, the dark gray one that goes to your knees and everyone tells you not to wear it when we go on cases but you still do. Your hair was just thrown up in a messy ponytail."

Y/N was fighting sleep so she could listen to the story. Her heart swelled when she heard him call her beautiful. She remembered the day he was talking about. It was one of her favorite days she ever spent with him.

"You were walking ahead of me, looking all around you and pointing out the things you thought were interesting. I found myself wishing that we weren't on a case but rather staying at the quaint inn on a romantic vacation together and exploring the area. At point, I just stopped and watched you explore. You turned around and saw me just standing there and when you asked what I was looking at, the smile on your face was so big, it made me smile. I had to come up with an excuse so fast, I told you I was tying my shoes. When you heard that, you looked down at my shoes to see I wasn't wearing shoes with laces. But you just laughed and walked over to me. You grabbed my hand and led me over to something interesting you found. You didn't let go of my hand until we left the forest, which wasn't until almost an hour later. I remember thinking, 'I'm going to marry her someday.' We weren't even remotely together, just two best friends who work together. Hell, we still aren't together, but that's on me because I haven't had the courage to admit my feelings. I know this isn't the best time to do this, but I figured the story would cheer you up. I love you, Y/N."

"Oh Spence, I love you too" Y/N said, her voice filled with so much love. "That was one of my favorite days we ever spent together. That was the first time you let me hold your hand. That day got me through so many bad days, you have no idea. A-Are you sure you want this though? I'm a lot to handle, especially on the really bad days."

"Y/N, I love you, with all my heart. And I would do anything for you. I know this isn't going to be easy, but I want to be there for the good days, the bad days, and the really bad days," Spencer said, placing his hand on her cheek. "Please let me be there for you."

Y/N leaned into Spencer's hand, her eyes sliding shut. "I want nothing more than for us to be together."

"Can I kiss you?" Spencer asked, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. Y/N nodded, leaning in as he leaned in also. The kiss was soft, caring and full of love. Words, said and unsaid, were communicated through the short kiss. They pulled away shortly after. Spencer whispered "Wow," against her lips before leaning in and kiss her again.

"I love you, Spence," Y/N said. "Thank you, again, for being here for me."

"I love you, too. You're welcome, darling," Spencer replied. "How are you right now?"

"I'm doing better. Still not great, but you made a really bad day just a bad day. Which, trust me, is a huge improvement," Y/N said, smiling at him.

She honestly could not believe how much of a difference he had made in such a short amount of time. She had spent so long suffering by herself and locking away her emotions so now one would see them and she wished she had went to Spencer for help and comfort sooner.

Spencer held her as close as he possibly could, reaching over to shut the light off. "I'd do it all over again, love. Now let's go to sleep now. And we will handle whatever tomorrow has in store. Together."

"Okay, just promise me one thing," Y/N said. "Promise me you'll never let me go. No matter how hard things get."

She knew it was kind of dumb to say, knowing Spencer would never let her go. But the words held a deeper meaning, one she didn't have to explain because he understood. She was asking him to never let her become too trapped in her mind. Asking him to save her if she ever needed saving.

"I'll never, ever let you go, my love. You won't be able to get rid of me." Spencer said, kissing her once more. Y/N smiled into the kiss, which caused Spencer to smile.

"Goodnight, Spence," Y/N said, yawning. She dug her head into the crook of his neck, before falling asleep. Spencer fell asleep once he felt her body relax, happy she was finally getting a break from the tiring thoughts that had occupied her mind the whole day.

#cassie's masterlist #{ writing }#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #{ criminal minds }#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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ashesandhalefire · 3 years

Text

i know, you know

alex, michael, and a lonely hearts club gone slightly awry.

inspired by @malex-cupid day one and three themes: wooing my way into your heart and valentine’s day.

“Okay, here’s a nightmare scenario,” Michael says as he eases back down onto the couch with another slice of pizza in his hand. He crosses his ankles on the coffee table and bites the tip off. Alex raises an eyebrow expectantly, drawing a sip from his beer, and Michael nods. After a rough swallow, he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I once hooked up with a girl on February thirteenth. Totally lost track of the date.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “That’s not a nightmare scenario for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael takes another bite of his pizza and tries to talk around a mouthful of cheese, face twisted with playful indignation. “Someone like me?”

Alex leans his head against the back of the couch and says, “Charming people never end up in nightmare scenarios because they can, by default, charm their way out of anything.”

Brow furrowing, Michael wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called charming in my life. A few other choice words, sure, but not charming.”

“Well, I guess my perspective is a little different from the sheriff’s department. In my experience, you have a tendency to be very good at saying the right thing.” Alex wiggles his left foot where it sits, tucked beneath the center cushion on the couch, and rubs distractedly at his right knee. The knot in his sweatpants jostles close to Michael’s hip.

Entirely by accident, he’s significantly more dressed-down than Michael is in his slim jeans and crisply colored flannel. Neither piece of Michael’s outfit has the well-worn softness of his usual wardrobe, none of the torn seams or threadbare elbows, but the top two buttons of his shirt are undone like always and the collar hangs wide against his clavicle. Alex tries not to let his eyes linger.

As he chews through another bite, Michael stares back at him, and the gaze feels heavy enough that Alex turns away. “And, please, you’re sitting on my couch, watching my television, drinking my beer, and eating my pizza. If that’s not the direct result of charm, what is it?”

“Dumb luck,” Michael says. Amusement glints in his eyes as he licks his lips. “Besides, this whole lonely hearts club thing was your idea.”

“Yeah, but it was originally a party of one.”

Alex had quickly opted out, making his answer a polite but firm no, when Kyle mentioned the flier on the Crashdown’s front door that advertised the latest Wild Pony cash-grab attempt, but that hadn’t prevented him from running face-first into Isobel’s advertising efforts all over town for the next week and a half. General buzz at the post office and hospital implied that her reputation for event planning had drummed up some genuine interest from the locals, and that in and of itself cemented his plan for the weekend as pizza, beer, and whatever cable had to offer. His plan had, at no point, included running into Michael in the candy aisle at RiteAid at three o’clock in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day.

With an armful of personal care items marked with discount stickers, Michael had taken one look at the prescription envelope in Alex’s right hand and the box of chocolates in his left and said, “Got a hot date?”

“No,” Alex had said, wishing he’d chosen to put on something neater than his faded sweatpants. Michael rarely looked presentable by general standards, but he always looked good. “Just chronic pain and a sweet tooth.”

“You should come back tomorrow,” Michael had suggested. “Better sales after the holiday.”

“True, but then I won’t have anything to eat tonight.”

Michael had visibly perked, even though his face stayed neutral. “You’re not going to the singles night thing at the Pony? I thought Valenti would have roped you in for sure.”

“No.” Fleetingly, Alex had considered the idea of wandering through the crowded bar, equally decorated in distasteful neon and garish party store hearts, and trying to pick which of the Pony’s regular stock might like to have his drink bought by an openly gay veteran with one leg while his friends watch from the sidelines of their depressingly stable relationships. “There’s not enough booze in the world.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Michael had laughed. He hadn’t quite met Alex’s eye as they both carefully side-stepped the rest of the conversation. Alex had stopped paying attention, so he wasn’t sure if Michael had retaken to running up a tab yet. “Is is completely pissed at me, but I told her there was no way in hell.”

Alex had swallowed. “Got a hot date?”

“Totally,” Michael had said. He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I think you’ve met him.”

In retrospect, Alex blames the rest of the conversation on the fact that he’s been unshakably in love with Michael since he was seventeen. For the better part of a month, he’s been trying to work up the courage to throw out a line. But they exist in a strange no-man’s-land of casual acquaintanceship that borders on friendship and romance simultaneously, and Alex hasn’t quite found the right way out yet.

“If you don’t have plans tonight, you could swing by.” Michael, already at the end of the aisle when Alex called after him, had looked mildly startled when he turned around. “We can get pizza. Or something. Whatever goes with beer.”

“Everything goes with beer in my world.”

“It’ll be a lonely hearts club type of thing,” Alex had said, primarily for the deniability.

Michael had cocked his head. His eyes drifted lower and lower until they paused and climbed back up Alex’s body at a crawl. “Are you lonely?”

“I had a nose ring, remember?” Alex had clutched the prescription bag in his fist with a crunch and forced himself to laugh, even as bashful panic squeezed at his throat. “You don’t end up with a nose ring and Danger posters on your walls at seventeen unless you’re deeply lonely.”

A slow smile had stretched across Michael’s face, and he ducked his head like it was too private to share with the open aisle. When he looked up again, he wrinkled his nose to help steady his armful of bottles with a nudge of his telekinesis. “I’ll see you at six, then. Pizza and beer.”

Now, Michael breaks a wayward string of cheese away from his last bite and asks, “You want me to go home? Leave you to your pity party?”

“No. I’m enjoying the company. I think it’s because you’re so charming.”

Michael laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But hooking up with a girl who was looking for a hookup on the day before Valentine’s Day is not a nightmare scenario.”

“Alright,” Michael says, nudging Alex’s bent knee, “so give me a better example.”

“Uh, pizza and beer with a guy that never learned how to chew with his mouth closed?”

Michael tears into the crust of his slice and says, muffled by food, “I’ll leave anytime. Just say the word.”

Alex pulls his foot out from under the couch cushion and rolls his heel into the side of Michael’s thigh. “Don’t be disgusting!”

Mashing his teeth, Michael chews with his mouth open for another two bites and then relents. He drops a hot palm into the exposed skin of Alex’s ankle, holding it in place, and Alex manages not to react until Michael strokes his thumb into the hollow beside his Achilles tendon.

“I need a refill. Do you want another beer?” he asks, pulling his leg away and turning to plant his foot on the floor. He bends down to grope beneath the couch for his crutch.

“Yeah, I’ll take another one.” Michael stands, taking his empty bottle in hand, and says, “I’ll get it. I know my way around the fridge.”

As he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table, he drops a hand onto Alex’s left shoulder and squeezes. The touch is gone almost as soon as it starts, but Alex still lets out an audible squeak on his next exhale.

Being touch-starved is hardly new, but it makes him feel like an especially pathetic rescue cat when his body shivers at the barest graze. Twice it happened when Kyle leaned over to look at his laptop and put a hand on his back while they worked on the salvaged hard drives together, and Alex had barely been able to hide the heated flush in his cheeks. It’s more humiliating with Michael, somehow, because Michael has always been exactly the same. He’s always turned into Alex’s touch with eagerness, always looked for the most contact he could find. Something about touch between them turning casual and unaffecting on his end while Alex is gasping like an Austen heroine is especially unsettling.

He takes three deep breaths, holding the air in his chest and releasing through pursed lips, and then Michael squeezes between the end table and the chair with two beers. He twists the tops off with a twitch of his nose, and Alex watches the bent metal land on the coffee table with a ding.

“Show off,” he says as Michael hands him a bottle. Their fingers brush against the glass. “You’ve never fought with a jar of pasta sauce in your life.”

Michael eases back down onto the couch, snagging the last garlic knot from the crimped tinfoil on the coffee table on the way, and says, “Rubber band trick works wonders. Not that I’ve ever needed it.”

“Smug bastard.”

Alex watches the bob of Michael's throat as he takes a long draw from his beer.

“Oh, here. Almost forgot.” Michael pops the rest of the garlic knot into his mouth and lifts his hips off the couch to give himself room to root around his pocket. After a moment of tugging, he tosses something across the couch. It lands on Alex’s thigh. “For your sweet tooth.”

Alex stares down at the packet of SweeTARTS heart candies, emblazoned with the same sentimental phrases as classic conversation hearts. “These are sour.”

“Well, yeah, but aren’t those the ones you like?”

Fingers toying with the crimped edges of the paper wrapping, Alex nods.

“Then Happy Valentine’s Day.” Michael sucks a spot of oil and garlic from his thumb. “I had to go to, like, four different CVS stores to find them.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. “You didn’t— I didn’t get you anything.”

Michael shrugs. “You paid for dinner. Least I could do was pick up some candy.”

Darkness creeps up on them while they trade sarcastic commentary about the fake detective comedy marathon they found on a higher cable channel. The lone bulb still on over the sink casts a warm yellow glow across the kitchen and dining room, and the living room flickers between dark and light as the scenes change on the television.

Alex glances down at Michael, who has made himself comfortable with one leg dangling off the edge of the couch and the other curled up against the arm. His head rests on a pillow that he laid atop Alex’s right leg, and he has Alex’s left leg stretched out in front of his chest to keep it from blocking his view.

The shift was gradual: he slumped sideways and curled his legs up; he leaned on his elbow and tried to stretch out; he whined about his neck and grabbed the pillow off the floor, checking that it wouldn’t bother Alex’s knee if he put pressure on it; and he grabbed Alex’s left leg by the ankle to straighten it out while complaining that he couldn’t see. And now Alex’s shin is pinned beneath Michael’s palm, feeling the rise and fall of Michael’s chest whenever he chuckles at one of the jokes.

They’ve spent hours together, rolling around in Michael’s cot and the back of his truck and motel beds, but Alex isn’t sure they’ve ever been more intimate. Quiet stillness has always been difficult for them to come by, and he can barely remember the last time they spent an afternoon together without some sense of doom hanging over their heads. They’ve certainly never laid on a couch together for four hours.

Michael shifts, rolling onto his side, and his hand drifts down towards the top of Alex’s foot. The calluses on his palm catch against the weave of his sock, and Alex listens to the faint scratch of material without breathing. After a moment, Michael’s fingers slip beneath the elastic at the bottom of his sweatpants, and he strokes absently at the ball of Alex’s ankle.

The fears and the doubts are as present as they’ve been for the last few weeks. All of their baggage is exactly the same.

Alex winds one of Michael’s curls around his finger, and he feels the stutter in his breathing.

With empirical evidence like that, he has to be brave.

He mutes the television and says, “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Michael glances up. “Is this…new information? Should we be celebrating?”

“No, I mean—” Alex swallows. “I don’t have to go out tomorrow, so if you stay over afterwards, we can talk.”

Michael stares at him. “After what?”

Alex shrugs, but his eyes linger pointedly on Michael’s mouth.

“Oh,” Michael says. He turns onto his stomach slowly, like he thinks moving too quickly will turn Alex skittish, and then he eases up onto his knees between Alex's legs. Carefully, he pushes the pillow on Alex’s lap out of the way and onto the floor. “Yeah. Yeah, I could stay over. Afterwards.”

Light from the silent television flickers against the side of his face, and Alex reaches for the loose collars of his shirt. Michael bends pliantly, anchoring his hands beside Alex’s shoulders on the arm of the couch, and lowers himself until their noses brush. Then, he hesitates. He nuzzles against Alex’s cheek, rolls their foreheads together, and sighs out a laugh.

Alex giggles back, a nervous sound he has no control over, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I just— I don’t wanna screw up. This has been a no-fly zone for weeks.”

“It really hasn’t.”

“It really has. I have the bruised ego to prove it.”

A missing piece slots into place in Alex’s chest, loosening every ounce of tension left in his body, and he sags down against the couch cushions. He takes a moment to look up at Michael, at the vulnerable pinch of anxiety that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and then he reaches up to smooth his thumb over the crest of Michael’s cheeks. The wrinkles worsen, so he tows Michael in by his hips and shakes his head. “No. No, you’re— you’re cleared to land.”

“That’s not— ” Michael blinks, and then says, affectionately, “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughs, deep in his chest, and finally presses his mouth to Alex’s. Alex surges into the kiss, letting it linger until the smile splitting across his lips forces Michael to pull back. He tries again, but Alex can’t relax his grin, so, for a moment, they just breathe, silhouetted in the dark.

Then, Michael says, “No regretting it tomorrow?”

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“No nightmare scenario? No backslide with my ex?”

“No.”

“No… I scratched my itch, now get out of my house?”

“No!”

“Okay, good. Good. Because I’m playing for keeps this time.” He settles his weight between Alex’s thighs, and Alex is struck suddenly with the realization of how easy it is to be happy, how earned it feels after all this time.

They kiss, lazy and unhurried, until the cable box starts to idle in the background and leaves them in a nearly pitch black room. The last three buttons of Michael’s shirt come undone under Alex’s fingertips, and Michael’s unshaved jaw scrapes his mouth almost raw.

“Next year,” he mumbles against Alex’s cheek in a moment of reprieve, “I’m gonna fill this house with roses.”

Distractedly, Alex hooks his heel around the back of Michael’s calf and says, “If you somehow have a quarter of a million dollars to waste on that many flowers next year, we will not still be living in this house.”

Michael’s whole body jolts.

“We?” he teases gleefully, and he digs his fingertips into the soft back of Alex’s knee. “Did you just forget we don’t have a joint bank account? Oh, fuck, you really do like me.”

A hot flush rises in Alex’s cheeks as he squirms. “I like your fake money.”

“I think you mean our fake money.”

Alex laughs. “I fucking hate you.” He turns away, and Michael bends down to kiss the exposed line of his neck.

“You don’t,” he says between nips. “You really don’t.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “I really don’t.”

#michael x alex #malex #malex fic #malexcupid21 #roswell new mexico #alright it's DONE it's out of me so now i can read all the other ones lol #it's been a long while since i posted fic but!!! i kind of need them back together ASAP #my fic

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djarrex · 3 years

Text

Hi everyone, just wanted to address what happened last night along with some other things from before that all tie in together.

There’s multiple parts to the following post - please make sure you read all of it if you’re gonna take the time to even start.

It was midnight and y'all were still jumping in on anon and telling me how I'm awful for not commenting, owning up, or taking responsibility - I should have been in bed. I have a life and job outside this app; and with the several of you in my inbox and it being too late at night to address each, I’m gonna do it now. I can’t not say something about all of this. I just can’t keep quiet and ignore the problem - it’s not fair to you all. Deleting one post already has you guys even more riled up and all I wanted to do was offer something better than a “half-hearted apology” (it was very late at night when I wrote that very short apology, and wanted a redo tbh).

I really didn't want to make a long post like this. I reached out to a select few on here because I care about them (there's more of you, but like I said, it was at the time after midnight and I was fucking exhausted). but I was being demanded for accountability. So here I am.

Allow me to be real with you all, if that's ok. If it's not, well, idk. First I wanna address all you anons, who, instead of speaking to me one on one about all this, want to criticize me and shame me and my writing when truthfully it feels like you haven't even read more than a handful of my work. I didn’t realize that I write the clones all the same way? That I always make them super aggressive and uncaring and dom? “you write every single clone as so dominant instead as unique individual men with their own personalities” Interesting. See, that right there tells me you haven't read nearly enough of my stuff for me to believe that's true. That's one accusation I absolutely will not back you on because I know it’s inaccurate - saying how I group the clones into some overly-aggressive, and uncaring category - that I always write all of them as mean in bed because they're men of color. And hey, if I do write rough smut - which yeah, it's out there and I write it, as do a lot of you - there are warnings at the beginning, aftercare, dialogue, reader sharing their feelings, and most importantly... consent between the two. That’s what warnings are for, so that you know what you’re going to be reading. That’s why I, as we all do, appreciate warnings listed at the tops of fics; honestly, write them sub or dom or switch or however you want but don’t come at me like that. I’m sorry if I'm coming across as rude because I'm usually not, I’m one of the nicest people you’ll meet, but I will not stand idly by while you chastise my writing (writing that is pretty much the same type of stuff a lot of you write & rb with the same characters) that you haven’t read enough of to back such claims.

Next: Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart,

I get it. Really, I do. I fully understand the problem of whitewashing in SW along with almost everywhere else, and I do not agree with it. It's a huge problem, and it needs to be rectified. Now just because I don't speak publicly about it and opt out of publicly shaming TBB, doesn't mean that I agree with what’s going on. Not everyone is comfortable with sharing their opinions on a subject, no matter what that subject is or which side they're on. You live and you learn when it comes to that.

It has never been my intention to fetishize POC in my writing, which btw, the same people who are saying that it is my intention are the ones claiming I portray all of the clones as the same, aggressive men, lacking their individuality. It’s a claim that is simply not true, and I know I have followers on here to back me up on that. I know what I've written; how about you check it out and tell me that you don't see the words "soft" or "fluff" or "cuddling" or “gentle” or “tender” within my work linked in my ML. Clone character being a good partner and father? Tender love making? Holding each others faces in their hands? “We/you survived” sex? Taking care of their partner? Saying “I love you” to one another? Confirming the safe word and going slow at first? Oh my - riveting and harsh stuff - totally unacceptable.

Now: My admittedly problematic writings of Rex + Zygerria,

I went into writing that rp fic totally unaware and unknowing of the true implications. For that, I sincerely apologize. When I posted the NSFW alphabet, that’s when I was called out on that rp fic - not when I first posted it. Which the timeline doesn’t matter, I know that, but it concerns me a little bit that no one spoke up about it sooner - letting me dig myself deeper into a hole that I didn’t realize I was inside of in the first place. I've apologized once, and I know that doesn't negate what happened; I acknowledged my mistake back then, but I suppose that wasn’t good enough. I had asked you, anon, to message me to give me guidance, to teach me on what to do about the fic - you stayed hidden. Well, respectfully, what the fuck? I know we're all adults but don't lecture me and avoid me when I’d literally reached out for guidance on how to properly rectify the issue. I fixed my wording in some of my fics (the things I’ve caught upon rereading them) because I recognized and more importantly learned about and from my mistakes along with the unintentional negative implications of how I wrote those characters. Some of y'all wanna tell me that I "haven't learned"? Who are you, my personal blog police? My professor? My life coach? Are you even my friend? If I'm wrong and haven't learned, then fucking educate me. I worked hard on that rp fic, just like I do with a majority of what I write, but it doesn’t matter because I will delete it knowing that it’s harmful to others and I apologize for inadvertently romanticizing slavery with what I wrote - it was unintentional, and I’m truly sorry to those who have been hurt by it. I know it’s wrong, and there’s no proper excuse for it. Can’t go back in time, but consider it gone now.

Since that first wakeup call, I’ve been working hard to ensure I avoid using certain words and ideas when describing the clones in my fics. If there’s still something you see that isn’t correct or is inappropriate, please tell me! Don’t hold it in but then jump on the “attack M” bandwagon. Private message me, or come peacefully off or on anon, there will be no hard feelings. I don’t mind being corrected when I make a mistake - that’s just part of life, we all make mistakes and we live and learn from them. Making mistakes doesn’t = scumbag human. When you hold your breath and choose not to take the time to guide me, and if I appear to still be making the same mistakes, well, idk. I’m telling you right now that I do not mind if you message me with the good intention of pushing me in the right direction. When you come at me with hostility on anon, well, no thank you. To the anons that came without rage: thank you! I read what you wrote, and I have a better understanding as to how my writing had hurt the lovely followers of mine, and tried to address as much as possible in this post. See, angry mob anons? It costs zero credits to be kind and offer up your thoughts and advice with a good heart. I’m not going to hate you or block you if you try to correct me. I don’t block unless you’re a snoopin’ minor. Just don’t hold a knife to my throat.

Now: Why did I delete the tags and then my response to that anon ask?

Simply put: I felt awful. Deleting it doesn’t immediately mean I’m hiding from it and ignoring the issue. I wanted to come up with a better apology, explanation, whatever you wanna call it, because my followers deserve that. The ones who enjoy my work, the ones who interact, the ones who I call my friends, the ones who know that I’m a good person. Didn’t want to leave the tags/post floating around all night, giving more people time to sharpen their pitchforks and join the mob while I attempted to sleep. Trust me, I know saying that I had no ill intentions when tagging that post doesn’t make it better nor does it make it go away. I’m just trying to show you my point of view, that I knew immediately how I should not have tagged it that way, so that’s why I deleted them. I corrected my mistake. But y’all are too fucking quick I swear.

One more thing:

I know some of you who had called me out with the passive-aggressive inbox messages are still following me, and for what? You don’t like what I post, which is why one would follow another in the first place, so why bother sticking around? Do you feel like you need to police my blog? You want to be there the literal minute I make a mistake? I’m gonna turn off anon for a bit, so if you wanna discuss, message me. Just know that if you’re going to come at me with knives out, I probably won’t reply to you.

To conclude:

I’m sorry. Truly sorry for the entire Rex + Zygerria outfit + slaver ordeal with both the fic from a while ago and then the tags from last night. We can’t go back in time; the only option is to correct past mistakes that are able to be corrected, and then move on with new knowledge that’ll aid in me working even harder to ensure my writing isn’t inappropriate or offensive, and doesn’t hurt my followers nor the characters I write for. I’m still going to write self-indulgent filth and fluff, post-order 66 Rex, and other misc shit. I enjoy writing fanfic, as I know a lot of you enjoy reading what I write and love to talk to me about it. I hope that this didn’t come off as me being a bitch, because I’m really not. I enjoy interacting with the handful of people on here that I’d call my friends, and I love reading your reactions and tags to my fics when you’re excited and/or horny (LOL). It’s just after lunch time where I’m at, so I hope you have a great rest of the day/night/morning whatever for wherever you are.

#long post #m personal

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aomineavenue · 4 years

Text

Homesick (Miya Atsumu x f!Reader) | 001. the unexpected.

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Updates: irregular.

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc. (Will be mentioned once posted because I don’t want spoilers huehue)

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: ongoing. | series masterlist

↩ intro | the unexpected | a mother’s nightmare ↪

mia’s speaks:

Okay, so before we start the story. I’d just like to explain that this may be a slow burn kinda thing because I fully want everyone to understand yn’s point of view after she ran away six years ago. We will eventually enter Atsumu’s point of view along the story, but for now, I hope you guys like this! Let me know what you guys think!

It had been six years and to this day, it still haunts you. Well, what they say is true anyway. Everything you run away from will eventually continue to haunt you until you decide to face it head-on. Needless to say, you were feeling pretty pathetic. Six years later, and that is still what you felt to this day. Pathetically sad.

The cool air emitting from the air conditioner set up in the living room, mixed with the early morning cold winter atmosphere that engulfed most of Japan with its beautiful white coat, brushes against the patches of exposed skin causing you to shiver slightly, silently cursing to yourself for forgetting to turn the appliance off during the night before. You had awoken too early for your liking, the sun barely peeking as you left the comforts of your bed to grab a cup of coffee. You were never a morning person, only because it was the time where you were often left with your thoughts as the time slot was usually unproductive.

During such unproductive hours, your thoughts usually consumed you. If it weren't about work or the handful of people you hold close to your heart, it often leads you to thoughts of your life six years ago. You wondered what it would be like if you hadn't opted to run away from reality a few years back during your high school years. Your train of thought often wandered to countless possibilities if you had faced your problems earlier on. To you now, running away seemed almost petty. Well, sorta.

Would you have been happy? Would they have accepted things? Would you have grown apart? Would they have pushed you away?

Sadly, you'd never know. This is only because you fear the truth so you refuse to return and seek certain answers that no doubt will only lead to ultimate disaster. You fear the consequences of your actions. To simply put, you were a coward.

You move your gaze away from the hot cup of coffee on the kitchen counter over to glance out of the window from your apartment, watching the dark skies slowly fade away to signal a brand new day on the horizon, the sun painting the sky a bright calming hue. Any minute now, your friends that had decided to crash at your place during the previous night are bound to wake up. Your tiny space had become some sort of safe haven for when they needed to hide away from their own problems, or when they needed you to nurse their drunken states.

Despite it sparking irritation within yourself, you could never bring yourself to deny them. The group had been nothing but a solid help for you the past six years when you fled from Hyōgo and where you settled yourself in the comforts of your late father's best friend back in Kanagawa, Suwa Riku, reconnecting with one of your childhood friends, Suwa Reiji. The loving Suwa family accepted you with open arms, practically calling you their own despite the situation you dug yourself in. Honestly, if they had turned you away, you would have probably ended up in the gutter somewhere in Japan as you had no other place to go. It wouldn't have even shocked you if they were to turn their backs at you when you had first came knocking on their front door, practically drenched from the pouring rain, it was barely enough to conceal the tears.

However, despite the past they barely knew, they accepted you with open arms without an ounce of judgment. If they were curious, they asked politely, and if certain questions were too difficult for you to answer, they respected your need for privacy.

When you had left everything behind in Hyōgo, you wanted to forget. You had deleted your previous profiles from any sort of social media platform that you had and changed your number when you had the chance. To everyone in Hyōgo, you completely disappeared, a mere ghost that residents either often gossiped about or have completely forgotten, it wasn't as if you were well known within the community, but—still, your disappearance had quite the impact. However, since no one has found you yet in the past six years, it probably meant that your mother didn't care. You assumed the same for your handful of friends. You stayed with the Suwa Family in Kanagawa for at least a year and a half, time for yourself and to get adjusted to your new life before you convinced yourself to get a job that will lead you to a somewhat peaceful life, you needed it for support, now more so than ever. Once again, you are in debt when your childhood friend Reiji offered you a job as a manager for their group. Of course, how could you say no? Despite the busy schedule, you managed enough, sometimes giving you the ability to be flexible.

Ah, yes. Suwa Reiji, the lead singer for the famous boy band, Galaxy Standard. The two of you had been friends before you had moved to Hyōgo when you were eight years old. Despite the distance between the two of you, when your father was still around since your fathers were close friends, the two of you did keep in touch. However, as you grew older and found new friends in Hyōgo, the need to keep in touch disappeared almost instantly. Thankfully, despite years of not having any contact with each other, the two of you reconnected, happy to be back in each other's lives.

The past six years, as you tried to find yourself and finally settle independently, Reiji was there.

And despite the exhausting job of managing a boy band, you adored it. It kept you occupied. Despite the boys being famous, you opted to keep your social media platforms private, or rather secret, only your friends and a few of Galaxy Standard's fans knew of it. Although the fans knew of your existence, you wanted your personal life private and thankfully, the management and fans respected that with the help from your friends who are aware of your situation. You wanted to stay hidden. Accompanying the boys in certain events, despite being a girl where it was typical for fangirls to grow upset because of the close contact with their idols, the fans respected you and often held polite conversations with you.

Yes, despite the troubles you have, you wouldn't deny the fact that you were indeed happy, but lately, something in the back of your mind has been irking you, making you feel extremely uneasy for not knowing what it could be. It frustrated you to no end.

"Someone looks like a vein in their head might pop," you hear Reiji tease as he approached. You roll your eyes before turning your attention over to the man that intruded your thoughts. Bless him, you were slowly becoming crazy with all the thinking. However, you weren't going to praise him or anything, despite Reiji's calm and humble personality towards others, he was a completely different person towards you; often teasing, most days very playful.

You snap back playfully, "Good morning to you, too." He occupies the seat across from you, despite stumbling to your apartment the previous night completely drunk from a party, the man before you showed no sign of a hungover, you were used to it by now. "Seriously, you and Shizuma need to find some other place to crash. I don't even know how you roped him into drinking, he was absolutely thrashed when the two of you arrived. Normally, he'd be the responsible one."

"Yeah, but once he starts drinking, there's no stopping him. And Nah," he chuckles as he leans against the counter, a yawn escaping his lips as he spoke midway, "Your place is comfy but also because I get to see the cute faces of my favourite nephews almost instantly, it's a bonus."

"Uncle Reiji!"

"Where's Uncle 'zuma?"

Speaking of the little devils. Both of your attentions snaps at the two identical figures that stepped out of their shared room and into the vicinity that you and Reiji occupied.

The sight of their sleepy states warmed your heart at just how cute they have grown. Ah, yes. Your two boys. One of the two reasons why you preferred to keep your personal life, private. Of course, there was also Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro to think about. Your precious boys, your utmost priority. Everything you could ever want and more. They were the two that you could finally call home. As much as you know that your existence wouldn't be much of a big deal to the fans since you weren't entirely famous, you refused to let your boys get caught into any unnecessary drama that your friends have often got themselves into, so despite having famous uncles, you kept them shielded whenever you can. Of course, the fans of Galaxy Standard were aware of the existence of your little boys, often swooning when one of their idols were photographed with one of the twins. Needless to say, it always made the fans crazy, but you were grateful that the fans were respectful and never crossed the line whenever your boys were included.

Of course, the main reason why you wanted everything to be kept private was that you didn't want certain people to know the secret you've worked hard to stay hidden, but Japan was big, wasn't it? You often reassured yourself that it was impossible for paths to cross.

"Why are you looking for your Uncle Shizuma when I'm here?" Reiji asks, feigning hurt in his expression as both six-year-old boys approach, yawning and sleepily rubbing their eyes.

Atsuhiro, or rather Hiro, as he liked to be called sighs as he shakes his head at his uncle, "But Uncle 'zuma is the best."

"Now you take that back young man!" He scoffs as he playfully places his hands on his hips, "Who do you think raised you?"

The little boy tilts his head to the side as he watches his uncle in amusement of his antics, "Uncle 'zuma helped too! Mommy says he even helped out changing diapers which you didn't do!"

"But Uncle Reiji's the best! He always plays with us!" Atsuhiko, Hiko, retorts as he rushes over to his uncle to give him a high five, "Mommy, Uncle Rei said he's going to teach us some tricks like he did back then in Stride! Isn’t that cool?"

You send a glare towards the man that was mentioned by your son, who only avoided your gaze as he ruffles your son's hair, "Maybe something else. You can ask your uncles to teach you how to sing and dance like they always do, just not that dangerous sport."

Atsuhiko groans in protest while the other twin approaches you, wrapping his short arms around your leg, "Do you think they can teach us volleyball?"

"Oh yes!" Atsuhiko yells out happily agreeing with his twin, his dismay for his mother's earlier disapproval flying out the window as he looks at you with hope in his eyes, "Volleyball is so cool! Can we mommy?"

Almost instantly, a lump formed in the back of your throat at the mention of the mere sport, a reminder. It wasn't as if you were against the sport, but what caught you off guard was the interests your boys clearly showed. How ironic.

As you raised the two, whether at times you were alone or had help, you often pushed the twins away from certain reminders of your past. What was that? Anything that reminded you of your past in Hyōgo was pushed aside. It was rather petty, you knew that yourself but as the twin boys grew throughout the years, it didn't get unnoticed how their features screamed of the one and only Miya Atsumu. Well, you expected that—he is the father of your twin boys, but you silently prayed during your pregnancy and as you raised them that their features would come from your side of the family instead of his.

But of course, somehow you've upset the Gods for your pettiness. This was your consequence. A daily reminder. There's no denying of your love for your boys. They were your life and you wouldn't change anything because then they wouldn't exist. However, you've grown hateful of your past as years gone by. Your hatred for the awful memories had made it more difficult to forget.

You expected the interest in volleyball before they even mentioned it to you today. The clues in their shared room were enough for you to pick up that they were most likely to take after their father in a sense, not that they know of such.

Earlier, about two years prior when they first started in kindergarten, it was inevitable for such to talk about your families, you remember experiencing such back then despite it being foggy. They returned home, despite being young, they were smart for their age and bombarded you with questions without holding back; wondering about who was their father and where he was, or if Uncle Reiji or Uncle Shizuma were their fathers. Back then, you couldn't bring yourself to tell them the truth or even utter a single word about the man missing in their lives.

You experienced a whole week of silent treatment from your two boys because you refused to answer, their stubbornness hard as a rock. You refuse to answer their questions? Well, they, of course, fight back by refusing to talk to you. Oh, children, right? Of course, Reiji and Shizuma were a big help because to the twins, the two of your friends were practically the only father figures that they had. Since Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro refused to utter a word to you, they tried their best to talk to the twins, avoiding certain parts that they were too young to know about, and explained that when they grew up and they were ready to know, you would eventually let them know.

Bless the heavens because, after that, your two boys returned to their loving yet sneaky nature, never asking or mentioning about their father again. However, the majority of the conversations about their father were kept in secret between the two. Atsuhiro wanting to know more while Atsuhiko pushing the idea away, but not wanting to upset his brother, he keeps his dismay of their missing father from Atsuhiro, who grew more eager to find his father as years go by.

"What's with all the excitement at such an early hour? You two always have so much energy. What's this I hear about wanting to play volleyball?" Shizuma saves you from answering and you share a silent communication to send your gratitude for the interference.

Atsuhiro breaks out into a grin at the sight of his favourite uncle and immediately approaches him, "Uncle 'zuma, do you know how to play volleyball? Can you teach me and Hiko? Please?"

Shizuma chuckles in response, ruffling the little boy's messy locks, "I'm not that good but if you and your brother are serious about wanting to learn volleyball, I know a friend that may be of help."

"You do?" Atsuhiko asks, excitement in his voice.

You repeat, arching a brow in curiosity, "You do?"

"Well he's more of Asuma's friend than mine but we're good acquaintances," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders, "I'll see what I can do for my two favourite nephews."

"Yes!" The twins exclaim happily at the same time before running towards each other to share their routine handshake.

"Now that's settled," Reiji starts, clapping his hands together to grab the attention from everyone in the room, "Aren't you two supposed to be getting ready for your day with Grandpapa and Grandmama Suwa? You wouldn't want to keep those two waiting, I heard they have a really big day planned ahead for the two of you."

Ah, Grandpapa and Grandmama Suwa. Reiji's parents, and well—your substitute parents and the twins' substitute grandparents. Despite not being biologically related, they treated the three of you like a real family. They helped you throughout your pregnancy and at the same time raising your two boys. They did what any grandparent would do, discipline and spoil them. You wouldn't change it for the world. The love they had for your boys was overwhelming, and Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro completely adored their substitute grandparents just the same.

Atsuhiro releases a gasp from his lips at the realization of the big day, he had been excited, to say the least, rushing to get prepared whilst Atsuhiko frowns and stays rooted in where he stood, "But today's Uncle Asuma's birthday! I want to go too!"

"No can do, kiddo." Shizuma shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest; an indication the twins are familiar with that meant it was not up for any negotiation. "You know this party isn't for little boys, your Uncle Asuma already told you this, but he promised to take both of you out tomorrow to make up for it. You and Hiro can celebrate his birthday tomorrow, I promise."

Atsuhiko releases a dramatic sigh, throwing his little hands in the air as he stomps his way to get ready, knowing that if he were to argue, he would inevitably lose. Oh well, he thought to himself, Grandpapa and Grandmama are the best anyway.

"I don't know how you do it, 'zuma." You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Those two have become spoiled to the core because of all of us, yet when it comes to you and their Grandpapa Riku, they suddenly become little angelic-slash-monsters who obey every command."

Shizuma lets a grin spread on his lips, "Some things can't be taught. Anyway, I'll get going. I have to help prep Asuma's party. I'll see you guys there."

"I'll get going too," Reiji declares as he stands up from his seat, "Don't back out of the party, I'll drag you there if I have to, I swear."

You roll your eyes at them, more so at Reiji than Shizuma, shooing them with your hands as you follow them to the front door, "Yeah, whatever. I'll be there. Stop worrying."

Dropping the twins at the Suwa Residence after eating lunch together was often smooth sailing as the twins always adored spending the day with their substitute grandparents. However, Atsuhiko expressed his dismay of being left behind once again insisting of wanting to attend his Uncle Asuma's birthday party, you had to pry his hands away from his grip on your leg. Thankfully, you had help from his Grandpapa Riku, and after waving goodbye to a smiling Atsuhiro and a scowling Atsuhiko, you were off to get a few errands done before heading to Asuma's apartment to celebrate his birthday, taking your sweet time to avoid your favourite, yet rowdy bunch of friends, only because they probably wanted you to help them set up the party, which you didn't want to take part in.

Honestly, you could have chosen otherwise but decided against skipping the errands that would most probably pile up despite the break Galaxy Standard was having. Plus, you may or may not have, forgotten to get a gift for Asuma and if you showed up empty-handed, well, you weren't going to hear the end of it.

Hours went by as you got through your list of errands, you were left with messages and certain phone calls that you ignored throughout the day, you were finally able to buy a suitable gift for your friend. All there was left to do was show up to the party that was apparently already in full swing. Thankfully, your friend's lavish apartment was around the corner.

You waited for the traffic lights to signal the safe journey across the busy streets, your grip on the neatly wrapped gift on one hand slightly tightening against you as you shiver from Japan's cool winter breeze bustling through the air, something you're still obviously not very fond of. For as long as you can remember, you hated the cold. It was a bitter reminder of the times you were utterly alone. You always preferred the warm temperature, whether it was from a fireplace or someone else, it kept you from going numb, made to remind you of reality.

The sound of your phone ringing startles you from your thoughts and you pull the device from one of your pockets, Reiji's name flashing across the screen. You grumble to yourself of his impatience before answering the call, bringing the device up to press against your ear. Before you could utter a word, he beats you to it in a demanding tone, "Where are you? You're late."

"Hold your horses, Rei." You answer in irritation as you look up ahead to check the traffic lights that still had the signal to stay where you were, "I'm almost there. Be patient." However, you couldn't process the words Reiji muttered next from the other line. Someone calling out your name catching your attention, your eyes widening slightly at the realization of who it was. Immediately, you cut off Reiji's rambling from the other line and ended the call, slipping the phone back into your pocket as you feel your shoulder tense at his presence standing next to you. "Osamu."

"So it is you," he blinks in disbelief, his eyes drinking your features bit by bit to check if he was dreaming or not, "You look different, I barely recognized you if it weren't for your voice, but it really is you."

You nod stiffly, "I suppose I would since it has been six years and all. What are you doing all the way here in Kanagawa?"

Suddenly, a memory flashes across your mind. A memory of earlier in your apartment, Shizuma mentioning a friend who knew how to play volleyball. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Ah, I'm actually checking a few spots around here for my business," he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "So Kanagawa, huh? This is where you've been hiding all this time?"

Your lips press into a thin line, feeling uneasy under his gaze. Of course, you would, you're practically hiding a really big secret. "I'm sorry, I don't have time to chat. I have plans and my friends are already egging me on for being late."

The traffic lights save you from a painful conversation, signalling that it was safe to cross but before you could take a step away, you feel him grasp onto your shoulder to pull you back. You turned your head to face him, ready to fight him off but you halted your actions at the sign of sadness his features displayed. You took the time to examine his features, your heart practically leaping as you were able to take in everything unlike seconds ago where you were purposely trying to leave. Of course, back then when you were friends, you considered Osamu as handsome. I mean, why wouldn't you? You were practically in love with his twin brother who you found extremely handsome at the time. However, that wasn't what ran through your mind. You began thinking that Atsumu probably looked just as good, and suddenly you felt a shitload of bricks slamming right down on your shoulders, the feeling of panic surging through your veins, wondering if Atsumu was around too that you failed to notice Osamu pull out a small card from his wallet, holding it out for you to take. He seemed to read your thoughts as he spoke to reassure you, "Don't worry. He's not here, but..." He trails off, looking at you with hope in his eyes, "take this, it has my number on it. When you're ready, I'm here to listen. I always have been. I want to know what you've been up to. I want to catch up."

At Osamu's reassurance, you feel your shoulders slowly relax as you take the card from him, your eyes scanning the printed numbers and words, Ongiri Miya, making you realize that he hadn't pursued Volleyball like his twin often rambled on. You flicker your gaze up to meet his once more and he gives you a small smile. You slowly nod as you slip the card into one of your back pockets, "I have to go."

He watches you leave, the smile he had instantly morphed into a frown as he watches you walk away once more and eventually disappear from his line of sight. He silently prayed that you would contact him when you could, wanting to reconnect with you after all these years, to know why you left. He promises to himself that when you do decide to reach out, that you wouldn't mention anything to his idiot brother.

He noted the shift of your body, how your shoulders relaxed at the mention of someone not being around, he knew that you had thought about his brother. And it only confirmed his suspicion of you leaving because of what his brother had done six years ago, the last day people saw you in Hyōgo. However, something still was missing, he still craved an answer. You couldn't have left just because of Atsumu's actions. So what was it?

Either way, he was determined to find out. You may have not known it then, but Osamu cared about you a lot. However, due to you being blinded by his twin brother's light, you failed to notice. He wasn't going to let you go this time, he'll find a way to get you back in his life. His phone blares his ringtone, snapping him out of his thoughts. As he brings his phone up, he grumbles underneath his breath at the sight of his brother's incoming call. Speak of the devil.

"What is it?"

He hears his brother whine from the other line, "Can't I just call my brother once in a while?"

"You only ever do that when you're in trouble or need something," he retorts with a roll of his eyes.

Atsumu laughs in response, "How'd the shop searching go? Anything interesting so far? When you coming back?"

"Hold up, what's with the questions?" He laughs at the sound of his brother's enthusiasm. It's true, they often disagreed with each other but when it came to supporting each other's passion, they were always there for the other. He shifts his gaze over to where you stood moments ago, a smile ghosting his lips at the memory of the brief conversation the two of you shared. "Yeah, maybe something interesting here in Kanagawa after all." He listens to his brother speak excitedly over the phone causing him to shake his head at the ridiculous tone. "Oh? He's here? Maybe I can hit him up..."

After the encounter with Osamu, you practically quickened your pace to Asuma's apartment, your heart beating erratically. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until you were gasping for air. Luckily, the majority of Asuma's guests were preoccupied that they hadn't noticed your entrance. You were sure you looked embarrassing looking extremely flustered.

You hear your name being called and as soon as you caught your breath, you notice Shizuma calling you over, Asuma and Reiji along with someone you seem to recognize but can’t seem place in your mind. Walking over, your lips curl up to a small smile as you extend your arm to hand over Asuma's gift, "Happy Birthday, 'suma. Here's my gift."

Asuma's eyes instantly light up, retrieving the gift from you, "I was going to get mad at you for being late but since you have a gift for me, I'll let it slide. Did the boys pick this for me?"

"Gee, aren't I lucky." You drawl sarcastically, a laugh being shared within the group as you shake your head, "No, you think those two would let me give them your gift? They said they'll give it to you tomorrow when you take them out. Hiko was upset when I left him with his Grandpapa Riku, though. He had this cute little scowl." Your three friends laugh, imagining their nephew in their heads. You flicker your attention over to the person who was watching you interact with the others with amusement, you smile at him politely. "I'm sorry. How rude of me."

"Oh, right!" Shizuma speaks as soon as your name slips out of your mouth to introduce yourself, holding out your hand for a shake which he grabs, "This is the friend I was talking about that can teach the boys volleyball."

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" He starts with a grin as he shakes your hand firmly, his enthusiasm infectious. Releasing his grip on your hand, he sends a little wave, "Bokuto Koutarou I'm a friend of Asuma's. Shizuma here was just telling me about your boys and how they were interested in volleyball and I wouldn't mind helping them out."

Asuma adds, "He's a professional volleyball player for Japan's V.League in Division 1. MSBY Black Jackals was it?"

You watch as the man who you thought kind of resembled a horned owl nod his head towards Asuma's direction, something about him oddly familiar. You hum along, eyes widening slightly at the information. "Professional? Wow, colour me impressed. Wouldn't you be too busy to train two six-year-olds, then?"

"I'll speak for everyone who knows her two boys that they're absolute devils," Reiji chuckles with a shake of his head, "Fast learners though. We'd teach them how to run like in Stride if we could but their mother over here refuses."

You scoff, "Because that sport can be dangerous!"

"Stride, huh?" Bokuto butts in, interested. "But yes, I have some time to teach. I'm sure they'll be okay. I owe Asuma anyway. I don't mind."

The corners of your mouth twitch to an unsure smile. You didn't know if you were going to go through with this if you were honest, but it isn't exactly something you can reject as your three other friends were present, and they would do anything for their favourite set of twins, spoiled rotten those two were.

"Don't worry," Shizuma claims, nudging you with his elbow as he gives you a reassuring smile, "They'll be in good hands, one of us will find the time to attend their little training. We're not as busy lately due to our little holiday anyway."

You hum softly as you continue to examine Bokuto under your gaze before something in your mind clicks, eyes widening ever so slightly. “I think I know you! Weren’t you at the Christmas Party last year that Reiji held?”

He nods with a grin, “I was actually. Asuma invited me and I went along with a couple of friends. Funny how we’ve crossed paths before and yet we’re only meeting now, ay?”

“Ah, yeah. I think I remember now, sort of.” you laugh, nodding your head in agreement, “That party was crazy anyway. I don’t think anyone wants to remember that crazy night. Especially Reiji.”

The man mentioned scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s why whenever I plan parties it’s never at my place anymore.” He shudders at the memory, “Drunk bastards doing the nasty at my place. And that model’s awful moaning could be heard even when the music was blasting.”

You scrunch up your face in disgust, “Thankfully I left early then,”

An awkward laugh escapes Bokuto’s lips as he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “Yeah about that...”

“That was you?” you and Asuma let out a gasp, eyes widening while Shizuma bursts out laughing. Reiji on the other hand, obviously not amused at the information.

“Dude, what the heck!” Reiji exclaims, brows furrowing, “The least you could have done was choose a guest bedroom rather than on my own bed!”

“Oy!” he laughs, holding his hands out, “I didn’t say it was me. I was just saying I know who it was. It was one of my friends, but I’d rather not say who.”

Asuma joins his older brother Shizuma in laughing at the side while you try your best to calm down Reiji by tugging on his arm. “Anyway, Bokuto. I think we should talk about the schedule of your training with my boys. I’m sure they’ll be excited when they find out someone will be training them volleyball.”

Somehow, a part of you was screaming at you, telling you that this wasn't going to end well. Of course, you didn't realize at the time that you would come to regret such a decision, not like you had any say against it either. Your little boys were spoiled rotten and often got their way whether through innocent means or their sneaky tactics. It didn't help that their group of uncles were wrapped around their little fingers.

Ah, yes. You hadn't realized it yet, but it was the start of a roller coaster ride.

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu imagine #atsumu imagines #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #atsumu miya x reader #miya x reader #miya imagine #miya imagines

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calpops · 4 years

Text

seven months | c.h.

Seven months of pregnancy leave you and Calum with a world of love, happiness, trials and tribulations and brings an anticipated yet completely unexpected moment.

1.8k words

dates with cal masterlist

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The positive test result is confirmed and you and Calum feel like you’re floating. The first week of knowing that your family is growing comes with bliss. You can’t help but smile every time you see each other, Calum can’t keep his hands from settling around your waist or delicately resting on your stomach. Duke develops a newfound interest and need to be with you; his senses turning his protectiveness into overdrive. The first week blows by, little red slashes on the calendar keeping count of all the days it will take to greet the newest member of the family.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Calum says, standing in the kitchen where he cooks up dinner. You haven’t quite developed any crazy cravings yet but it doesn’t stop him from making anything you desire.

“Her?” You ask with an arched eyebrow and smirk.

“Just a guess,” he says with a shrug and smile then adds on, “the right one.”

“I don’t know, love, I think my money’s on a boy,” you reply and let your hand settle on your stomach. As much as Calum’s made it a habit you’ve done so tenfold. You’re not showing yet but the habit comes from comfort.

“You wanna make a bet?” Calum asks, stalling his cooking to eye you. You shift in the stool you’re sat on and question him with a look. “A girl and I win. A boy and you win.”

“What do you propose we win?” you question.

Calum lets out a breath, turns off the stove and moves the pan from the hot burner before rounding the counter to be by your side. He slides his hands around you, holds you, kisses your forehead and smiles. “Bragging rights. And first choice at names,” he proposes and piques your interest. He knows you have a list of names that have swirled through your mind since you got serious together. You have a feeling even if he wins he’ll still consider what you want and you know you’d do the same for him. It’s all in good fun.

“Alright, deal, but we won’t know for a while,” you remind him and seal the deal with a kiss.

More days pass and the complications of pregnancy start to kick in. Cravings and sickness, fatigue and changes plague you. Calum is there for you through it all. He offers comfort and support, takes as much time as he can to be with you, cater to your every whim and need. Though there are challenges both of you stay optimistic and anxious, nearly unable to wait for the day you get to hold the product of love in your arms. You often find yourself speaking of it all, making plans. You’ve yet to tell anyone but Calum’s parents and sister about the pregnancy, opting to keep it to yourselves until enough time has passed that risk margins slim and complications start to fade.

“We should probably tell the guys, at least,” Calum mumbles one night. You lay on your side and gaze at him under thin streams of moonlight coming in through the slats of the blinds.

“Yeah,” you agree, knowing they’re family and should know soon.

“I can tell them at the studio tomorrow,” Calum offers and you watch his eyes shoot up to the ceiling. “Unless you want to be there when they find out.”

You nod. “Oh I think I have to be. Luke did walk me down the aisle,” you remind with a slight giggle and light up when Calum laughs too.

“Stop by for lunch and we’ll tell them together?” Calum offers and you nod, making the plan and looking forward to the reactions to come.

The next day you show up to the studio where Calum greets you with lunch, a smile and a kiss to the cheek. He holds your hand up to where the rest of the band convenes with a shroud of take out boxes around them. You go in without a game plan in place to break the news but feel that might be best, you want telling them to come naturally. You’ve started to show just a touch but it’s easy enough to o disguise with Calum’s hoodie. None of the boys are the wiser or suspect anything when you walk in with Calum.

You get halfway through your meal, making small talk and trading banter, filling the guys in on marital life and the happiness you share when Ashton eyes your odd combo of food and makes a quip.

“I’d say it’s the pregnancy cravings but I’ve always liked this, actually,” you reply without thought and only realize what you’ve said when Ashton laughs but Michael and Calum stay silent and then Ashton falls into the quiet as well.

“Wait, what?” Ashton asks and stands as if the news is so striking he’s not sure what to do with himself. Neither you or Calum respond, the lack of game plan not readying you for the varying responses of shock. “Shut up, are you really pregnant or just trying to give me chest pain?”

Calum laughs and you blush around a giggle. Michael and Luke lean forward, rapt with interest at what answer might come from you two. You start by nodding but it’s not enough for Ashton to believe you and sit back down. He waits for words, waits for Calum to also confirm and when the chorus of confirmation and explanation falls from the two of you he breaks into a grin and finally joins Luke and Michael back on the sofa.

“I really didn’t think Calum would be the first,” Michael muses, hands folded together under his chin, you can see the happiness in his eyes and the unrelenting tilt of his lips.

“The first to have a kid?” Calum asks and throws his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer.

“The first to find love, get married, have a kid, all of it,” Michael clarifies with fondness in his tone. “I’m happy for you,” he adds on and flickers his eyes from Calum to you, making it known he means both of you.

Luke joins in on the sentiment and congratulations, pulls you into a hug and promises he’ll be there whenever you need him, also mentions that he’s already vying for the position of favorite uncle.

“Does anyone else know?” Luke asks after.

“Just my parents and Mali,” Calum answers. “We want to keep it as private as possible for as long as possible.”

You and Calum are no strangers to privacy in your relationship. You’d kept your entire relationship a secret from the public for over a year before an accidental slip of paparazzi outed you, hate swirled and Calum took a stand to tell the world he loves you. Since then you’ve gone back under the radar, preferring to keep to yourselves. Keeping your pregnancy quiet feels only natural. You know there will come a time when it can’t be hidden, but in the meantime you’re going to enjoy every last minute of privacy and solace that you can.

You slowly break the news to other close friends as the weeks go on. It’s over dinner that Calum broaches the subject of making a public announcement. You know it’s time, you’re showing and the probability of being spotted and found out increases day by day. You nod in agreement at his words, how carefully he’s thought it through and what steps he wants to take to do it. A simple instagram post, a simple caption and the comments turned off. You agree and watch over Calum’s shoulder while he scrolls through near endless photos of you, you and him, all of the baby items you’ve obtained over the five months of the pregnancy. He finally decides on a simple photo of his hands on your bump and captions it with your due date and a heart. He posts it so the world knows but you keep your world inside the walls of your home and the love between the two of you.

You spend the next couple of months in an excited bliss. All of your appointments and classes go well. You both decide to be surprised by the gender, still waiting on your bet, still biding time on choosing a name. Calum always says you’ll know when you finally meet her—sticking to his guns about your baby being a daughter. You’ve bought almost everything for the nursery but have yet to get them all put together. The boxes leave a reminder of excitement and fondness in you every time you pass by the door. Habits begin to form as you get ready for the baby to come. Calum sings to your bump, talks to you and the baby, cradles you and speaks of the future so often and vividly you can nearly see it. Everything builds hope in your heart.

***

Calum’s at the studio late one night, texting you, promising you he’s trying to get home as soon as he can when the first sign occurs. Immediately and instinctively you know. You fumble with your phone and dial Calum’s number. It rings only once before he answers and you cut off his greeting.

“It’s happening,” you breathe out.

“Sweetheart, you’re barely seven months, are you sure it’s not Braxton-Hicks?” Calum asks, automatically knowing what you mean, concern is in his tone but the drone of background noise over the phone cuts through.

You nod, tears in your eyes, knowing he can’t see you and then manage to get out a cracked ‘yes’. It suddenly feels like the world you’ve been living in is moving too fast. It’s happening too soon and instead of an anticipated and joyous occasion you’re bombarded by a time unexpected and only worries following. You know complications exist with premature birth and they rattle through your brain and instill fear into you when all you want to be feeling is happiness.

Calum doesn’t hesitate when he knows you’re certain. “Mali’s closer, she’ll bring you to the hospital and I’ll meet you, okay? Ash will call her, just breathe, it’s gonna be okay.”

You want to believe him, have always been able to put your faith into his words. But this is out of his control.

“I’m scared,” you confide, voice small and shaking with the two words.

“Stay on the phone with me. I’m right here,” he soothes. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeats and now you wonder if it’s for you or to convince himself, knowing that realizations of the situation have caught up with him. Noting the tiniest hint of fear in his voice.

You hold onto his words, the sentiment, the sound of his voice as he tries calming you. He stays on the phone with you as Mali shows up, through the car rides that separate you and only hangs up when he sees you being wheeled into the check in desk. He strides for you, takes your hand in his and repeats words that have become a mantra.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

You try to believe him as your world spins on and you’re powerless to the future. You don’t let go of his hand or his hope.

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reincarnated70sbaby · 3 years

Text

maritime madness

led zeppelin x reader

warnings: swearing, drug use

an: so I was sailing yesterday and I was thinking about this the entire time I might have nearly capsized the boat

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this” I spoke, staring out at the large blue yacht that rested on the waters of Normandy. It all started the day before, when we were all throwing around tripped out ideas in our hotel room.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” Jimmy asked. I sat by his side, my head resting on his bony shoulder. My dose of LSD had just kicked it, and as it was my first time it probably hit me quicker than the others. I tried to speak, but it felt like every time I moved my mouth, it felt like I would stretch my mouth out of shape, like putty.

“Let’s go explore that cathedral, the big massive one, y’know? The one with the hunchback. Maybe we could bump into him or something”

As soon as the words left Robert’s lips, our entire entourage burst out in giggles. I myself, was having hard time controlling my breathing. I had to rest my head in Jimmy’s lap, Jimmy being doubled down over me clutching his stomach.

“Percy, you dumb fucker, y-you know that’s not a real story” Jonesy informed, all his words all broken up by loud chuckles.

Roberts jaw immediately dropped open in shock, along with his eyes widening and brown trashing in confusion.

“Nah, yeah it was, the uh, the hunchman did the um, bells. Yeah, the bells”

“No he didn’t, because he never existed you nonce. It’s a fairytale from the 19th century” Jimmy piped in, adding his extensive knowledge of mythology and folklore into the conversation.

“But me ma said he existed, you’re gonna say my mum lied to me all those years?”

“Well obviously Perce, it’s just a bedtime story” Jonesy added, still chuckling to himself at Robert’s gullible nature.

“Fine then, someone else give an idea since all of mine always get ridiculed” Robert stated, crossing his arms and craning his head back against the footboard of the bed and staring at the ceiling in a huff.

“How about Père Lachaise?”

“What the actual fuck is pear la chair Pagey?” Bonzo asked, pronouncing the words all wrong in his thick Englishman accent.

“It’s Père Lachaise” Jimmy corrected in a perfect French accent, “and it’s a graveyard in Paris, loads of famous people are buried there - Oscar Wilde, Frederic Chopin, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf”

“Jimmy you must be as mad as Morrison to think we would waste our day off in a fucking dead person museum. Jesus Christ how did we pick you up” Bonzo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, what about Mont Saint-Michel? It’s this cool island off of the coast. There’s a bridge but once the tide comes in you can’t get in or out. Wouldn’t that be good craic eh?” Jonesy suggested

“No” Bonzo, Jimmy and Robert all said at the same time.

“Ah! You’ve been outnumbered Mr Jones haha. Maybe you and I could go out another time Jonny boy, we could go exploring and see the spirits trapped on the island” I said with a chuckle, the psychedelic in my system making this whole situation very funny.

“Jesus Christ what the fuck did she even say. That her first time on acid?” Robert asked to Jimmy.

“Must’ve been, it hit her pretty quickly” Jimmy replied, staring into my largely dilated pupils. He swore he could’ve seen something dancing in my pupils, but maybe that was just the drug in him.

We all sat in silence for a couple minutes, all of us enjoying our high.

“Innnnnnnnnnnnnnn fourteen hundred ninety two, Columbus sailed the ocean blueeee” I sang, the lyrics being the only words of a song I could think of to fill the silence. A beat of silence passed and I wondered if everybody suddenly passed out, either into sleep or another dimension.

As I started the next line, everyone else joined in with me. We eventually finished the entire song, even an encore requested by the boys. I sung the encore in a horrendous, deep operatic voice while prancing round the hotel room. A round of applause sounded, and I took my theatrical bows in front of my supportive crowd.

“That’s It! I know what we can do tomorrow. God that is a good idea!” Bonzo declared, jumping up to his feet, not before nearly tumbling backwards.

“Go on then Bonz, don’t leave us guessing mate” Jonesy suggested, breaking the dramatic silence that had ensued.

“Rent a yacht! We can go out early in the morning and stay overnight since our flight back home is in the evening anyway! All we need to do is hire a skipper or something”

We all were stoked at idea of having a private boat to ourselves. Sure, none of the boys were experienced sailors, but that’s what a professional skipper was for, driving rich people around in yachts right?

“Do we really have to do this” I said, making our way through the marina to our yacht.

“The skipper will probably dive off the boat when we get started tonight” Jonesy commented, sharing my lack of enthusiasm for the maritime adventure. “We should have ditched them and gone to Mont Saint-Michel”. I only hummed in response, dragging my overnight suitcase over the gaps in the planks of wood on the dock.

“Um yeah, about that skipper. We couldn’t exactly book one on such short notice” Cole confessed.

“What the actual fuck Cole? Are we just supposed to sail ourselves and drown? I can’t tie a knot to save my bloody life” Robert shrieked. We all stopped in our tracks and turned to the tour manager, glaring at him through our sunglasses.

“Of course not Percy, why would we do that to our cash cows hm? And this is a motorboat, no ropes involved. It’s basically like driving a car. In water. In fact, all you need to drive it is a drivers license, which I’m positive you all have judging by your expansive car choices. Forgot to mention that myself and Peter have opted out” With that note, Cole dropped the yacht keys into Bonzo’s hand and scuttled away.

We all stood there, bags in hand, confusion over our faces as we watched Cole’s figure disappear behind the hundred of other boats.

“Well shit” Jonesy said, the sourness in his voice barely hidden.

“Let’s just go check it out, we don’t even have to leave the marina if we can drive it, we’ll just park out all night” Bonzo affirmed, being unusually optimistic.

We all found the boat and as the boys started embarking aboard, I thought out loud.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”

“Cmon darling, let’s just see what it’s like. If you hate it we’ll do something else” Jimmy compromised, outstretching his hand to me.

The boat bobbed a bit on the water as I stepped on.

“It’s not hating it I’m worried about, I was practically raised on a boat Jim, I’m just not sure 4 rockstars and a boat is a great combination”

“It’s okay we won’t go too hard, at least one of us won’t, I guess. Anyway, you were raised on a boat? Like a houseboat or something?”

“No, my dad was a skipper. Whenever he was home from trips, he would teach my and my siblings to sail. Y’know the whole nine yards, all the different knots, pulling in the ropes, steering, navigating charts. It’s just been a while since I’ve been on one and I hope I can remember everything”

“Gosh you are fabulous, my dear, I learn something new about you everyday” Jimmy said, pulling me in for a kiss. There was a loud bang of the engine, which we both jumped apart at.

“What the fuck are they at now, Christ” Jimmy sighed.

“Here, go set down our stuff in the biggest room, I’ll go see what they’re messing with”

We both parted, Jimmy heading downstairs, myself climbing onto the helm.

“Oi, Bonz, Percy, step away from the wheel until I get us out of this parking lot” I commanded. Both Robert and Bonzo looked at me funny, before slowly raising their arms and stepping away.

“And you know better?” Bonzo asked, still not sure where my bossiness came from.

“I think I do, unless you have your skipper license on hand?”

“Wait, you have a sailing license?” Robert interjected.

“I actually don’t, but I know everything you need to not drown. My father was a sailor and he taught me how to run a boat. Thank god we have a motorboat, as we might’ve been a little trouble if we have a proper sailing yacht. If we were, it wouldn’t have been as relaxing as simply steering a wheel” I answered, switching the engine on.

We warmed up the engine for a couple minutes, then casted off and finally escaped the madness of the marina. Soon were out on the French coastline. We continued sailing perpendicular to the coast, not wanting to stray too far. All the boys took turns steering, with Jonesy being the best skipper in-training out of all of them. Only once had we had anchored the boat again was the real party going to start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if only sailing was this easy in reality 😒

anyway I’m gonna do a spicier part 2 riiight now😎

leave any comments/ideas down below!!!!

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tag list : @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @princesspagey @dreamersdrowse

#led zeppelin #led zeppelin x reader #jimmy page #john bonham #john paul jones #robert plant

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [15]

Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 15.5 OR Chapter 16

➜ Words: 3.4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

The white noise rings your ears. It’s cramped — your legs are aching and you try to shift your other butt cheek off to alleviate the soreness of your bottom. There’s a baby crying a few rows away, the lavatory doors opening and closing, and not to mention, the constant whirring of the plane engine. You look over to your left. The bitch Jeon Jungkook stole the window seat and now he’s oblivious to your suffering. His doe eyes are pinpointed on the small screen in front of him, headphones in, watching some kind of action movie. Your eyes stray to the screen for a second, but the flashing gets too much and you shut your lids. You should’ve gotten one of those neck pillows to rest in, even if they were grossly overpriced at the airport. But there’s no other choice. You put your elbow on the armrest, palm trying to hold up your heavy head and support the weight. As you doze off, your head bobs painfully. You lean back again, trying to find a spot, but to no avail. You nod off again and your neck nearly snaps. Jungkook suddenly takes off his headphones. “Hey. You can use my shoulder, you know.” “It’s fine,” you mumble, waving him off. He stares at you for a second and then goes back to watching. Though out of the corner of his eye a few minutes later, he notices your head lolling down, neck snapping again. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Tch.” And Jungkook guides your head gently to his shoulder. Then, he flops his head on top of yours to keep it in place. Your breathing eventually steadies and he smiles, returning to his movie. // It’s a relief when you finally touch down and after several minutes, you’re finally able to grab your luggage and shuffle off the aircraft after hours of sitting there. Every bone in your body aches from the stiff seat, but you begin to feel a lot better when you step out of the airport. The balmy weather hits you, the warm temperature embracing your being. You inhale the fresh air, able to see the blue ocean hugging the horizon, shimmering in the bright sunlight. “Welcome to Tahiti, kids!” Namjoon looks over at the scenery with an equally satisfied expression as his wife. “Taxi ride is only six minutes away.” “How was the flight for you two?” Sejeong asks. “Not bad,” you answer, stepping on Jungkook’s foot when he mumbles something about his shoulder being sore and he laughs at your feigned ignorance. The car drives all four of you to the resort and once you arrive, you’re overwhelmed by the warm welcome the people greet you with. The place is called the Intercontinental Tahiti Resort and Spa and it’s especially fancy for what you’re usually used to. The lobby is grand, white pillars and high ceilings, bustling with tourists. There are people walking back and forth, flowers in their hair and around their necks, women’s dresses flowing, kids running about. The scent of the salted ocean fills your senses as the air conditioning cools your skin. You can’t believe you’re here. “Feel free to get settled in today, you two. Take a look around and relax. We start baking tomorrow.” Sejeong hands you the confirmation forms to check yourselves in. Both her and Namjoon are staying at one of the junior suite bungalows. They apologize for only being able to book the standard room for you and Jungkook, but you’re more than thankful already considering that this was a trip all-paid for. You two are next in line at the lobby as Namjoon and Sejeong wave farewell, dragging their suitcases with them. The woman behind the desk smiles. “Hello. How can I help you today?” “We have a reservation.” “Of course. Let’s take a look here.” She scans the paper and begins typing. “And your name is Jeon Jungkook?” “That’s me.” He offers an ID and she nods, eyes skimming over it with a smile. The woman hands over the key card and a booklet set with pamphlets. “Your room is two hundred twenty three on the second floor. Breakfast and lunch is included, this is also non-refundable. Your check out time will be at eleven a.m. There’s a few packages you can take advantage of during your time here. Room service is twenty four hours. If you ever need anything, feel free to call or come down to the lobby and we’ll help you out. Enjoy your stay!” He nods slowly, but the woman looks off to the next people in line and you stop her before she can call them. “Wait. Is there….uh...my room?” You point to yourself. She looks at you and then at her monitor. “It says two people are staying in this room. The standard room, correct?” “Yes, but there’s supposed to be two rooms. One person in each, not one room.” The woman takes the papers again, shuffling all of them. She types something into her computer and then shakes her head. “My apologies, it still says there’s two people staying in one room.” “There must be some sort of mistake.” “Should I call Namjoon?” Jungkook holds up his phone, brows knitted together. “No, we shouldn’t bother them.” You don’t want to when it was clear they had plans to enjoy themselves for the rest of the day. With a sigh, you lean over the counter to the woman. “Umm...is there another room I can book?” “Let me take a look here for you.” She clicks away. You wait with bated breath and yet again with your shittiest luck, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It looks like we’re fully booked here until the end of the month.” You’re at a loss and you plead with the woman again as if it’ll somehow help. “Is there really nothing you can do?” “My apologies. There aren’t any rooms available, so there’s nothing we can do at this time. We can give you free vouchers to the lounge area if you’d like for the trouble you’ve been through.” She takes something from underneath the front desk and slides it across the counter. “We get our wine from the famous winery here in French Polynesia.” You don’t cry. Even if you want to. But you take the vouchers since it’s still better than nothing. When you’re off at the sidelines, Jungkook stands with you, suitcases by your side. “We can go talk to Sejeong and Namjoon.” “Then what? They’re fully booked.” “Then you can stay with Sejeong and I’ll stay with Namjoon.” “They’re at a bungalow, Jungkook. This is practically their second honeymoon and I don’t want to bother them.” You take a deep breath and shrug. “It’s fine. It’s whatever. We’ll just stay together.” “Are you sure?” Jungkook’s brows lift, eyeing you. “Psh. Why not? We’re friends.” You bat your hand. “And I don't have germs or cooties like you think I do, Jeon. Promise I shower every day, so you don’t have to worry about it.” The man scoffs with a small smile. “Fine by me then.” But in spite of you the both trying to convince yourselves, it’s not a fantastic situation. The room has a one king-sized bed, not two twins like you had hoped on your way up the elevator. It’s a whopping three hundred and seven square feet to share with Jungkook. One bathroom to your left as you enter, the bed taking up most of the space, a cabinet with a television and one table with two chairs. You slide the glass doors open to let in fresh air. The private terrace is small too. At any other time, you wouldn’t mind dorming with your best friend but considering the circumstances of your relationship lately, you can feel the tension in the air. It makes your palms sweaty. “This is a really nice place,” you breathe out. “Yeah.” Jungkook drops his duffle bag by the table. “There’s not even a sofa. Should we request one?” “Where would we even fit it?” “Right.” You look around. Even if Jungkook would opt to sleep on the floor, there’s no spot for him unless he wants to lay underneath the table. Or in the hallway by the bathroom door where you could potentially step on him in the middle of the night during a trip to the toilet. “We’ll make do,” you reassure. “We can sleep with our heads on opposite ends.” “What if I kick you in the middle of the night?” he asks and when your expression washes over into impassivity, he grins. “Just saying. Can’t promise I won’t….” “Fine. We’ll sleep normally. The bed is big anyway and sorry, Jeon, but your muscles aren’t as massive as you think they are.” He laughs and falls back onto the soft mattress like it’s a pile of snow and he’s trying to make a snow angel. In one second, he’s ruined the fresh sheets and wrinkled them. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Jungkook lifts his head. “What?” “You’re lying on our bed with your dirty clothes.” You approach and try to push him off to no avail. “We were just on a plane for god knows how long.” The boy grins and gets up. “God, you’re so uptight.” “No, I’m clean,” you correct, glaring. “We’re not living like pigs. Try being neat for once. Just for a week.” Jungkook sighs and as he brushes past you to the balcony, he ruffles your hair tenderly. “You’re lucky I like you.” You scoff, trying to fix your hair while watching his broad backside, how he leans on the railing to soak in the view. In the free time that you have, you get yourself cleaned up and take advantage of the bathtub for a bubble bath. You indulge as much as you can, trying to enjoy the resort before you have to start working hard on the cake. You come out wearing one of your sun dresses and Jungkook looks up from his phone. “Pretty,” he murmurs while a tiny, modest smile spreads into his cheeks. You swallow hard, trying to keep your face from heating like a furnace. “Of course. What else would you expect of me?” Jungkook laughs boyishly. “That’s true.” You didn’t expect such a genuine response. But he doesn’t pay any mind to how caught off guard you are, merely getting up from his spot and grabbing clothes from his luggage. “My turn. You better wait for me. I don’t want to walk around by myself.” “Or else what?” you taunt playfully. Jungkook’s eyes darken right before he shuts the door. “Or else I’ll tackle you.” Unfortunately for him, of all the things he was worried about, he didn’t consider the bathroom part. The moment the door closes, the scent of your shampoo and body wash surrounds him. It’s suffocating, thick in the air. He’s overwhelmed in your aroma and his pants unwillingly stir. Jungkook rolls his tongue in his cheek, frustrated by his predicament and it hasn’t even been a full hour yet. By the time he’s out of the bathroom, you're appalled. “What took you so long?! Did you take three dumps?!” “No,” he sharply answers and you don’t push when he’s surprisingly so defensive about it. “Well, let’s go before it gets too late.” You grab the vouchers and swiftly exit your room. Jungkook is decked out in a full tourist outfit — khaki shorts and a blue collared shirt. You’re in a floral print dress that would look perfect paired with your sun hat, but you’re saving the outfit for another day. The two of you walk around, taking a peek at all the facilities they offer — the spa, swimming pool, tiki bar, restaurants, gift shops, and the venue where the wedding is being set up. You run into Chungha and her fiancé too. He introduces himself while she embraces you, thanking the both of you for coming and hoping the flight went well. But the pair of them only linger briefly to talk before they’re running off to take care of other things. After grabbing a bite to eat, you and Jungkook decide to take advantage of your lounge vouchers. “Are you sure this is alcohol?” You swirl the deep liquid inside your glass. Taking a sip and smacking your lips together, you try to decipher the taste on your tongue. “Tastes more like grape juice.” Jungkook smells his own drink. “This one tastes like raspberries. They said it was alcohol though.” “Huh. It’s pretty good then.” He hums, taking another mouthful. “Would you like another, miss and sir?” The waiter comes by with a kind smile and a cloth draped over his arm like a personal butler. “You still have credit on your voucher.” You look at Jungkook who shrugs. “Might as well use it all.” “What would you recommend?” You direct your attention to the waiter. Between you and Jungkook, you both try nearly every kind of wine they offer. You muse that the woman at the front desk must’ve felt really guilty to give you such a great deal. But you don't feel so upset anymore over having to share a room with Jungkook. At least not once you’ve gotten a taste of all the berry wines, another grape, fruit wine, dried cranberry, and one licorice flavored. While you’re not a wine expert and there’s little you can comment on, aside from the fact that it’s very fruity and the acidity is high, you can tell it’s delicious. You actually forget it’s alcohol. You give the beer a chance, but it’s disgusting enough for you to give the entire thing to Jungkook. You don't keep count on how much you drink with him, but it’s enough that the waiter comes by with some glasses of water. Your words slur together. “You know what I hate?” “What?” Jungkook languidly grins, an easy smile on his features that has you feeling some kind of way. “Everything. But also small spoons. I can’t eat out of a teaspoon! Why do they think I want to eat my ice-cream or crème brûlée with a—” “Toothpick,” Jungkook finishes your sentence as laughter bubbles out his throat. Your spine straightens and you look at him in surprise. Did he read your mind? “Yeah! How’d you know?” “I think you’ve told me before.” You wonder if you’ve really spent that much time with him that he knows such a small detail, but you’re baffled at how he can recall so easily. “How’d you remember?” Jungkook shrugs and then burps. You wrinkle your nose until you hiccup too. The boy is resting his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the table. His lids are seemingly heavy, every blink slow and gradual. But he stares at you intently like you’ve got something on your face. “Do you hate me?” “Sometimes,” you answer truthfully without missing a beat. “But not really.” “You don’t hate that I like you?” He leans in closer, but you don’t mind. If anything, he’s too far for your liking. You like it when he’s close. You tap the tip of Jungkook’s nose like he often does to you. “I couldn’t hate you, hate you. You’re my best friend, silly.” “I can’t be more than that?” “I don’t know. I don’t really wanna talk about it.” “I do.” You pout, eyes straying off and then you gasp. “Look! The sun’s going down. You know what I’ve always wanted to do, Kookie? Walk on the beach to watch the sunset. We should go look!” He follows after you, but not before stopping to ask for the bill until the waiter reminds him that it was all free of charge. You and Jungkook happily hop across the resort with you leaning on his arm. “You think we’d get kicked out if they knew we were drunk?” “Why?” “Cause public intoxication. Is a resort public?” “I think so. Just don’t make it obvious.” “How do I not make it obvious?” “Maybe stop giggling and whispering to me,” Jungkook says louder than what your voices have been and laughs at your reaction. The pair of you get onto the beach, stumbling together. The sky is painted in orange and pink hues, the golden hour glowing on your skin. You can hear the sound of the waves lightly crashing against the shoreline, the spray of the salty mist in the air, the tide bubbling and fizzing away. But it’s hard to enjoy it when you’re bumbling all over the place. “Ugh! I hate the sand!” “Then why’d you wanna walk on it?” Jungkook giggles, holding onto you before you trip. “I don’t know. Cause ‘s romantic, I guess.” But at the moment, it isn’t romantic at all. There’s sand grating in between your toes, exfoliating your feet and hurting with every step you take. You swear it’s going to get in your underwear somehow. You step towards the shore where the sand is flat and softer, wet by the water and where it’s more bearable. “Woah. The water’s so blue.” Jungkook treads right up to where the tide kisses the beach. He quietly observes, watching the ocean and you come up behind him. When the timing is right, you shove the boy with all your might. “Fuc—” He shouts, loses balance and puts his weight onto his knees, kneeling in the water. You laugh hysterically, cackles coming from your stomach. You bend over, hugging your stomach. The boy stands up in dismay, shaking water from his hands. His khaki pants are completely soaked like he peed himself. “Why I oughta—” “Stop! Jungkook!” You shriek with tipsy laughter as he starts chasing after you. “I’m sorry!” “Too late!” He screams back and sprints after you as fast as he can with a dark vengeance. You obviously don’t make it far with sand flailing everywhere and his legs being longer than yours. Jungkook ends up grabbing you by the waist and pushing you into the sand. “Ha!” He starts to laugh in absolute mirth, taking pleasure in your demise as sand gets into your underwear. Now it’s going to follow you around for the rest of your life. “I just showered!” You laugh, getting up and trying to get rid of the tiny grains to no avail. “How do you think I feel?” His grin is infectious and Jungkook tries to wring out his soaked khakis. Watching him makes you giggle. “It’s fine. We can shower together afterwards. It’ll be quick and painless.” “Yeah? In your dreams, Jeon Jungkook!” “Oh, it’ll be in my dreams alright,” he teases, astounding you with his outright shamelessness. The both of you eventually calm down enough to realize you probably look crazy screaming at each other on the beach during the calm sunset. You slowly make your way back, still infected by drunken giggles that seem to be unable to stop. Jungkook tries to walk without his wet shorts sticking to his skin and you take off your sandals altogether, attempting to clap them free of sand. On your way back, however, you’re interrupted by a cute lifeguard getting off her shift. She’s a beach blonde with a beautiful tan who boldly introduces herself to Jungkook. She even shakes his hand and invites him to a beach party happening tonight, leaving the two of you utterly stunned. When she leaves, you wiggle your brows. “What was all that?” “You tell me.” You grin at him. “Are you going to go to that party?” “Nah.” Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, keeping you from losing your balance before you make it back to the hotel room. “I’d rather spend time with you.” “Psh. Sorry to say, Jeon, but I’m pretty boring.” “No, you’re not.” He looks down at you, an endeared smile gracing his features that makes you divert your vision elsewhere. You feign nonchalance. “She was cute. You should totally go for it! Get it while you’re still young. You’re not always going to attract the ladies like this, you know! Gotta take advantage of it as it comes.” Jungkook laughs in that boyish way that makes you feel funny. “Why would I need to when you’re the only person that actually matters.” You almost choke on your own spit. Jungkook laughs, lightly knocking his head against yours. “I’d rather you’d be the one to notice me.” Little does Jungkook know you do far more than notice him.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook reader insert #jungkook baking AU #jungkook baking!AU #jungkook x reader #I know this chapter is on the shorter end #but good news - they'll be another chapter posted this Friday!#from now on actually #it's just gonna be Sugar and Coffee on my blog until I knock this out of the park #so updates every Monday and Friday!!#hope y'all are excited #cause we are riding to the ultimate climax of the series

608 notes · View notes

orangegreet · 3 years

Text

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

“Through the kitchen here is the back staircase. You are to use this and the servant’s entrance at all times unless accompanied by the children, of course.” Alina nodded, following behind the red head obediently.

“Pardon, Miss Safin, but I wondered that I have not been told—when I am to meet the children?” Alina hovered by the door to the servant’s quarters.

The Housekeeper turned her large eyes on the governess, “Now you are arrived, I am sure Lord Kirigan will send for them. You will excuse us, I am sure, but when the last governess resigned, it was rather…abrupt. The children were sent to stay with their aunt in the city for a time.”

“Surely their father would not wish to be parted from them while they remain so young?” Alina chastised, sounding out her identity as the penniless orphan more clearly than if the Housekeeper had not already known her origins.

Miss Safin allowed her an indulgent smile, “Perhaps that is the case in some households.” The Housekeeper directed Alina through the corridor and into the main kitchen.

“Marie, put on the kettle, please.” Marie paused in front of the scales she was using to weigh flour and looked curiously at Alina while she filled the pot.

Miss Safin had taken a seat at the long table and gestured to Alina to sit across. “It was not made clear to you in our exchanges, Miss Starkova but a governess at Blyth Fell will be expected to carry a little bit more responsibility than in a typical London manor.”

“More than teaching the children?”

“Quite. Lord Kirigan is rather…private. Preferring to keep only a handful of servants to carry out the needs of the estate. Ivan, for instance, you met on your way in. He was acting as coachman today but that is simply because he travels with Lord Kirigan and acts as his valet as well.”

Alina’s brow furrowed. “And my responsibilities, Miss Safin?”

“We do not employ a nanny, Miss Starkova. It is expected that in addition to teaching the children, you will log a fair bit of time chaperoning them on outings or around the grounds. Putting them to bed can be a shared activity. At times, Nadia enjoys helping but it is expected, now you are arrived, you will carry out these tasks graciously—without complaint.”

“O-Of course. That will be no hardship.” Alina felt confused.

Was room and board and wages for a few extra servants too much a strain on the estate? Surely they would have alerted her before she would board a sinking ship.

The Housekeeper eyed her, seemingly guessing exactly what she was thinking and smiled. “You do display your emotions quite clearly, do you not, Miss Starkova? You should learn to remedy that around the children.” Marie set the steaming cups in front of them both.

“Thank you,” Alina said, flushing at the reprimand.

“To answer your unvoiced question, you will find that your wages are nearly triple those of a standard governess. We all carry the weight of the estate to varying degrees. As such, Lord Kirigan appreciates and compensates us for our efforts.” The Housekeeper sipped her tea.

“I wonder then at why it would be so hard to keep a governess employed, Miss Safin?” Alina asked.

The other woman did not meet her eyes.

Neither did Marie who had been listening quite openly to their conversation just a moment ago but who was now resolutely fixed on scooping flour. Her overly cautious manner was wasted as white powder puffed and rained across the counter.

*******

The Lord scowled out the window as he sipped from the crystal tumbler.

Alina Starkova.

“Miss Safin. Ensure Miss Starkova is allotted three square meals a day and that she eats them in full. Her visage is…wan, to say the least.” He squinted down at the grounds. “It is highly displeasing.”

Catching the expression on the face of his Housekeeper, he scowled, “The children will hardly be attentive to a governess who looks as though she dithers constantly on the edge of death.”

The young Housekeeper bowed her head, “Indeed, sir. I will see to it at once.”

“Have you found out yet how she has come to be educated?”

“Sir?” The Housekeeper asked.

“To be educated. Someone must have sponsored her scholarship. At the very least she would have required a recommendation to be educated in Weymouth.” The Lord turned to look at his subordinate.

She shook her head, “No, my Lord. I gave her a tour and went over the expectations of her position in the house and then she…”

“She what?” He asked, sounding far too interested in the minutiae of the lives of servants for a man of his position.

“Miss Starkova expressed an interest in gardening, sir. She left our meeting to take up the task of weeding.” His Housekeeper sounded on the verge of laughter.

“Weeding?” Bewilderment muddled his features and he looked again out the window, locating her at last in the stone-walled garden off the kitchen.

Even from the distance he could see the plain blue sleeves of her dress were drawn up to her elbows and the dark earth had stained her hands and apron.

Lord Kirigan watched her face, unsure at what he was seeing.

Was she…talking? To whom?

Why should it be his concern?

The Lord bit off his command, “Find out who took an interest in her, what patron endorsed her education. And why. Then report back to me.” He said, unable to tear his eyes away from the strange woman taking up residence in his garden.

*******

It would take two weeks for the children to return home from their stay in London and so Alina filled her time as Genya instructed. Lending a hand with the housekeeping. Readying the nursery for the children. Dusting in the library and putting away stray books.

The staff was quite short of what would typically be required for a manor of this size and yet, everything was maintained well enough.

It helped that, according to Nadia and Marie, the cook and head housemaid, Lord Kirigan had never so much as thrown a dinner party.

No extra rooms to be done up and then striped down. No extra mouths to feed. No one to impress. The Lord himself had a modest pallet, much to the chagrin of Nadia who longed to show off more skill and flare than was ever requested by a Lord who took his dinner alone in his study.

Mr. Kostyk too, whom Alina learned was an associate and business partner to the Lord of the manor. A man who lived and worked at the estate but who did not attend to normal mealtimes.

He opted instead to let whole days pass by while he worked if not for the attentive nurturing of Miss Safin who left a tin covered plate at the door of his workroom morning, noon and night. Alina had yet to see his face.

That Lord Kirigan entertained no one in a house of this size was unusual but Alina did not mind. The fewer the strangers around, the better.

The East wing was largely untouched and Alina found that several of the rooms were turned down with white sheets draped across the furniture like spirits or otherwise locked altogether.

Explorations of the grounds yielded far more interesting discoveries. Sergei was the general groundskeeper for the estate in addition to his duties at the stable and, at times, driving the coach.

Without the help of a few others to handle the work of the orchard and surrounding lands, most everything was overgrown save a small portion of the garden which was regularly tended and held Nadia’s selection of kitchen herbs and vegetables.

It would have been correct for Alina to ask Ivan, the Butler and Valet, whether she could fix up a portion of the garden for her own seeds and herbs.

However, his countenance was quite foreboding and she did not want to be denied. She pulled Miss Safin aside on the second morning to inquire the possibilities. “I’ve already begun the weeding and could finish the work before the children arrive. It will not cut into my regular duties.”

“I suppose that will not be a problem so long as you do not expect Sergei or Nadia to maintain it.”

“Of course not, Miss Safin. They are my plants and I would prefer to tend to them myself, in any case.”

The Housekeeper nodded and then put a hand on Alina’s arm to stop her hasty retreat, “What is the purpose of these herbs, exactly?”

Alina flushed, “Medicinal purposes mainly…”

The Housekeeper stared, wondering if the governess intended to expound.

Alina decidedly pressed her lips together and then blushed again.

“Very well, Alina. Carry on.”

Seeds were some of the few possessions which Alina had carried across the country on the back of her poor, departed pony. Upon her initial foray into the garden, she found that Nadia kept rosemary and thyme in plenty, which was quite pleasing.

After weeding on the first day, Alina had cleared enough of a plot to plant sage, lavender and chamomile, bee balm and catmint.

The catmint she ensured would be contained within a small stone outcrop of it’s own lest it thrive and creep over the other plants as it was wont to do.

Scouring the grounds and surrounding wilds she found elderberry bushes, wild onions and nettle. Near the wall at the back of the garden she uncovered lamb’s ear alongside some withering dill and fennel plants. She dug around in the dirt and planted a handful of garlic cloves.

It was the wrong season to start most of them but Alina sang as she planted.

Songs taught to her by her loving babulya who knew all the correct words to say to plants—and to people—to make them well. To make them thrive.

Songs and words which were foreign in this country but which were inscribed into her brain from a young age and would not be unwritten. She sang to her garlic and to her little seeds and then to the withering dill too.

When she was done she turned to the house, her eyes falling on an upper window where the afternoon sun glinted and gleamed off the panes in a merry light blur. She looked up in awe and more words fell from her lips though she did not know their purpose.

Babulya taught her to trust her instincts and so Alina spoke the healing words to the little glass window reflecting the sunlight back to her and she smiled.

A short bar of reverence was sung to Alatyr, as babulya taught her to close always with a prayer to the source of all healing in the world, and then she was done.

*******

Inside the manor, a certain Lord who kept vigil at the window of his study remained tucked in shadow, cursing the shattered crystal and spilled laudanum which littered the floor where he stood a moment ago. Where he had been looking down at the tiny, strange woman he had invited into his home.

The one who smiled up at him as if she sensed his gaze. Did she know she smiled up into the face of a monster?

Perhaps he should have had her stand alongside him while he shot her pony. That would have been a more effective message if she did not.

He would need to ask Genya if his new governess kept any other pets.

*******

The first couple weeks Alina spent nearly every afternoon and free moment nurturing and cultivating in the garden. Cataloguing the collection already growing. Pinching back buds where appropriate.

She sang to them all and despite the onset of autumn, they thrived under her attentions.

Time in the garden was a well-loved though grueling ritual. So much so that keeping her eyes open past the end of the dinner bell was a hardship.

Although, she strived to be engaging at the table for at dinner she was in the company of the other servants and after many lonely years in Weymouth, she ached for companionship.

Marie and Sergei were easy and amiable with her. Nadia was direct in her commands but enjoyable to work for when Alina assisted her and Tamar in the kitchens. Tamar herself was standoffish but gave the occasional sound of approval when Alina did something correctly.

Alexei and Maxim were sweet and boisterous, respectively. Alexei, the only real footman in the house and Maxim, appropriately assigned to tend the horses. His wild nature a natural match for the beasts in the stables. Both gentlemen spent their mealtimes keeping Alina entertained and awake over her food.

It was Misha, the shy, quiet young man, who intrigued Alina most. He ate his meals seated at the far end of the table. His one very stiff leg propped always on the chair to his left.

His responsibilities around the house were quite a mystery to her and something was present in his countenance that, while at once familiar, simultaneously kept her from feeling at ease enough to ask directly how he served the Kirigan estate.

Though Misha was silent, Alina often felt his attention peaked and was certain he was absorbing everything that was said around the table.

Ivan and Genya (for the Housekeeper granted Alina permission to call her Genya after the third day) were the most reserved. Ivan sat at the head of the table each meal, one imperious brow raised as he took in the conversations around him.

Genya smiled indulgently here and there. Occasionally offering a smooth comment which poked fun at Maxim and had the whole table smiling. Mostly she was quiet and watchful.

One eye on the calling bells in case someone was needed. Alina sensed that though she was in a position of authority, she had not found or perhaps had not desired friendship.

She whispered quietly to herself a few words for the redhead.

*******

It was a good thing for Alina that she found sleep so well at night those first couple weeks. She was not up to hear the shrieks which would undoubtedly have vexed her.

Would not recognize the distinct footsteps of someone who stopped just outside her door. Someone who pressed an ear to the wood and listened for movement inside.

These noises which would have made her question the merits of staying.

For, once she met the children, Alina knew whether they were little cherubs or miniature demons, she would be unable to part from them unless forced from the house by entities beyond her control.

Call her an orphan but abandonment just was not something she would be able to stomach.

*******

The strangest part—well no. The most troubling part then of these two weeks…

Alina absently picked at her fingers while she thought. Her face twisted with consternation as she stared into the fire in the small parlor. It was late in the evening. The first night on the estate that she had been unable to sleep.

The children would arrive tomorrow. Her little charges. Alina was excited to begin, excited to see her education put to work and make herself useful. Curious to know whether they would like her right away or whether it might take time to earn their trust. Their respect.

Their affection, perhaps.

That was not something she should care about—years spent alone in the world had hardened her against openly desiring such a gift. And yet, she could not help but feel nervous to meet their judgement all the same.

Then again, perhaps they would be like their father?

There it was at last. The circling thought which had started her on her path and seemed to loop back into her every train of thought like some inevitable cross rail. The Lord himself.

Alina had not seen the Lord of Blyth Fell directly since the carriage ride.

Glimpses of him disappearing behind a door or rounding the end of a hall could be caught—his black tails flying behind him until he was out of her sight.

She had not seen his face directly. Had not had another opportunity to inspect the dark eyes which had so plainly scrutinized her upon her arrival.

Alina had tried not to think of him. Tried not to remember him in his haughty disposition and presumption. Tried not to linger overlong on the way he had looked at her in the carriage. Frustrated, distrusting, mocking. Curious, too. Perhaps just as curious as she was now about him.

As if just dwelling on his being for too long had conjured him up, the clock struck midnight and the door behind her was open and he was there.

Alina jumped at the quiet greeting.

Lord Kirigan walked around the sofa and set his candle on the little trestle table beside the armchair. The governess moved to get to her feet, not waiting to be dismissed.

“Please, Miss Starkova, do not leave on my account.” Lord Kirigan pulled a pipe from the trestle drawer and began to fill it.

“It is not on your account.” Alina said. Her tone had an edge to it—something she could not seem to soften now he was here. Now he was bandying about with a looming authority. His very presence rattled her and she could not explain why.

“I am fatigued and wish to retire.” She cleared her throat, “Sir.”

He smirked at his pipe, glancing up at her briefly while he resumed his tamping. The infinitesimal second where his eyes caught on hers sent a tingle down her arms.

“Indulge me, please, before you go, Miss Starkova. I fear I have been derelict in my duties as your employer these last few days and I should like to know how you are getting along here at Blyth Fell.” He finished his pipe at last but did not light it.

“Very well, my Lord. Everyone has been quite gracious while I settle in. Alexei in particular has been helpful and available to explain the proper manner of things to me when Genya is not accessible.”

Lord Kirigan narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.”

The pipe popped into the crook of his mouth and he looked every bit the dark, menacing Lord from the carriage ride as he brought a flame close enough to light it. “Well then. I’m chuffed to bits to hear it.”

His tone was distinctly snide and Alina glared in response. Why must he rile her otherwise good, sensible nature?

“At your leave, my Lord. I should like to retire now, it is a big day tomorrow, after all.” Alina brushed her hands down her skirt and curtsied.

“Another moment, if you please, Miss Starkova.” Lord Kirigan puffed and blew a ring of smoke from his mouth.

Alina grew anxious, she swallowed and her voice was raw, “Yes, my Lord?”

His gaze hovered on her face. He looked curious again. Then frustrated.

“Just what is it you are up to in my gardens?” Alina jumped at the sudden harshness of his tone.

“I-I am simply planting a few things, sir.”

“What ‘things’?”

“Just..well, herbs mostly, Lord Kirigan. I spent some time in my youth learning about the medicinal properties of some herbs and flowers. I thought since…well it is something I have to offer—to contribute. And the seeds were my own, I did not use anything I should not have and Miss Safin agreed it would be fine for me to do so but if it is displeasing to you then I will—”

“You will what? Rip them all back out of the ground?” He cut off her runaway thoughts.

She was almost breathless. Beneath her own trepidation, anger was lurking and she clenched her teeth.

Would he be so cruel? A chuckle as she mourned the loss of her pony and now a demand that she un-sow the seeds to which she was so diligently tending? Rip them from the earth before they had a chance to see daylight even?

The Lord eyed her, waiting for her to response.

Alina closed her mouth, her head held high.

“With respect, my Lord, that would be a waste.”

Shock splashed across his face and the next second he was obscured by another puff of smoke.

The smoke cleared and he was smiling, his eyes bright even as he parried her statement, “Would it? Herbal medicine—sounds like little more than witchcraft to me, Miss Starkova. Witches are not well received in these parts. Particularly under this roof—or haven’t you heard the rumors?”

His gaze was sharp on her, searching her features for any sign of understanding but Alina only felt confused.

“Rumors, my Lord? No.” She shook her head and redirected her appeal, “What I would do is not witchcraft at all. Please, sir. My learning and experience has taught me quite a lot about using herbs to heal. Minor ailments mostly. Small things…”

Alina began to pick at her fingers, losing her thread, “possibly insignificant to some b-but I would like to be of service and this is a skill I have to offer.”

Kirigan watched her fingers, his own tightened over the arm of his chair as he did.

“Very well then, Miss Starkova. You may keep your little sprouts.”

Her face brightened with relief and the Lord devoured the image of her before forcing himself to return to the fire.

“To bed with you, then. The children will require tending to for the length of the day and I will expect you to put your best foot forward with them.”

“Of course, my Lord. Goodnight.” Alina said, flushing as she hurried from the little parlor.

She paused as she went to close the door behind her.

It could be called greedy, the way she raked her eyes over the esteemed Lord Kirigan. However, she could not look away as he, unaware of her stare, allowed his shoulders to loosen. Alina watched him as he pinched the bridge of his nose and then swept a broad hand down his face.

Her words from the garden bubbled up to her throat and she mouthed them to herself.

Trust the instinct, Babulya had always said, it finds and blesses only a few. Perhaps it will chose you and you will be a vessel for it’s light, Alinushka. Perhaps...

A song of reverence for Alatyr uttered under her breath as she turned away, departing for her room.

It was lucky that she had spent the better part of the evening in the little parlor, deep in the west wing of the big house.

For on this night, the shrieking from the east wing rang through the corridors of servants quarters, saturating the chilly air and Genya resolved that Alina would have to be moved into the bedroom beside the nursery.

Otherwise, she would surely leave. Someone as bright, as hopeful as she could not hope to withstand the dark secrets of Blyth Fell.

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