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piscespetals · 1 year ago

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summary: in which sevika becomes your roommate. read part two here

content: this fic is 4-5 chapters long. i'm still trying to figure out if i should condense it to 4 or keep it at five. mostly gay pinning, fluff, angst and small slivers of smut (not very good at smut writing but i'm trying)

word count: 5k

thanks for reading!

Chapter One

It all started when your best friend told you she was moving out…

You both shared a flat, and for the last near decade or so, everything had relatively been good.

Until it wasn't.

“I know it's kind of bittersweet but,” Mel shrugs, looking down at the ice cream cone in her hand. Remnants of the vanilla treat gather above her top lip. You almost say something but she licks it away with one clean swipe of her tongue. “Alicia has been talking about this for almost a year. And I think it's time we take the next step.”

Alicia is Mel’s long-term girlfriend. Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. It's a miracle that they haven't already moved in together considering how long they’ve been in each other’s lives. You should be happy for them. You really should. But a part of you keeps thinking about the upcoming renewal of the lease and the empty space that’ll fill up Mel’s side of the apartment once she leaves.

The two of you have been living together for a huge chunk of your adulthood. Honestly, the thought of returning home to Mel has been your norm for almost as long as you’ve been filing tax returns.

And now—she’s moving.

Leaving.

Just like that.

“Oh,” She croons. Her ice cream cone nearly falls as she scooches closer to you. “Don't cry.”

Your tears drip down your cheeks before trailing the slope of your jaw.

You aren’t surprised. This reaction is warranted. You aren't good at goodbyes.

Actually, no—this isn't quite a goodbye.

But it sure as hell feels just as painful.

There's not enough breathing exercises that’ll prepare you for the life transition that's doomed to happen. A chapter of your adulthood is closing right before your eyes. Mel will move out, marry Alicia, and have annoyingly cute babies. You’ll be the designated bestfriend–turned–aunt that will always feel stuck; left behind.

It will be horrible.

“Nothing will change,” Mel comforts. She tries to multitask the art of devouring her ice cream while slinging her free arm around you. Her bubbling optimism is nearly comedic compared to your wallowing spirits.

“Everything will change!” Your voice cracks, body jerking as your lungs cause you to inhale sharp uneven gasps. “You've replaced me with Alicia as your roommate. Is she asking for the best friend title too?”

“Oh god—babe,” Another lick of her ice cream. She's trying to contain her laughter. The nerve of her! “I’ll always be your best friend. You know that.” She squeezes your shoulder. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Your eyes burn more and another melodramatic wail leaves you.

The image of you–old and decrepit–in a nursing home comes to fruition. You're in the bed, smelly and miserable, while Alicia and Mel stand before you. They're old too, but far more beautiful. Far more accomplished. Less lonely. Still married. Still happy.

Oh, and their kids are probably there in the room too; asking Mel why “their Aunt hasn't been properly groomed?”

Mel is absolutely wrong.

Everything will certainly not be okay.

After a few days of sulking, you have a change of heart when Mel says, “I think I’ve found you a new roommate.”

Suddenly, the imminent doom of Mel moving out doesn’t seem so harrowing. Of course it still saddens you–she’s your best friend after all–but you’re no longer burdened with the stress of trying to find her replacement.

You and Mel butt heads about a ton of senseless things, but she never disappoints you on the most important matters.

So if she thinks that someone is suitable enough to be your roommate, then you have hope that she’s right.

“Who?” Your head snaps up as you look at her. She stands on the other side of the kitchen island, elbows leaning against the wooden countertop and chin resting in her palms. You were mopping the floor–a truly rare occurrence for you–when Mel came out of her room to announce the good news.

“You know how Alicia goes out with her teammates every now and then?”

Your memory travels to the brief conversations of Mel mentioning this in the past. Alicia used to be a college athlete during her undergrad. Apparently, she still has a budding relationship with a few of her old teammates, and likes to go to dinners with them to catch up every few months.

“Well,” Mel continues. “Her friend, Sevika, hasn’t been able to come to the dinners these last few years because she lived up north for a while. But she’s back in town. And I guess she doesn’t like the place she’s at. Apparently, it’s too close to the city. Too hectic. She’s been looking at places in our neighborhood. And when Alicia mentioned it to me, I just figured...”

You nod slowly in understanding, “Oh.”

“I mean, it’s kind of working out perfectly…rather coincidental but I just thought it would make you feel better if your next roommate wasn’t a complete stranger.”

“Do you know her well?”

“I’ve hung out with Sevika countless times before she moved away.” The brown irises of Mel’s eyes become distant; as if she’s drifting off to another time. “God, that feels like so long ago somehow... But I think you’d like her.” Her lips pull into a small smile. “She seems a bit remote at first but it’s all fun and games. I promise.”

“Okay,” You shake your head, trying to wrap your brain around it all. “And you’re sure that she’s–I mean, not that I don’t trust your word. I’m just nervous, I suppose. She isn’t like–”

“Sevika’s good people,” Mel laughs, gazing at you with understanding. “But I get it. So here’s what I was thinking… We can host a brunch and invite her over? That way you can meet her formally and get to know her. Maybe show her around the place? As much as I want this to pan out great, it’s still your decision to make at the end of the day.” She pauses a few beats, trying to gauge your reaction. “What do you think?”

Your hands fiddle with the top of the swiffer handle as you weigh your options. You had put together a more elaborate and time consuming plan prior to today; which would have consisted of flyers and roommate interviews and even Facebook posts. Of course, posting to Facebook would have been the last resort; an addition to the plan that you only added out of mere desperation. But it was a plan nonetheless.

Mel’s offer is more tempting.

“Okay,” You sigh, squeezing the handle of the swiffer. “But if this doesn’t work out, then you owe me ice cream.”

She beams, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“And not the cheap kind,” You add. “I’m talking Cold Stone.”

Mel doesn’t appear to be fazed. Instead, she turns on her heels, making her way back to her room. “I’m gonna call Alicia and let her know!” The exclamation has a song-like lilt to it; a clear indication of her delight.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting off a grin while you carry the swiffer to the trash can.

Your thumb absentmindedly plays with the stringy bracelet decorating your right wrist; a gift that Mel gave you over ten years ago when the two of you first became friends. It’s nearly falling apart now, but still a staple piece in your daily attire. You find yourself looming over the possible outcome of tonight’s gathering–for the ‘nth time–as your stomach stirs with unease.

It’s not like you haven’t been obsessively ruminating over this very evening. It’s all you’ve been able to think about ever since Mel helped you plan it last week. But despite all of the preparation, your mouth still remains dry.

You’re seated at the dining table, with Mel to your right and Alicia right across from her. Sevika faces you directly, which is a circumstance you tried to desperately avoid upon Mel’s suggestion.

“How do you guys like the food?” Mel asks. “I can proudly say that I’ve managed to keep the kitchen intact while I was preparing it.”

Alicia’s eyes twinkle when she glances at her girlfriend. “It’s good, honey. Thank you.”

A pair of alert grey irises flicker to you: Sevika’s.

The woman studies you with a gaze that is piercing and direct. She takes you in fully–something that she’s been doing all night–which makes you feel as if you’re under inspection. You can’t decide whether or not you like that about her.

“It was nice, Mel.” You reply. You wolfed down your food the minute your plate was served. So now you’re just awkwardly waiting for everyone else to finish their meal.

You usually don’t eat so quickly, but the task gave you something else to distract yourself with, rather than Sevika’s scrutiny.

But despite doing everything possible to avoid her stare, you can’t help but notice the calm and leisure way she eats her food. From what you’ve gathered, she doesn’t seem fond of mixing meals with conversation. But there’s still a pleasant way that she dines.

The oscillation of her jaw, especially with every chew, is a trait that you find particularly distracting…

“So, are you enjoying your return to town?” Mel inquires, turning to Sevika. She’s always had the talent of conversing with the least willing.

It takes a few seconds for Sevika to shift her gaze away from you.

You feel your muscles relax when she does.

“Yeah, it’s been good,” Sevika’s voice adopts an amiable timbre; a pattern you’ve picked up on every time she addresses Mel. “The traffic sucks on the east side, but that's nothing new.”

Mel hums in understanding. “Well, I think you’ll like it here.The people are quieter. Life is slower.”

That’s when Alicia takes that as her cue to wrap her arm around Sevika’s shoulder. They’re both nearly the same height, only Alicia is leaner.

“It’s good that you’re back home,” Alicia butts in. “You’re getting wrinkles. You’ve been frowning too much.”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “I’ve been perfectly fine.”

“Is that so? I heard…”

You’re ripped from their conversation when Mel wraps her fingers around your bicep. She leans into your ear, whispering, “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

You follow her without question.

It’s not until you’re grabbing the fruit salad out of the refrigerator when she says, “How are you liking her so far?”

You bite the inside of your cheek while carrying the dessert to the counter.

“I don’t know.” You try to sort through your feelings to find some sort of opinion–anything–that can help you identify your stance. But it’s to no avail. “She’s a bit intense, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Mel snickers. “I suppose.”

You glance up at her, noticing the way that she’s covering her smile with her hand. She flutters her eyelashes coyly, “But is that not a good thing? You’ve been staring at her all evening.” She continues, wiggling her eyebrow.

“Please don’t.”

“What? I’m just saying…”

“There’s nothing that needs to be said.”

“...the tension has been palpable ever since you laid eyes on her. You don’t have to make it into a bad thing, babe. You both are grown adults here.”

Your jaw is clenching when you mutter, “Well, you're off-base on this one.”

You think you hear her laugh again, but you don’t have the energy to entertain it. Instead, you turn around and march back to the dining room.

Your eyes are slightly droopy from the combination of wine and dinner that sloshes in your belly.

Under the haze of the ceiling lamps, you stand with your arms folded across your chest.

“This would be your room,” You’re mumbling. Sevika hums beside you, only a few feet away. She’s so far yet so close. Too close.

Yet not close enough.

You feel silly for thinking such thoughts.

It must be the wine.

The floorboards creak underneath her weight as she inspects the room. It has a fair amount of space in it. It’s larger than your room for sure. The connecting bathroom is smaller than yours though–a bargain that you and Mel made over a decade ago.

Sevika travels to a nearby wall, inspecting the paint job for a few seconds before peering at you.

Despite the warmth emanating from the heating system, a cool shiver runs through you.

Your voice dips with humor when you explain that, “Mel painted it a while back.”

You examine the way she pushes her tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of her nose. A vein from her right forearm flexes due to the movement.

She smiles, poised and reposeful.

“Figures,” That’s when you notice the fullness of her lips—her prominent cupid's bow, and how well they look when spread into a grin like that.

She stretches her arms above her head, back arching as she seemingly holds back a yawn. You fight the urge to do the same, eyes trailing over her physique before you can stop yourself. Sevika looks strong–really strong. Her arms are thick bands of pure muscle and her broad shoulders barely concave from the movement.

She’s wearing a long-sleeved button up, which has a toffee silk-like material. You don’t realize how low her black slacks are sitting on her hips until the hem of her shirt rises. A happy trail peaks through, as well as deeply grooved muscles.

The sight feels sacrilegious and simultaneously pious. Your eyelids are heavy, droopy, when her muscles relax and her arms fall to her sides. You draw your attention back to her face. She’s caught you, eyebrows lifted and lips pursed to the side–an attempt to mask her amusement? You don’t know. Or at least, you don’t want to.

With the sudden pounding of your heart, you gesture behind you, “I can show you the laundry room?” Your desire to escape has never felt so prominent until then.

You're beginning to realize that she makes it hard for you to breathe when you’re around her.

Laughter rings in the air between everyone–Sevika, you, Alicia and Mel–while Alicia tells a funny story about a customer she had a few days prior. You’re wearing one of your nighttime sweaters now, a glass of wine in your hand, while all of you sit in the living room.

Sevika cards her hand through her hair. It’s no longer in its bun, meeting the sides of her face with buoyancy. The length is much longer than you initially thought, stopping a few inches below her neck; a feathery cut that frames her face quite perfectly.

She sits with her legs parted, left arm resting along the back of the couch. Her fingers lay a few inches from your right shoulder. With a mere flex of her hand, she’d be able to touch you.

Amidst the ring of Alicia’s voice–she’s going into detail about another story now–you turn to Sevika and ask, “Are you a heavy sleeper?”

You receive a better angle of her chiseled jaw when she tilts her head, expression contemplative while she thinks of an answer. You aren’t sure why it takes her so long since it’s not necessarily a loaded question to ask, but still—you allow her to think.

“Not really,” Her eyes dart back to you. “Is that a deal breaker?”

“I'm not sure,” You blink through a daze, overcome with an unexpected wave of tranquility due to her regard. “I listen to music sometimes in the middle of the night. It helps with my insomnia.”

“...Well, is it loud?”

“Not all the time. But you may hear it faintly.”

A nod. “Then that’s fine with me.”

You swivel the wine in your hand, “Besides going out for work, a lot of my hobbies consist of me being at home. You’ll probably see me a lot.”

“Not a problem.”

“I’m not incredibly messy or dirty but…” Your palms sweat from the loose confession. “I’m not a neat freak. And I don't like mornings. I'm really grumpy any hour before 11. Like—I will not speak if I can avoid it. And I’m a terrible cook.”

She looks away from you momentarily, lips rubbing together as her hand flexes. You grow rigid at the motion; she’s only inches away from coming in contact with your shoulder. Then her fingers relax. She looks back at you. Her lips part, “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

Her left eyebrow twitches. “You call the shots. If you don't think it’ll work, I can look into renting somewhere else.”

“I'm just trying to be transparent with you as much as possible.”

You don't want any surprises. The last thing you need is the false hope of thinking this will work just to ultimately have the infamous roommate disagreements that you've heard too much about.

You got lucky with Mel.

For 13 years, you’ve managed to have the best roommate dynamic. But now she's leaving soon. And you fear that those 13 years have just been a fluke.

If Sevika is truly serious about moving in, you need to make sure that it'll be a right fit.

“Do you have any kids?” You find yourself asking.

She lets out a gusty breath; a dry chuckle mixed with a hint of disbelief. For a second, you fear that you've offended her.

But then she's replying, “God no.” She grins with her head slightly shaking. You swear she leans a few inches closer as she adds, “Do you?”

You blink. You swallow. You try to not get distracted by the swirling grey of her irises. They're quite pretty. Too pretty. Unbelievably pretty.

“Definitely not.”

Her grin widens, “Okay, so we at least have that in common.” She allows her eyes to flicker to other features of your face; your eyebrows, then your cheeks, then your nose. “Are there any other incriminating questions that you have?”

“Of course.”

She laughs again and her eyes fall shut. There's a part of you that wants to draw closer to her at that moment. But you remain where you are; as if you’re resisting the tug of a rope.

“Okay,” She mutters, voice a gentle hum while her lips remain pulled into a grin.

“Does that annoy you?” You find yourself asking. It’s a silent test. You want to know if this will turn her away. Is she willing to answer your long list of questions? And if she is–will you find something about her that you don’t like?

“No, I don’t mind at all.” Her eyes flutter open slowly, blazing a stormy grey when they land on you. “Ask however many questions you need.”

Her hand flexes once more. This time you feel it. It’s the slightest graze, and too fleeting for it to feel real. The tip of her forefingers brush against the material of your shirt, at the very top of your bicep, before she’s running her hand through her hair. It could have been an accident–a mere sweep due to her close proximity–but you guess you’d never truly know.

Your breathing falters. She blinks at you with a placid expression, seemingly unfazed.

“Okay,” You clear your throat, shifting your weight restlessly. You try to put more distance between you two by subtly scooting a few inches to your left.

“...Going to get some more wine. Be right back!’ Mel calls.

The bubble around you and Sevika bursts.

You’re submerged into the sound of the TV playing an Old Navy commercial. Alicia stares at the screen with droopy eyes, feet propped up in the recliner chair and hands clasped together as they rest on her stomach. She hums lazily at Mel’s announcement. Faintly, you begin to hear Mel rummaging through the kitchen: the clanging of silverware, the rush of running water, then the thump! of a closing cupboard. The calming livelihood of Mel and Alicia’s existence buzzes around you. But you somehow find yourself turning back towards Sevika because, although you don't want to admit it, she’s a new enigma that’s hurdled into your life.

She beholds you with remarkable patience, elbow now resting against the back of the couch as she cradles her temple with her hand.

“So…” She says, voice laced with an expectation. She’s waiting on you.

“Right,” You nod. You shake your head in an attempt to clear the brain fog. Must be the alcohol... "Do you smoke?”

Sevika does smoke; she has a preference for cigars.

She’s a tattoo artist, which you never pinned her for. But after a few seconds of contemplation, it makes sense. She tells you that it’s been her career for a long time now.

She’s quite the morning person and a bit meticulous about her living environment. She likes to cook and happily divulges in burning incense. She doesn't have very many friends, but the ones she does have are practically her family—who, she assures with an unwavering gaze, are people that, “You will love.”

She doesn't watch much television, but she does have a knack for sports. “I like to have my friends over on game days,” She admits, sending you a sidelong glance. “Would that be something you're okay with?”

Not much time passes before you're nodding your head yes.

Sevika has no siblings and no parents. Her parents passed away a while back–a fact that you seemed more saddened by than her–and left her their house, which is why she moved out of town a few years ago.

When you ask her why she’s decided to return, she doesn't answer.

It’s your only question that makes her come to a full stop.

When the night ends and she’s getting ready to leave the apartment with Alicia quickly behind her, it’s the only question that's lingering in your mind.

And after Mel closes the door, bolts it shut and asks, “Any red flags from Sevika?”

It’s the sole reason why you find yourself hesitating, wanting—for some strange reason—to tell Mel yes. Even though every fiber of your being knows that the true answer is no.

Sevika’s vehicle is exactly the sort of car you’d picture her in. A sleek black Ram 1500 sits in front of you. Your eyes are wandering. You can't help it. You don't want to make it into a thing. It's only a truck after all…

But you've always admired cars, especially the big shiny ones.

“I would have showed you this days ago had I known you’d be so pleased,” Sevika muses. That's when you draw your attention back to her. "I didn't know you liked cars so much."

She's gazing at you with the smallest form of a smirk on her face. You want to wipe it off; you feel vulnerable somehow. Exposed.

Your blink wordlessly, breath shallowing and palms clamming up.

How is she so infuriatingly good looking?

Then, as if you've suddenly become aware of everything else about her, you're taking the rest of her body into account. Her bulging biceps are flexed due to the moving box in her arms. Small beads of sweat collect at the base of her neck…some sliding into the dips of her collarbones. Her hair is pulled into a low bun, highlighting the clenching of her jaw as she chews her gum; minty breath wafting towards you. Your stomach dips.

“Shut up,” You mutter.

Her grin widens. She laughs. You struggle to suppress one yourself.

She doesn't say anything else.

You stand awkwardly by her truck as she turns to walk into the apartment.

A part of you doesn't know what to make of this. Here you are, moving a woman that you've just met into your apartment, with no idea of how this will turn out.

You feel like you're floundering through life. Surely, everyone else your age is settled down with a family and a secure living environment—not stressing over the prospect of a new roommate. This situation feels too…juvenile. It would make sense for a younger version of yourself to be facing roommate insecurity. It would make sense for your younger self to grow uncharacteristically flustered and perturbed around someone like Sevika.

But not now. No—certainly not now.

The sound of Sevika’s footsteps pull you from your reverie. When you glance in her direction, the first thing you notice is the quirk of her eyebrows. You shift your weight, wringing your hands as you work up the courage to say, “I can help,” You clear your throat. “If you want.”

She’s in the middle of grabbing another box from her car but stops mid-reach from the sound of your offer. She cranes her neck, lines appearing in her forehead as she mutters, “I’m good.”

You take offense to that. Does she think you're weak? That you're not strong enough to carry a few stupid boxes? Or worse—has she already found a reason to dislike you?

Goosebumps trail up your back.

“I’m strong enough, you know.” You find yourself tilting your chin up defiantly.

“Is that so?”

“I may not be ripped like you,” You fold your arms across your chest and you hear a snort. A fucking snort! “But I don't do pilates for nothing."

That's when she stands upright, two stacked boxes now in her arms. She manages to rest them on her left hip, closing the back door in one swift motion.

"Yeah?" Then she’s tilting her head slightly, appraising you with an expression that nearly sets you on fire. "You think I'm strong?"

The world around you spins and you're nearly knocked off balance.

There's a part of your spirit that uncurls. Heat plants a seed in your gut then burns, burns, burns.

Perspiration has gathered at the base of your neck, and one bead of sweat drips down the slope of your spine. Then another. You're scowling at her, a reaction that she seems to enjoy, when you feel the drip of one more.

She takes your silence without question. Her irises trail down to your crossed arms then back up to your face before continuing. “You don't have to lift a single one of those pretty fingers for me.” Then you feel her warmth—her touch—at the tip of your chin. It's a small brush with her index finger, yet strong enough to tilt your head before she's pulling away. Then she's grabbing the boxes with both of her hands, snickering under her breath while adding, “But since you seem like the adamant type—be my guest, darling.”

Your legs tremble when she brushes past you.

For the rest of the evening, you allow her to settle into the apartment without your help.

“Sevika?” Your voice is scratchy from lack of use. “Can you help me?”

You're frustrated because you can't find your favorite mug. The entire kitchen is spotless—a sort of clean you haven't seen in ages. You're grateful for Sevika—truly, you are. But due to how organized it all is, you now have difficulty locating everything. The way she cleans and sorts through the apartment is completely different from your way.

Irritated, you call her name again. But no answer.

You know that she’s in her room because her door is closed. It’s only been a few days since she’s moved in but you’ve started to notice that she likes to leave it open when she's not in there.

You sigh, storming to her room. You have a taste for tea, something you've been craving all morning. And now that you've finally finished your work, you’d been so excited to drink it.

But now you're completely turned about by the state of the kitchen. Nothing is where you usually keep it.

“Sevika!” You practically bark, voice growing thin. “Are you awake?”

You're about to knock on her door—a disturbance that would surely wake her if she's in a deep slumber—but then it flies open. And there she stands, wearing a pair of boxers and a tank top. She appears to have just showered, hair seemingly damp and towel in her hand. That familiar woodsy scent of hers hits you like a tide wave, but this time it’s tenfold stronger than what it usually is.

“Is there a reason why you're shouting my name at 10 AM?”

You swallow thickly. Your mouth has suddenly become dry. “I can't find the mugs.”

Sevika blinks slowly then mutters, “What?”

“The mugs. They're a type of cup, cylindrical in size? Often used to drink things like coffee, tea, hot ch-”

“They're in the cupboard by the refrigerator.”

“...”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why are they in there? I’ve never put them there before.”

“You could barely reach the cupboard they were originally in—”

“That's why I have a stepping stool!”

“So I figured it would be easier if they were moved to one that's more accessible for you. I told you about this Tuesday. Do you not remember?”

“...You never told me that.”

“Yes,” Her jaw grinds. “I did. You were talking to Mel on facetime and nearly ate shit when grabbing that awfully gaudy mug you like,” Oh. “So I told you that I would move it to the cupboard by the refrigerator,” Oh. “And you looked me right in the eye, smiled and said you thought that was a great idea.” Fuck. “...Do you not remember that?”

That’s right.

You did say that.

Your heartbeat skips from the piercing silence.

God, she's going to think you're crazy now.

Sevika sighs.

Shoving down a mountain of guilt, you shift your weight, “I’m sorry. I don't think I actually processed that conversation when it happened.”

She isn't quick to reply, and you're not sure where to go from there. So you add, “Um, would you like some tea?”

As a peace offering, you make Sevika a cup of tea the next morning too.

The third day is when you have to go back to work, so you force yourself awake earlier than you want. There's still a small chip of guilt weighing on your shoulders that morning, so you fix Sevika a cup of tea again.

You also do it for that following morning because it's Saturday. Who wouldn't want tea on Saturday?

Sunday is a lazy day for Sevika. But somehow she's already in the kitchen when you stumble in at a harrowing 8am. She's waiting for the toaster oven to sound when you pull two mugs out of the cupboard. Even after the appliance dings, she lingers with you in the kitchen, silently eating her toast while you prepare the kettle. Ten minutes later, she’s drinking her tea while her elbows lean against the island counter.

You hold onto your mug tightly and listen to the chirping of the birds in the distance. The only other sound that is audible are her even breaths.

You don't know how you've settled into such a routine after 8 days of living with her. But somehow, standing in the middle of the kitchen together with nothing but comfortable silence, you think that you’ve found the oasis of serenity.

#au writing #piscespetals writing #fanfic #sevika #sevika x reader #arcane au #arcane netflix #fluff #arcane women #divorced!sevika #sevika x y/n #sevika pls marry me #sevika x you #roommate!sevika

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nanagoswife · 3 years ago

Text

Noticing You, Noticing Me

Chapter Nine

Summary: Reader brings Obi-Wan to the village of Naboo for the Festival of Light

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: none?

- - -

As you slowly regained consciousness, you never thought you could feel so comfortable. Your head was resting in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck as your body was pressed to his. The small tickle from his beard was delightful, but you had to keep yourself from giggling so you wouldn’t wake him.

One of his arms was draped over you, his hand resting at the small of your back. His other hand unconsciously held one of yours as it pressed against his chest. It was a gesture that made your heart flutter with happiness.

You moved, careful to not wake him, so you could see his face. It was a look for him that you somehow thought was even more adorable than anything else. Even the look he has when he gets flustered is beaten by this look.

His face was relaxed, peaceful. The hairs of his beard were still relatively kempt, other than the small area that your head was one pressed into. When it came to his hair, it was an absolute mess, but you loved it. The usually perfectly styled strands were nearly all out of place. Some were against his forehead and the pillow while others stuck up in protest. His amazingly golden eyelashes wonderfully laid against his cheeks.

The longer you looked at him, the more you fell in love with him. You had loved him for so long, coming to that conclusion nearly two months ago. It was something that you had only told Padmé. This was one thing that you made her swear not to tell Anakin, and she kept her word.

Gently, you moved your free hand up to push the hairs in front of his forehead away. You couldn’t help but smile as you did it, then resting your hand on his cheek.

As you did, though, your attempts to not wake him seemed to fail. His lips curled into a soft smile as he gently squeezed you with the arm draped over you. Soon after, his eyes opened only for him to squint as the sun glared in his eyes.

“Good morning, dearest,” he grumbled, pulling you ever closer to him.

“Good morning, Obi,” you replied, now tracing gentle circles on his cheek with your thumb. He hummed in contentment and you couldn’t help but admire how grumbly his voice was.

For a minute, you couldn’t help but stare into the sparkling cerulean blues. The sun that was making its way back into the sky made his hair burn in an even more amazing shade of red. It didn’t matter that it was an absolute mess. In your opinion, he looked even more handsome than you had ever thought before.

“I apologize for falling asleep before you were done reading,” you said quietly, earning you a small grin.

“No need to apologize, darling. It just means we’ll have to do it again.”

With the hand that rested at your back, he brought it to rest on top of yours on his cheek.

“I guess it does,” you whisper, smiling at the feeling of his hand on yours.

Once again, you hardly noticed how you had started moving closer to him. You would’ve said you were pulling him closer, but you weren’t. He was moving towards you, shifting slightly for a better angle.

All you could focus on was him. The way he looked was no longer at the forefront of your mind. Now, all you thought about was how much you loved him. How you never wanted another life other than the one that he’s been a part of. How he truly makes you feel seen like you never have before.

Obi-Wan was now partially hanging over you, his eyes searching yours as his beard could just be felt against your lips. You felt as he released a breath, letting it fan over your lips.

Then, a knock disrupted everything once again.

Groaning in annoyance, Obi-Wan dropped his forehead against yours as he slumped his broad shoulders, keeping himself propped on an elbow. You couldn’t help it. You laughed because of course this happened. Every time you got this close to finally kissing him, something or someone disrupted it all.

But then you remembered, “It must be Padmé. In her defense, she’s on time.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “As always, you are correct, my dear.”

Lifting himself up and away from you, the two of you get out of the bed. You don’t want to, but you have to. You can’t just let your friend stand out in the hall forever.

Before Obi-Wan opened the door, he put on a tunic, leaving it untied. A part of you wanted to let your fingers glide over his chest again, but you had to go. Plus, that could possibly go too far, almost like it did the night before.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” you say as he opens the door.

“See you then, my dear.”

Before you leave and join your friend, the two of you share a smile. Padmé has to break you out of the moment so that you can get back to your room unnoticed. Or, at least out of this hall. It was a normal thing for you and your friend to walk around before getting properly dressed.

“Please tell me you’re going to divulge what happened last night. I can tell that there was with the way the two of you looked at each other,” your friend said, linking her arm with yours.

As you looked back on it, you smiled fondly, watching the floor as you walked.

“I’m sorry, Padmé, but I don’t think I will this time.”

The disappointment on her face almost made you laugh. But, you wouldn’t tell her. What happened was something you wanted to keep just between you and him. Well, at least for the time being.

Padmé was the one to transport you to her home village. Although it wasn’t far, one of the villages that lay basically right outside the castle, she brought a book to read. It gave you and Obi-Wan a moment to enjoy each other’s company.

The whole way you had leaned against him, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulder. Once every so often he would press a light kiss to the top of your head. Every single time it caused you to look up at him and smile. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him, but it was not the time. Although you love Padmé very much, that’s a moment that you don’t want an audience for.

“I think you’re really going to like this,” you whispered.

“I’m sure I will. Especially since I’m with you,” he replied, causing heat to grow in your cheeks.

You watched as Padmé peaked up from her book, smirking as she did.

For the rest of the trip, you snuggled even more into Obi-Wan. It didn’t help that he was just so… comfortable.

As you were rolling into the village, excitement filled you. You left the comfort of Obi-Wan so that you could look out of the window. The excitement and celebration was in full swing as you watched everyone put up last minute decorations. Kids were running through the streets, some trailing streamers behind them as the rest chased.

The closer you got to the center of the village, you could hear music playing. It only further heightened the joy everyone was feeling as they gathered. This was a time of year where everyone could just have fun and see the lord that owned the land and his family. Not only that, but it brought you, the only royal who attended every year. Anakin tried to attend, but, like now, he had duties that he couldn’t reschedule.

When the carriage stopped, you could hardly contain yourself. You had to force yourself to wait for your two companions.

Although you restrained yourself, it seemed like others could not. Almost as soon as you stepped out of the carriage, a group of children came running up to you, all calling out your name for your attention.

You crouched down to greet them when suddenly one particular little boy pushed his way to the front. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes that always had a glint of innocent optimism.

“Christian, what have I told you about patience?” you said with a small chuckle.

The little boy’s cheeks went red in embarrassment as he looked at the ground. “That I need to wait my turn.”

“And why?”

“Because everyone gets their turn and I’ll get mine even if I’m not the first,” he said, slightly mumbling as he held his arms behind his back, twisting from side to side.

“There’s a good lad. Now, where’s Daisy?”

Christian’s shoulders seemed to slump even more in embarrassment. “She’s the one being patient.”

You chuckled as you looked up at the rest of the group of children. This group held eight, including Christian. When you caught a glance of his sister, you flashed her a smile before turning to the rest of the group.

“So, how excited are you for today?”

Your question was met by a chorus of excited cheers. The smile on your face grew as you listened to them.

During all of this, you hadn’t realized that the carriage had already left. Padmé also had left as she had her own things to do for this day. This left Obi-Wan standing behind you, watching this whole thing, now catching the attention of the group.

“Princess Y/N, who’s that?” Daisy asked as she pointed at Obi-Wan.

As you looked back at him, his eyes met yours and his expression softened more than you thought it ever could. You gestured for him to join you. With no hesitation, he did.

“Everyone, this is Prince Obi-Wan Kenobi of Coruscant.”

All of their eyes went wide. Coruscant was one of the largest and most influential kingdoms, and to have the prince here blew their minds. Even Christian, who sometimes seemed unfazed by certain things, had his jaw dropped.

Daisy, who had maintained her position in the back of the group, now made her way to the front with a smile. She held out her hand to Obi-Wan as she said, “Nice to meet you, Prince Obi. My name’s Daisy.”

You smiled at that. She always was more mature for her age, but she still had her young innocence.

Obi-Wan smiled as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you Daisy. And who might the rest of you be?”

One by one, they all introduced themselves to the prince. Of them all, Daisy seemed quite drawn to him and it was the most adorable thing. For a fleeting moment, you thought of what it would be like if you had a daughter with him…

The thought was quickly pushed to the side as the group started begging for you and Obi-Wan to tell them a story.

“Oh, I think that should be left to Princess Y/N, I’m not a great storyteller,” Obi-Wan claimed. You knew that not to be true and you could tell that the kids didn’t buy it. The looks on their faces gave that away.

“Please, Prince Obi. Princess Y/N could help you. We did say we wanted both of you to tell it,” Daisy said, earning a soft smile from Obi-Wan.

The rest of the group chimed in to convince him and you watched as his resolve quickly broke. How could he resist? Especially when this is the sort of thing that he experiences back at home.

“Alright, alright,” Obi-Wan said with a chuckle, now earning a cheer from the group.

Turning to you, he gestured for you to start a story. You were sure to choose one that he would know as well.

As the story went on, you subtly let Obi-Wan tell the story more and more. It got to the point where he was practically the only one telling it as the children looked on.

Christian sat in your lap as he paid rapt attention to what Obi-Wan was saying. Gently, you stroked the young boy’s hair. Daisy had also come up to you, sitting next to you and leaning against you.

These two children may not have been yours, but sometimes it felt like it. Their mother, Mary, was always delighted to see how attached they were to you. It made you wonder if she still had her little lantern stand she usually had. She always had the best ones.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel his heart swell as he watched you with Daisy and Christian. The way they clung to you and acted with you would make someone assume they were your children.

Either way, as he continued telling the story that he noticed you left him to, he thought about what it would be like if he had children with you. The way you were with children was a sight to behold. He could now see why they were so drawn to you.

He envisioned himself with you and two children just like Christian and Daisy. The way you were stroking Christian’s hair, soothing him as Daisy sat so comfortably with you. It was a wonder the thought didn’t distract him from the story.

It all gave him hope for the future. He only hoped that he could live up to the reputation you had with children. The feeling only grew as he finished the story.

Without a single protest, Obi-Wan finished the story.

“It’s over?” Christian protested from your lap. The whole group groaned as Obi-Wan nodded.

“Now, now, everyone. You all know that it’s one story per visit,” you announced to everyone. They all nodded but that didn’t take away the look of disappointment they all had. No matter what, they would always hate your rule of only one story per visit.

It wasn’t long until the majority of the group got distracted by something else. You heard something about being the last to the Maypole, but that was all you heard.

All of them were gone except for Christian and Daisy. For Christian, he didn’t want to let go of you. Instead, he only seemed to cling to you tighter.

“Christian, I can’t stay here all day,” you said with a chuckle. You saw his eyes go bright as his eyebrows raised, the telltale sign that he was coming up with an idea. “And no we’re not having a sleepover.”

Daisy giggled from her place beside you at her younger brother’s reaction. For a moment, you caught a glance at Obi-Wan. The fondness seemed to be radiating from him. Whether it was from the children or something else, you couldn’t tell. All you knew is that, when his eyes met yours, there was so much warmth in them. It was a look that reminded you of the way Anakin looked at Padmé.

“Oh, you should see momma! She would be so happy to see you,” Christian suddenly blurted out, drawing your attention back to him.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “We should let Princess Y/N and Prince Obi be. Prince Obi hasn’t even seen the festival yet!”

Obi-Wan chuckled, kneeling next to Daisy. “It’s quite alright, young one. You two are quite the introduction.”

You watched as the little girl blushed and giggled as Obi-Wan booped her nose. It was quite adorable seeing Daisy flustered like that.

“Well, if your momma has her usual lantern stand, then that actually will be a good start to the festival, now wouldn’t it?” you asked the two children. Christian nodded enthusiastically immediately while it took Daisy a moment before she shared the sentiment.

The boy that had been sitting in your lap bolted up. “Well then, come on!”

Making eye contact with Obi-Wan, you both chuckled. Daisy was trying to tell her brother to slow down as he started to run off.

When it came to you and Obi-Wan, he was only just helping you to stand as the two ran off.

“You know, Christian reminds me of what I was like at that age,” Obi-Wan mused out loud as you linked your arm with his.

“Oh really? Does that mean you would still be drawn to me?” you asked with a teasing lilt.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I think I’d be drawn to you in any lifetime, darling.”

Now you were the one getting flustered. He never failed at making you go speechless and stuttering over your words. The feeling of heat in your cheeks almost always seemed to exist whenever he was around.

When he saw your state, he couldn’t help but chuckle once again. “Now, shall we follow the two younglings, or shall we be left to find this stand on our own?”

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05 @blondekel77 @thereluctantherosrose @cosmicsierra @badbatch-simp24

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silversatoru · 4 years ago

Note

hi!! me again, saw that you want some bnha requests and hoo boy do i fuckin got one for ya

im a hardcore member of the fuck bakugo 🖕🏼 squad but i also wanna fuck bakugo ya know?

therefore i would like to request a smut fic where bakugo is so painfully angry at the fact that he has a crush on the reader that he ends up getting caught stealing their panties and chaos ensues 😌

anyway love you bye ❤️

compulsion

touch-starved bakugou katsuki x f!reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, oral sex (male receiving), mild obsession, dom?reader, characters aged up

w/c: 1.9k

katsuki bakugo hates a lot things.

he hates hero training, he hates his annoying classmates, and he hates the fact that it rained today. he hates living in the UA dorms and he fucking hates the overly salted bowl of ramen he was forcing down his throat right now.

bakugo katsuki hates almost everything, but he doesn’t hate you — and he hates that doesn’t.

having a distaste for the world made things easier, because if he always assumed the worse than he’d never be disappointed. he’d gotten pretty far with that logic — that was up until you waltzed into his life and fucked it all up, sending his logic hurling out the window.

when he looked at you he didn’t feel the same hate that he felt for the world around him — in fact when he looked at you he felt a disgusting urge of optimism. he liked the way your hair fell around your shoulders, the way your lips curled when you smiled, and the way your skirt rode up your thighs. he didn’t hate anything about you and that’s what he hated most.

see ya later, katsuki! you’d called to him after hero training today, your round glossy lips pronouncing his name in a way that made his heart flicker and his blood boil over. why did everything about you have to be so fucking perfect? he couldn’t find a single flaw on your annoyingly pristine body no matter how hard he searched for one.

your voice consumed his mind — everything you said to him today replaying on repeat at the center stage of his brain:

come eat lunch with us, katsuki!

hey katsuki, did you finish the math homework? number seven makes like- no fucking sense.

have you seen those chips i like, katsuki? i swear if denki ate them all again i’m gonna kill him

your voice was precious, a terribly sensual melody in his sullen ears. and the way you clung to the ends of your words for just a little too long was repulsively adorable too.

katsuki needed something, anything, to get you off his mind. sitting here and daydreaming about you was making him irate with himself — forcing intrusively irrational thoughts through his thick head. something, anything, he needed to stop thinking about you.

he tossed what was left of his shitty ramen into the trash can and exited the kitchen. the common area was filled with students right now, you included, and it was much too crowded and annoying for his liking. you were sitting with hanta, laughing at some shitty fucking joke he was spouting off.

not that he enjoyed watching that lanky scotch-tape dispenser flirt with you — but it was keeping you busy. your dorm room would be empty right now, wouldn’t it?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

katsuki’s not sure how he ended up here, seething with anger and digging fervently through your drawer of panties. surely you wouldn’t mind if he took just one pair, right? you have to understand that he wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t absolutely need them. he wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t make him so fucking angry — this is your fault, not his.

he lifted the lacy material closer to his face for further inspection, unable to prevent his mind from wandering to how it would look wrapped around your body. fuck, they even smelled good — not that he was smelling them intentionally or anything, don't get the wrong idea. he just so happened to get close enough that the soft aroma of cherry blossom fabric softener wafted into his nostrils.

simmering with anger and foggy with unwanted lust, katsuki pocketed the panties for later and turned back towards the door — the same door that you were now standing in front of with immense confusion in your eyes. fuck.

“uh... hey katsuki, whatcha doin?” you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, cocking your head to the side.

“i- uh- it’s fucking none of your business,” he snarled at you, face flushing as he tried to figure out how long you’ve been standing there and how much you saw.

“you’re in my room dude, it’s totally my business,” you raised an eyebrow at him, “and that pair of panties you took is one of my favorites, maybe you could pocket one of the uglier pairs?”

“god, fucking dumbass, this is your fault! i wouldn’t be here right now if you weren’t so fucking infuriating,” his face was so angry and flushed you could have sworn there was steam sizzling off his skin.

“me? it’s my fault you’re standing in my room with a pair of my underwear in your pocket and an obvious boner in your pants?”

katsuki grimaced, faltering for just a second as he awkwardly shifted his sweatshirt and pulled it down to cover his swollen erection, “yeah shithead, that’s what i just said. weren’t you fucking listening?”

“this is horribly desperate, katsuki, you could have just asked. i’m more than willing to help you out with this,” you stepped forward and began to shorten the distance between the two of you.

“willing to help me? are you insane? i don’t need your fucking help!” he tried to retaliate, but you were already inches from him, reaching down and dragging a hard palm over the lump in his jeans.

“quit screaming like a lunatic and let me help you, i know this is what you think about,” you pressed harder and gave him an icy stare, the boy using everything in his power not to crumble under your touch.

he’d never been touched like this by anyone, and he was so caught off guard by your sudden movements that he simply stared back at you, frozen in place. no arguments, no insults, no deflective blaming — his brain could barely compute his own name now that your hand was prodding at his bulge.

“that’s what i thought,” you cracked a small smile, “poor katsuki, always pushing everyone away and never getting any action. come sit down”.

katsuki failed to wrap his brain around the current events, wondering how his failed attempt at stealing a pair of panties had led to him sitting on the edge of your bed while you stripped him of his trousers. you were sinking to your knees now, head perfectly level with his cock that was standing flush against his abdomen.

he almost flinched when you reached out and brushed your delicate fingers over the red, swollen head of his dick. his cheeks were flushed with a deep red, and he wanted nothing more than to yell you, to tell you how much of a freak you were. but he didn’t, because as much as he hated to admit it, your touch was the best thing he’d ever felt.

your fingers were wrapped around his shaft now, pumping slow strokes as you warmed him up. he hissed and squirmed under your brand new touch — eyes squeezing shut and hands grabbing fistfuls of your comforter. katsuki had touched himself plenty of times, most of them while thinking of you, but your hand felt so much better than his ever did.

“you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” you pouted up at him, your fingers squeezing a little tighter and pumping a little faster, “poor baby”.

“i- fuck- ah,” he choked out a pitiful cluster of sounds that didn’t actually form any words but still gave you the answer to your question.

you were terribly amused, the typically angry boy was a twitching mess under your touch and you’d barely even started yet. you could only imagine how quickly he’d melt when your lips were around his cock — you were dying to find out.

you leaned forward and began slowly flicking your tongue over the puffy tip, still pumping the shaft with one of your hands. katsuki let out strings of sounds that could only be described as mewls and whimpers, his thighs shaking and his knuckles turning white. poor poor baby, you continued to think, i’m gonna make you feel better than you ever have before.

your head dipped low, the first few inches of his cock sliding across your tongue and into the back of your mouth. the blonde boy whined and bucked his hips, his eyes shooting open at the sudden burst of hot, wet pleasure.

“hng- fuck- fucking sh-shit,” his curses came out as pitiful gasps for air as he stared down at you with wide eyes.

you gradually took more and more of his length into the depths of your throat — his extensive length, by the way. for someone so blessed with such a big, pretty cock, you couldn’t believe he didn’t put it to use more often.

katsuki was cussing you out like it was his job, but each word was accompanied by a gasp or a humiliating whimper. he was so fucking embarrassed, but he felt much too good to care right now. your wet, sticky mouth was enveloping his cock in the most perfect way, jolts of euphoria spiking through his veins and fogging his head.

there was a pressure quickly building in his stomach, a tight wam feeling that signified he was going to come all too soon. but of course you expected this — honestly he’d lasted a few minutes longer than you thought he would.

when his orgasm finally racked through him, his entire body twitched and convulsed, his hips bucking wildly as strings of white liquid sprung from his cock and lined the walls of your tight throat. you milked every drop of cum from him, swallowing it down and then pulling your head back. as much as you wanted to push him and overstimulate him you decided to play nice for his first time.

“so good, katsuki. did you like that?”

his shoulders caved in and his head hung low as he finally came down from his high — the realization of all of the transpiring events finally catching up to him. he mumbled the quietest: yeah, it felt fucking good in response to your question, but refused to meet your eyes.

“we could do this more often, what you think?” you reached up and placed your hand under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.

“fuck- fine, yeah whatever, but don’t fucking tell anyone about this,” he growled, his angry eyes and twisted eyebrows finally meeting yours.

“of course,” you smiled, standing and tossing him his pants to put back on, “i just came here to grab a sweatshirt, so i better go before anyone comes looking for me. i’ll come find you later though, promise”.

and with that you were walking through the door, wiping your sticky lips on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and heading for the elevators. katsuki sat on the edge of your bed for a few minutes longer, mind blown by the curves of your mouth and the skill of your tongue.

katsuki didn’t hate you before, and he really doesn’t hate you now, but he’s coming to terms with it this time. letting his walls down for you doesn’t sound all that bad if it means you’ll keep making him feel like this.

#bnha bakugou #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha imagines #boku no hero smut #my hero academi smut #boku no hero x reader #my hero academia x reader

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years ago

Text

Mr. Malum

master list for this series

this took me far too long to complete, I keep getting sidetracked with other stuff...I need to work on a schedule, that I will ignore, cuz I have the attention span of a boiled rock.

this chapter has a different name due to the song Mr. Malum from the Dear Hunter, being the only thing I would think of while typing this chapter

Summary: Heisenberg has a secret that he clearly intends on keeping for himself but honoring your own word of not working for him unless you know what's going on with his factory, you offer him a deal that could benefit you both. A trip to the village, distrust dripping for these people's faces, and the whispers filled with fear is enough for you to learn that...Mr. Heisenberg and the other Lords are more than what they seem.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart! we have a lot of work to do today" Heisenberg screams, throwing the door of your room open, making you sit and scream in surprise, the sound of his laughter is enough to cut your fear short and replace it with humiliation.

Before you can even respond the man is out and waiting in the kitchen, at least, he gave you time to compose yourself, running your fingers through your tangled hair and cursing yourself for going to sleep with damp hair, the tossing and turning did nothing to help, making the rat's nest that's your hair so much worst. Perhaps you should consider cutting it short, that would make it more manageable.

Joining him in the kitchen it's strange, half hoping to be met with his usual snark, instead, he's drinking coffee and looking over some papers, another mug has been placed on the table, the acrid smell of black coffee incites you to get close and take the warm mug in your hands, the taste is strong and it's enough to fully wake you up.

"We are going to be working on the west wing, some of the vents have been giving problems which is making the place overheat" a blueprint it's pushed towards you, the areas to be inspected are circled with red pen. "Since you are a lot slimmer, you will be getting into some hard to access places, keep the print, that way you will know what to fix"

Looking down at the print, you contemplate your situation.

It's, quite clear, that you can't escape, he said so yesterday, talking about the possibility of Miranda killing you or him catching you before she did. You can't refuse to work for him either, even after you told him you wouldn't do it until you knew what was going on in the factory, and it seems he decided to politely forget about that part of the conversation. There's no way out of this...but there's a way to try and twist his arm.

After all, you are not stuck here with him, he's stuck in here with you.

Putting down the mug, taking a moment to stretch your back and casually take a seat across from him "Yeah, this? sounds like a you problem" resting your head on your hands gives you the right amount of time to see him go from triumphant into anger "However! I'm willing to strike you a deal"

Father was a man who cared for his employees and sometimes caring for others means being, rather, unfair with those seeking to start a partnership, or so he said. "You have to assess how desperate you are when they come looking for you, but never push too hard on your luck, or you might lose the perfect cath, ask for realistic demands never for the Sun", those were his words, and you will be forever grateful for them.

" A deal?" leaning closer to you he looks at you from above his shades, a mocking smile on his face "What kind of deal are you offering? you have nothing to offer and I have everything you could want"

"Oh! but I do have a lot to offer, years of experience as a mechanic, the promise of optimizing your production rate, my family's factory for you to dismantle and get spare parts from...my silence?"

At that, he straightens up, face unreadable and impassive, hes thinking and considering. And you know it by watching him light up a cigar slowly, taking a couple of drags before expelling a large smoke cloud up to the ceiling. "I'm listening"

"Excellent, my demands are easy to meet, so don't worry" with careful movements you get up from the chair, unhurried steps carrying to stand behind him, snaking your hands up his arms and towards his shoulders, bending down to place your head close to his "All I ask from you is this, fitting clothes, a pair of gloves like yours and a leather apron, an actual bed, for you to repair the hot water, and have my own set of tools" you smile sweetly at him letting your right hand play with his hair "See? nothing too hard to get"

He's impressed with your boldness, not fearing getting your pretty hand burned with his cigar and pressing that delicious body of yours so close to him. And, indeed, your demands are nothing but reasonable compared to the blind devotion and absolute silence he's expecting from you, let alone, access to whatever is left from your factory.

The next time he expels smoke he does it in your direction, getting no reaction of you "And how do I know that you won't try and rat me out, doll? just trust your word and give you everything you want? I think I'll pass and just force you to do it"

"Well, I understand, it doesn't matter that I'm a woman of my word, words can be twisted and forgotten, sir. But...if you don't feel comfortable with a verbal agreement"

Your next move is not just bold, and you know it, you are weaponizing your own body, using it to make him lower his guard a little. Letting go of his shoulder to sit on his lap, back towards him, taking your sweet time to grab one of the paper sheets where he was jolting down notes and his pen. "We can do a contract if you prefer, that way I will be legally bound to do whatever it says and since you are a Lord, it will be just a formality"

There's a moment where you feel like gagging when his hands find your hips and push you to be closer to his body, it's his time to rest his head on your shoulder, looking at whatever you plan on writing down.

"Then do it, darlin'. Do your silly contract, which I expect you to abide by because I will do my part if that means I get to have you like this always"

"Of course, my Lord"

Immediately after you start writing down a rather simple contract, making sure to write everything you want and what you will be giving in return. The whole time he stays still, occasionally moving his head to blow the smoke away for you or the table in general, one hand squeezing your hip.

You are careful when offering the pen for him to sign the paper, tactfully placing your hand as to obscure a piece of the pact, he either doesn't care or thinks you are doing it to prevent the paper from slipping and messing his signature. Once he's done you sign quickly, smiling inwardly at your victory.

"Let me read this you" clearing your throat you begin to speak clearly and loud "I, Lord Karl Heisenberg, in full use of my mental capabilities, promise Miss Y/N L/N, to fulfill the following...One, provide her with proper clothing, which shall include a leather apron, heavy-duty gloves, and boots...Two, a bed and blankets for her to sleep in, making sure to place the bed in her bedroom...Three, acquire a new complete toolset for her...Four, repair the faulty got water pipe in the bathroom..."

The pause is done on purpose, looking at him over your shoulder to see his shit-eating grin morph into either confusion or anger "FIVE...make sure the kitchen is well stocked with all kinds of food, to ensure proper nourishment for my employee. The employee won't be expected to cook meals for me"

The hand on your hip shoots up to grab your neck, forcing you to be fully against him, his breath fans over the side of your face as he speaks "You little bitch, who do you think you are trying to swindle? you asked for four things, not five"

"Did I? I don't remember saying just four, sir...that's why contracts are so useful you see, after all, words can be twisted and forgotten" there's a small adrenaline rush when he growls so close to you, that you can feel the vibrations against your chest, almost crying out with joy when he let you go, clearly annoyed with your small victory.

"Fine, if that's the case!" his rudeness comes back with a vengeance when he pulls you off, doing quick work of walking to his room "Stay where you are" after that, only the distant lull of the machines can be heard, then there's the sound of his voice, almost whispering and growing slowly irritated by the second. It takes him a couple of minutes but he comes backs, dropping a bag full of money on the table.

"Since you are so hellbent on these demands of yours...and I have so much to do, for the foreseeable future, YOU are going down to the village, look for and get the seamstress to take your measurements, YOU are going to the Duke and buy whatever food we might need and tell him what tools you need, YOU are bringing said groceries from his Emporium all the way here, after all, your contract says I have to provide with clothing, food and put a bed in your toom, which means, it's YOUR responsibility to buy and transport the food while all I have to do is provide you with the money"

He got you...and he got you good, that's why making detailed contracts is always important, or you leave legal windows for the other party.

"Or...I can do all that for you, minus the clothes, if you sleep in my bed from now" his smile is wolfish and nasty, eyeing you the same way a starving dog would look at a defenseless chicken, it makes you question your flirting tactics from earlier, but you won't let him win.

"Well, you are right, I never said you needed to bring the groceries here" quickly you snatch the money from the table, getting up and walking to the door as if he didn't say anything about sharing his bed "I shall take my leave and come back before lunch, have a good day, sir!"

The door opens and with a side glance, you take his coat from the hook on the wall, scurrying off before he can say or do anything about it, almost bolting through the factory into the main entrance, afraid he will catch up with you and send you out into the freezing weather with nothing to shield you from it.

The trek down into the Village is something terrible, the terrain is irregular and some of the cobblestone steps are loose, trying to make a mental note of anything that might make you trip on your way back becomes a game, occasionally kicking some of the stones away and praying that you might now slip and fall.

You only stop to look at the 4 statues located past the bridge, taking a bit to admire the enormous things, their rotten features that have been consumed by the elements, and the weather, there's a pedestal of some sort in the middle but nothing else, following the path you find yourself looking at the Duke, slowly dozing off sitting inside his cart and his merchandise im plain view. The sound of your boots against the floor and snow, alert him of your presence.

"Ah! but it isn't our lovely Y/N, did Lord Heisenberg sent you for something, or are you here to acquire something for yourself?" hes already rubbing his hands together looking at you with interest

"You know me so well! I do come to run some...errands...Heisenberg set me to find the seamstress and to get groceries, his entire kitchen is empty, also, to place an order for me!"

The man laughs at your expression filled with pride, trying to uncover what or how you managed to get out of the factory on your second day there, smiling approvingly at whatever trick you used. "Of course, of course! tell me more about your shopping needs and I shall have them covered in no time"

"Oh, I wanted to know if I could write you a list and come back for the groceries on my way back?"

"Whatever you might need, miss Y/N" He's quick into offering you a pen and notepad, remarking the importance of treating all his customers with great care, and prideful of his service.

It takes you a bit to write down everything the kitchen lacks off and placing the order for your tools, gloves, and boots your size, acting a bit selfish by asking him to get you soap. The Duke reassures you that he will have your order as soon as possible and your groceries packed by the time you come back.

"Before I leave, by any chance do you know where I can find the seamstress? Heisenberg sent me out and told me to ask around...the prick"

"I do, it's an easy trip just go through that door and walk until you see the Maiden of War, a statue of a woman with a sword, easy to see! from it go west into the village and look for a house with teal walls, or simply ask for Sabina's house, but be careful Y/N, the people there might not take kindly to your presence"

The Duke was right, as soon as you enter the village, people start to stare and talk in low voices as you walk past them, you can hear them call you "Lord Heisenberg's bride" which makes you scrunch up your nose, others are more concerned of your status as an outsider and the small group of people praising Mother Miranda for giving you a home in this place. At the mention of her name, you have to force down the taste of vile down your throat and keep on walking to Sabina's place.

The house is easy to spot in the sea of gloomy colors, the teal exterior pops like a sore thumb, it's clear the house has seen better days, but you are no one to comment on the current state of the place, limiting yourself to knock on the door and wait for a response.

Sabina is, probably, no older than you, but the expression lines and tiredness of her face make her look a lot older, as soon as she sees you, she ushers you inside, eyes glued to the floor and speaking softly...she's scared of you.

"I was asked by Lord Heisenberg to come, he told me..."

"YES! I...I was made aware of your need for clothes and something like an apron, I received a call from the Chruch and expected you a bit earlier, now im afraid this order might be too hurried" fear masked as anger, you know about that, that's the only thing you have felt lately "please strip down so I can properly measure you"

The woman moves quickly, retrieving her tape and something to write on, while you are shedding the coat, pants, and boots off, leaving only the shirt on.

When she comes back you see her grimace and reach out for the shirt, out of instinct you slap her hand away, the terror in her eyes growing and becoming a burden that makes her freeze in her spot, making you feel a bit of guilt for causing her to do that face. "...Im sorry, I don't feel comfortable with people seeing me in my underwear"

Sabina only nods, trembling hands reaching out to start the process of taking every measurement required to make your new clothes, taking a second you jolt down each number and asking you what kind of fabric you would like for the pants and shirts, if the apron will need pockets and how many, any special requirements she should be aware of.

"Cotton undershirts" you blur out, avoiding to look at Sabina "I...need undershirts that are of a soft material" unconsciously reaching to touch your left side, the woman seems to understand, adding the undershirts to the list.

"I will have everything in the next four days if that's ok with the Lady, if not, I could have it done by tomorrow morning"

"No...four days is ok, how much do I owe you?" you ask absent-mindedly, dressing quickly to avoid losing any more body heat.

Sabina, who was halfway through putting her take away, stops to look at you, an uncomfortable expression on her face followed by a forced smile "I'm just pleased to serve the Heisenberg house, my lady"

You begin to protest but Sabina starts to push you out of the door, talking over you loudly, repeating like crazy how honored she feels, and for you to have a nice day, slamming her door shut and leaving you confused out in the snow.

This time, people avoid you, ducking their heads down, bowling lightly, and muttering praises to have someone from the Heisenberg house come to the village, but all of them speak with reverence, terrified of your existence. Miranda made you feel like a thing and these people make you feel like if you could kill them where they stand any minute now, like you are above them and more important. It's disgusting.

"Did you had a good time with the villagers, miss Y/N?"

"No!? Duke, it was horrible, the way people looked at me like if I was either a God or the Devil himself, it gave me your creeps" you are so lost looking at the crates, sacks, and bags that you have to carry back, that you don't notice him twistedly smile at you "What is wrong with these people?"

"We all need to believe in something, this village, just happens to believe in the protection and love of Mother Miranda and her lords and ladies, divine beings on Earth, but you might be right, perhaps it's not a godly figure what they're chasing after, but the devil" this time you do see him smile, the jolly man from last night is gone, replaced by a being of mischief and secrets that makes your skin crawl.

Hurriedly you pick up everything and balance it all in your arms, finding a way to trust the bag full of lei into his waiting hands and bolt it back into the fabric, distantly hearing him laugh over the sound of your pounding heart.

You only stop right in the middle of all the four statues you saw that morning, uneasiness nestling inside you...just what is going here? what are the lords of this place and why is everyone so panicked by them? why would anyone feel love for a monster like Miranda?

Wondering, if you did the right thing by making a deal with Heisenberg, knowing, he might be the devil incarnate.

#re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #the many joys

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buckleysjareau · 4 years ago

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this has been living rent free in my head pls go crazy with it

eddie trying to patch up buck’s wounds after he’s slightly injured on a call and buck saying he can do it himself, maybe eddie saying “well i’m willing to take care of you, i want to” at some point

unconditional, unadulterated / 1.8k you did tell me to go crazy...

It happens just as there’s a flashover. Buck just barely makes it out the front entrance of what used to be a two story home when the flashover happens and thanks to the adrenaline, there’s only a dull pain in his calf from landing on it rough during his escape. Even as Hen asks if he’s hurt anywhere, the ache— he wouldn’t even call it a pain— wasn’t even enough to mention.

As the adrenaline wears off, though, he realizes that it’s a little more than just an ache. It starts to hurt a touch more even as it’s resting on top of his turnout coat placed on the floor of the truck. It sucks but it’s manageable, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He only has to finish out the last hour of his shift then he can go home and ice it.

His optimism is dulled when the instant he puts pressure on it to walk he has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming at the pain that shoots up from his ankle to his knee. He swallows any more noises of discomfort as he tries not to noticeably limp to his gear rack, already knowing he’s not in the mood for Bobby to scold him for hiding an injury.

Which he’s not. He doesn’t think there’s any reason to say anything because he wasn’t injured. He was told that he’d might have pain flare ups for the rest of his life, this wasn’t new to him.

Except for the fact that it wasn’t a random flare up. He’d irritated an old injury by landing on it hard and there was a possibility, a small one, but still a possibility that it was injured. Finding even the thought of going to the hospital right now less than desirable is what’s keeping him from speaking up about the possibility.

“You alright, man?” Eddie’s voice pulls him out his head and it’s only then he realizes just how rough his breathing is as he tries to toe off the other boot.

He forces a smile that he hopes doesn’t resemble the grimace he thinks it does. “Yeah, never better. Tired though, that one took a lot out of me.”

Luck must be on his side tonight because Eddie doesn’t push him. There’s a little bit of disbelief in his eyes but he doesn’t push it.

Thankfully there’s no calls in the last hour of his shift and he didn’t have to move his leg until it was time to clock out. The desire to be home, in his bed, with his leg iced and elevated was almost immeasurable. He’d spent the last hour of his shift internalizing the worry that something could be hurt and if this shift alone wasn’t enough to fully drain him, the overthinking definitely helped.

He looked around him to see if anyone was around to catch him letting his guard down enough to limp and breathed out a sigh of relief when the only two people down there were people coming in from B shift. As he gets dressed into his civvies, he takes advantage of the empty locker room to openly wince and hiss whenever he’d put pressure on his leg.

He grits his teeth mid groan when Eddie walks in.

Please don’t say anything please don’t say anything please don’t say anything

“Hey, do you wanna follow me back to my place? Christopher has been dying to show you his new video game.” Eddie pauses before he smirks. “Well, I think what he said was more along the lines of he’s dying to crush you at his new video game.”

He wants to say yes, more than anything, but he just didn’t have the energy to pretend his leg wasn’t on fire the rest of the night.

Buck sighs. “Any other night I would, you know that, but I really think I just need my bed tonight.”

Something flashes in Eddie’s eyes but disappears quick enough for Buck to decipher it. “If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

Buck tries to reason with the guilt that comes when he promises Eddie that he absolutely would tell him if there was something wrong because it wasn’t a lie. Nothing was wrong, he was just in a little bit of pain. Like he kept telling himself, it wasn’t anything he hasn’t dealt with before.

The effort it took not to limp or cry out in pain as Eddie walked out with him was enough to drain him for the rest of the week.

And even as he wants to just cut off his own leg at that point, he can’t stop his heart from fluttering or his cheeks from reddening when Eddie waves at him as he drives away.

He focuses on the way Eddie makes him feel soft as he drives home instead of how bad it’s going to feel to walk up the stairs to his bed. It’s enough to get him home but by the time he’s unlocking his door, he’s out of breath from the walk from the elevator to his door.

He’s four steps up when the pain just becomes too much and he yells out as he collapses on his stairs.

As he squeezes his leg in hopes the pressure will help ease the pain he wishes he’d told someone he was hurt. He regrets not telling Bobby when he’d noticed it was more than an ache.

What if it’s another clot? It could very well be a blood clot, he’s been off of the blood thinners for a few months. Oh my God, Maddie is going to be so pissed.

He vows to never hide an injury again if he lives through this.

Then he realizes that the pain lessens just a little and he thinks maybe he can calm down because the pain that came with blood clots didn’t tend to simmer. Maybe he’s not dying and maybe the worst of the pain was over.

He’s too focused on massaging the pain away to hear the door open or the footsteps that made their way to him.

“I knew something wasn’t right.”

Buck startles, head snapping up at the sound of his best friend’s voice. When did he get here?

“Eddie? Why are you here?”

The brunette shakes his head, paces twice, then kneels in front of Buck. “I knew you were acting weird after that call. I saw the way you landed on your leg.”

“I’m,” a painful jolt that shoots up his leg cuts him off. “I’m fine, Eds.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, you look real fine.”

“Not fake fine?” He can’t help himself from replying, grinning at the exasperated look on Eddie’s face.

He rolls his eyes before he stands and grabs onto Buck’s elbow. “C’mon, up you go!”

“No, no, Eddie… I can’t walk on it. Not like this.”

“You don’t have to. You’re gonna lean on me, okay? I won’t let it touch the floor.” He holds out his pinkie and Buck can’t stop the blush rushing to his cheeks at the treatment. He braces himself as he uses his upper body strength and Eddie as leverage to stand. Eddie threw his arm over his shoulder and gripped his side to keep him upright.

“Good?”

“Good.”

The journey to get from the stairs to his couch is a bit rocky at first but Eddie keeps his promise to not let it touch the floor.

“Now, do you have any pain medication you still take in case of flare ups?”

“Uh, no, not anymore. I just use Tiger Balm usually but we’re shit out of luck there. I ran out the last time this happened.”

Eddie’s expression softens, a grin adorning his face as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket. “Maybe not.”

He holds up a thing of Tiger Balm and if Buck wasn’t already in love with Eddie Diaz, that sight alone would have done it.

Eddie picks up on Buck’s expression before he can even ask the question. “Like I said, I knew something was off after the way you landed on that call so I stopped at the drugstore before I came here.”

Don’t tear up don’t tear up don’t tear up

Instead of handing it to Buck like he expected him to, Eddie is careful as he sits on the couch next to him and motions for him to move his leg towards him.

Buck scoots back and carefully moves his bad leg to rest on the couch instead of his coffee table. Eddie takes special care not to hurt him more than he was already hurting, whispering apologies whenever Buck winces. By the time he’s done maneuvering his leg it’s bent at the knee and the area where he feels the most pain is closest to Eddie.

“Does this feel any worse?”

Buck just shakes his head.

Between the soft look on Eddie’s face, his tender touches, and being so attentively cared for, Buck is left speechless.

“Eddie… you don’t have to do this. I can do this myself.” Buck has to stop himself from moaning when he massages a certain spot. “You should be home with Christopher.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to, okay?”

The way he says it is so tender and Buck’s heart flutters in his chest.

“Eds, that’s sweet, but you really don’t have to do this.”

Buck tenses when Eddie’s hand finds his and rubs a thumb over his knuckles that completely relaxes him.

“Buck, I’m willing to take care of you. This isn’t a hardship for me, okay? I want to do this, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You always take care of me and it’s about time I return the favor so… let me help you?”

No amount of yelling at himself not to tear up stops the tears from blurring his vision. He’s so used to taking care of himself, he’s so used to dealing with the all encompassing pain alone and he never let himself feel the want of someone to care for him so he didn’t have to. Not until now, not until Eddie.

Eddie abruptly stops rubbing his leg and Buck whines at the loss of contact. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Buck shakes his head. “No one’s ever cared for me like this before. No one but you.”

He doesn’t flinch when a hand cups his cheek using their thumb to wipe away Buck’s tears.

“No one.”

“Well you better get used to it, Buck, because I care about you. So much. You don’t have to suffer alone anymore, okay? Just say the word.”

“I love you.” He blurts out.

Even with his eyes screwed shut from embarrassment Buck can hear the sincerity in Eddie’s voice as he repeats the sentiment.

His leg is long forgotten, the pain back to a dull ache.

The only things Buck feels are Eddie’s lips on his and unconditional, unadulterated love.

#it's not exactly what you asked for but i hope you like it!#this turned out way softer than i planned for it too #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #my fics #my writing

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cdyssey · 3 years ago

Text

Need

Summary: After Nick arrives at the beach house, Frankie escapes to her studio to process her emotions. Post 7x04.

A/N: I've had such Grace and Frankie brain rot these past few days that I figured I should put it to good use and write another fic. It was really fascinating to try Frankie's POV. Lily Tomlin imbues her with a lot of subtle pathos that I totally wish the show would explicitly explore more.

AO3 Link

—

Frankie excuses herself to the studio for dinner, so she can process her very big, astonishingly inappropriate, and entirely overwhelming emotions without resorting to calling Nick a “wavy-haired, Pierce Brosnan wannabe douche canoe.”

As delightful (and totally true) of a turn a phrase that it is, even she knows that saying it aloud would be trespassing a boundary that she’s sworn herself never to cross: Grace is married.

Unhappily married, maybe.

Complicatedly married at the very least.

But until the day that they mutually say “I do” to divorce papers, there isn’t enough room for three people in the Skolka marriage, however much that Grace—bless her increasingly unthawing heart—tries to ensure otherwise.

So Frankie lets the newly reunited couple have their dinner alone under the guise of a generosity that she doesn’t exactly feel, and she takes leftover pasta into her studio to moodily pick around the bowl until her fettuccine looks less like fettuccine and more like unevenly perforated confetti.

(Woo fucking hoo.)

After a few minutes of this aggressively unconstructive practice, she places her nearly full bowl on a nearby work table and stretches out across her paint-stained couch, staring at the ceiling and resisting the reactionary urge to light a joint. Mary J might help her feel better for the present moment, but tomorrow morning, she’d still wake up and feel invaded in her own home.

Paradoxically, she’d also feel alone, goddammit.

She pulls her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against an invisible and piercing chill.

Frankie hates feeling lonely.

She spiraled when Grace lived in the penthouse. She nearly self-destructed to fill the gaping void that her roommate, her friend, her practical and beloved soulmate left behind. There was a period where she didn’t wash her clothes and ate a lot of admittedly non-vegan takeout. There were nights when she’d lay awake in her awfully huge bed, staring at the empty space where Sol used to sleep, and have the familiar waking nightmare of spending her final years in forced solitude. She was happy with Jack, and then Jacob—sweet Jacob—came around too, and she did something she still feels fucking ashamed about: she hurt both of them, and she lied when she said that she had just wanted to have some fun.

She knows herself.

Intimately.

She‘d been scared of being alone again, so she tried to hold on to two people who were helping her to stave the awful feeling away. Those men wanted her, and Frankie used them. They wanted her, and she pathologically loves to feel wanted because she sometimes and irrationally fears that she might not be needed.

To be fair to her irrational fears, all the people she’s ever needed and felt needed by have hurt her before.

Sol cheated on her for twenty years.

Her own sons stuck her in a nursing home.

Grace just fucking left her.

She eloped in Vegas like a blushing twenty-one year old bride and just disappeared.

She says it was a mistake; she sat across Frankie in a sunlit restaurant and candidly told her that she didn’t like the person she had become when she married Nick.

And to be completely fair to her, Grace has been adamant about not wanting to leave again—so perhaps she never will—but if her husband is here to stay, it's also a distinct possibility that she’ll never have to make the choice to physically leave to… well… leave.

She can perpetually honeymoon with Nick and still call Frankie home.

It could be a happy ending for Grace… and a fresh new hell for Frankie, who'd just started to feel secure again.

God knows she wants her best friend to be happy, but the big man in the sky must also surely understand that she had hoped that she alone could be enough for Grace, that this unconventional life spent together in the beach house—so crazy, so weird, and so inextricably entangled—would be their shared happily ever after.

But even as she thinks it, the vestiges of her clearly misplaced optimism begin to evade her, dregs now at the bottom of an already drained cup.

She and Grace aren't married.

It’s always been an objective fact.

Tonight, it feels more like an unpleasant reality.

When the door leading into her studio suddenly flies open, Frankie barely has enough time to swipe the back of her hand across her eyes before she sits up to find none other than the lady of the hour.

Her collared shirt popped up stiffly around her neck, a martini glass surgically glued to her right hand, Grace looks quintessentially herself as she walks in, even down to the minutiae of her trademark I'm-angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it expression—brow furrowed and eyes Medusa cold. After all but slamming the door, she stalks over within a few clicks of her practical but unmistakably high heels.

“Well, hello to you, too, Sunshine,” Frankie greets wryly, hoping to hell and back that her face isn’t as red as it feels.

It’s a tall order, though.

Alas, she was gifted (or equally cursed) with an exceptionally expressive face.

“Frankie, this is nonsense,” Grace says bluntly, using her martini glass like a pointer and leveling it straight at her head. “Come back to the house—your house—and have dinner with us.”

It’s the authoritarian nature of the demand that rifles Frankie.

Frankly, it pisses her off.

She’s always been a rebel contrarian.

“And by us, you mean you and your house arrested husband, right?” She returns evenly. She betrays herself by raising a single and devastatingly skeptical brow. “The man with whom you should be having a very emotionally honest conversation with right now about the parameters of your jacked up relationship?”

Grace shifts her weight from heel to heel and glances away a little too quickly for the gesture to be entirely natural. Frankie had blatantly stricken a pulsing nerve, and the guilt of doing so immediately swallows her.

She shouldn’t be so hard on her friend.

(She doesn’t know why it’s permissible to be equally hard on herself.)

“Well, I tried to have that conversation, thank you very much, but then I ended up wanting to claw Nick’s eyes out.” The obvious follow up question must shine in Frankie’s face because sighing infinitesimally through her nostrils, Grace adds, “His attorney argued that my advanced age and apparent capability to croak at any moment were reasons enough to grant Nick leniency. They let him out so he could take care of me—whatever the hell that means.”

Her no-nonsense voice never falters as she delivers the brutal words, but her eyes undermine her, seething with emotion, simply roiling. They tell a story of horror and disgust and searing, absolute betrayal; they’re heavy all over with sadness and the indelicate trappings of all her raw and mercilessly exposed fears.

Frankie understands immediately.

Nick used one of Grace’s deepest insecurities as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Being eighty-two years old.

But perhaps more accurately, feeling like it.

“Oh, honey,” Frankie melts. She can do nothing else but melt, to be suddenly overcome with fierce, protective, and terrifying love for the woman in front of her. “That fucking bastard.”

Grace immediately laughs, the sound hoarse and watery and a little unhinged all at the exact same time.

“Tell me about it,” she half-smiles and takes the swearing as a rightful invitation to join Frankie on the couch. With a gentle clink, she sets her half-emptied martini glass on the table next to Frankie’s completely full pasta bowl. “I said the exact same thing.”

When she chooses to sit close enough that their shoulders are brushing, Frankie intuitively knows that this is petty defiance against Nick for daring to intrude upon them and the world they've so carefully created together.

She temples Grace’s nearest hand with her own in an attempt to silently communicate that this right here—whatever this is between them—is love.

“So, please”—Grace squeezes her hand back—“please don’t be angry with me… I… I didn’t want this. You know I didn’t want this. I don’t want him to even be here.”

Frankie stares openly at her best friend.

Wide-eyed and hopeful against her self-loathing, self-centered will, she searches her broken face like it's revelatory.

It's stunningly rare that Grace Hanson ever articulates her wants so clearly. Forty years of an emotionally repressive marriage did their number and toll on her. She pedestalized rigid decorum over every conscious desire.

She played by the rules even if they hurt her.

And drank herself to oblivion on many a night to forget the very fact that she was hurt.

To deny herself the honesty she’d somehow convinced herself that she didn’t deserve.

“… you know this is your husband we’re talking about here, right?” It’s a rhetorical question. Frankie's pretty sure that they both fucking know that it’s insane that this conversation—that this entire situation as a whole—is happening.

“I know,” Grace replies firmly. “Believe me, I'm well aware. But you’re… you’re my partner, Frankie, and if I can’t be upfront with you, then I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

The very word partner sends shivers down her spine, and the shivers collect like butterflies in her already churning belly.

It’s just a word, she tells herself.

She scolds.

Grace doesn’t mean anything by it.

It's a label, and Grace doesn't do labels anymore.

“I... I wasn’t mad at you, Grace,” she finally admits. It's easier to do than questioning the extent to which her roommate would give up the world for her, but all the same, her voice is frighteningly weak, a pale imitation of everything Frankie usually projects herself to be: confident, cheerful, unshakeable, unshaken. Suddenly, it hits her that it’s been a very long time since she’s been so openly vulnerable, too. “I'm not even really all that mad at your jailbird husband either. I was just scared, and when I get scared, I skitter like a nervous little bug."

She shuts down.

She spirals.

She tries to put a smile on her face for the people who love her all the same.

And then she lies awake at night, drowning in the sheets of an empty bed.

Thinking about how she should probably tell someone that everything hurts.

But she’s Frankie, and she doesn’t do that.

Grace perpetually convinces herself that she doesn’t deserve honesty; Frankie has come to fear that no one wants her own.

“Were you scared of me?” Grace asks quietly, her grip so tight now that it almost stings.

“Frankie…” She presses when a few heartbeats of silence stagger by, limping painfully on all fours, pronouncing so many unspoken and profound hurts.

“Of losing you, Grace,” she confesses, the words defeated and scraped raw. She forcefully tugs her hand away from Grace's just to temple her own hands together on her lap, to lick her sundry and shining wounds in a private corner. “I was scared of losing you, of being alone again in this big, empty house… and I don’t like being alone.”

She can’t bear to look at Grace as she says it, staring at the paint-flecked floor without ever really seeing it, her eyes burning.

She wishes they’d stop burning but feels the precise moment when they begin to leak anyway.

It’s all so embarrassing.

And childish.

Frankie is an eighty-year old woman, and she shouldn’t be upset over her best friend having a goddamn life.

She should be happy for her, fucking ecstatic.

And yet, she's—

But before she can complete the miserable thought, her body becomes aware of another sensation entirely—warm arms enveloping her from the side and inexorably pulling her in, turning the space that once existed between two bodies—between them—intangible, negligible.

Grace.

Shock turns into realization, and realization transforms into aching, sweeping relief.

It can only be Grace.

Grace’s soft lips pressed to her cheek.

Grace’s fingertips curling into the fabric of her dress.

Grace’s nose against her neck as she slides her sharp chin across her shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you, Frances Bergstein,” she declares. “Whatever happens between me and Nick, in the end, it’s going to be just you and me in this house that is our damn home. I swear that to you. I’d tell you every day just to prove it to you.”

Oh, these words.

These beautiful, tender, and long-needed-to-hear words.

They’re just words, she could tell herself again.

She could lie.

She could convince herself if she had to.

She could conveniently forget that Grace Hanson uses language carefully, that she employs every sentence with scalpel-like precision.

Or... more complicatedly still... Frankie could believe her.

Frankie could blindly accept these words for what they are, as manifest confirmation that she is loved by another—prioritized and cared for and needed.

She could be Grace’s partner and let that incredible word be electrically charged with so many complex and ridiculous and extraordinary ideas, none of which are traditional, and all of which feel true.

She could believe in her even if belief is not simple, even if belief is a product, first and foremost, of trust.

And Grace has certainly lost her trust before, but goddammit, she's earned it so many times, too.

“Oh, God,” Frankie laughs in such a way that it’s stupidly clear that she’s crying as Grace rubs slow circles into her back with her thumb. “This is all messed up. You’re the one with a house arrested, tax evading husband. I should be the one comforting you.”

“The house arrested, tax evading husband doesn’t particularly faze me,” Grace chuckles, her voice low. “Seeing you hurting and upset does. My priorities are remarkably straight.”

“I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word,” she smiles weakly as they slowly and clumsily begin to extricate themselves from their tangled embrace.

It’s hard to find themselves again.

To be apart.

“But I do,” Grace protests, emphatic and indignant and maybe even a few shades righteously pissed. “You’re the person I wanna share this crazy life with at the end of the day and every day. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because every day is an incredibly long time to be with me,” Frankie offers meekly, giving her one more perfect and easily acceptable copout, a neatly packaged excuse.

She can be too much.

She knows this.

“It’s just the right amount of time to be with you,” Grace murmurs, reaching up to brush an errant tear away from Frankie’s cheek, her thumb lingering, her quivering palm. “You’re kind enough to love me, and I’m lucky enough to be loved by you... so let me return the favor, Frankie. Let me be here for you."

And to Grace’s credit in this fleeting moment, she continues to hold Frankie.

It's a promise to never let her go.

#grace and frankie #grace hanson #frankie bergstein #grace x frankie #grace and frankie spoilers #reginianwrites #s: grace and frankie

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violet-knox · 4 years ago

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The Family Secret

Chapter 5: Home

Pairing: Young!Snape x Reader

Summary: After spending what felt like forever in the hospital, it’s finally time for Severus to come home.

Word count: 3093

A/N: Last chapter! Thank you everyone who’s made it all the way to the end! I hope this chapter lives up to the rest of the story and wraps it up nicely. It’s been a long journey starting with the idea of a summer visit to Cokeworth and travelling with the knight bus way back in July of 2020, and I had no clue where I wanted the story to go from there. I’m absolutely thrilled at the experience this story has brought me and I’m very grateful for the support I was given this month with each chapter being posted.

Since this is the end of this story, I will resume posting my requests and new chapters of LSL next week, alternating between them. I really enjoy posting on Saturdays, no pressure to post on work days and I can take my time putting the post together, so I think from now until further notice, I will continue to post on Saturdays (probably more like Sunday for some of you on the other side of the world). Hopefully this is a schedule everyone will enjoy (let’s see how long i can keep it up this time) and I can’t wait to continue growing my masterlist (which is getting really long and I should probably do something about that).

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

Days passed by like weeks, each one just as exhausting as the last, your worry over Severus whenever you were forced to leave him growing until you couldn’t take it anymore. Every day you’d ask if he could be released, pleading with them to let him heal at home, but ‘no’ was all you heard until finally, by the grace of Merlin, they let him leave the hospital and you would no longer have to spend the night complaining about leaving his side.

You wasted no time running to Severus, finding him dressed and ready to go. You stood by the door and watched him walk towards you, your feet springing to life as you leaped on him, almost toppling him over as you finally gave him a proper hug. You wrapped your arms around him, your bodies pressed together as you buried your face in the crock of his neck. His small chuckles music to your ears, the way his hands ran up and down your back, pressing you into him. He had his strength back, he was whole again, happy and free. You closed your eyes and wouldn’t dare move, too scared to let him go. But of course, as they always did, your parents walked into the room saying it was time to go, only this time, you knew Severus would come along with you and that was the only thing that gave you the strength to push him away. You took his hand and made your way down the halls of the hospital, beyond ecstatic you wouldn’t have to come back here again tomorrow.

“So, I’ve decided what I want to do after Hogwarts,” you said to him as you walked through the hospital doors, leaving that horrific chapter of your lives behind, keeping your eyes forward.

“Oh?” Severus smiled, looking over to you in admiration. He loved your optimism, your ability to turn any situation into a positive and he loved how much you cared for him, your grip on him never faulting.

“I want to be a healer,” you said firmly, smiling right back at him. Severus burst out laughing almost immediately, the irony of your choice rather amusing. You giggled in return, never offended by his hysteria, but simply elated with the sound of his joy. His face was glowing with life, his skin warm beneath your touch, his smile radiant and his booming voice a thing of miracles. Not one week ago was his voice taken from him, the pleasure of hearing it stripped from you. But now, to see his lungs able to take in such a breath as he laughed was the best gift you could have ever received.

“Why is that funny?!” You asked, a bit taken back by his sudden outburst, wondering what was on his mind.

Severus shook his head as his laughter died down to a smile, his eyes beaming at you, looking at you with admiration. “No, I think you’ll be an amazing healer.”

You smiled back at him, opening the car door and pulling him inside, refusing to let go of his hand as you slid into your seat. Severus wouldn’t dare loosen his grip on you, knowing it would absolutely shatter your heart as it would his. For a week he’d been leaching onto your company, letting it heal him, and for a week, he felt himself become enveloped with sadness every time you left him in tears. He couldn’t wait to get back to his life with you, to return to Hogwarts and finally find himself home again.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” you said, getting yourself comfortable, sitting as close to him as you could, your head on his shoulders, his arm pressed into your chest, his fingers interlocked with yours. You ran your free hand up and down his arm, until his own hand stilled it, grasping it to rest between you both.

“Me too,” he whispered, resting his cheek atop your head, a few strands of his hair falling over his face. Severus had always resented car rides, only ever getting the privilege of experiencing one when he grew old enough to help his parents with work or chores. But this car ride made him forget the past and it couldn’t even compare to the one he’d enjoyed when Lily’s mother drove them to the movies for her birthday. He could feel the peace of the city moving past him back then, his life belonging to him and him alone. For the first time in his life, he could do what he wanted, spend his life how he liked and he was happy he’d found you to spend it with.

All in all, this wouldn’t have been his optimal choice for introducing himself to your parents, but they seemed so nice, so supportive and he knew your influence likely had a hand in how they treated him this past week. He couldn’t imagine what your father had to sacrifice to take on the night shift every day just to look over Severus’ recovery, but he was grateful for it. He felt accepted, like he’d always been a part of your family. It was odd knowing there were people who cared for him as much as he did you, but it was a good feeling. He felt important, like he had purpose, a reason to go on, to live the best life he could.

Having you lead him inside as he entered your house was such a surreal feeling. He knew he’d been here once before, but he was so out of it last week, the pain in his chest, the worry sitting in the back of his head too overwhelming for him to analyse your home. Your house felt welcoming, the sitting room open for all, the walls splattered with pictures of you and your parents. His imprint was nowhere to be found, no indication that he’d so much as stepped inside the house before, and yet he felt home.

“Severus, (Y/N).” Your father called for you both, his eyes giving away the seriousness of whatever talk he was about to give you. You looked at him in worry, holding Severus tighter than before. You couldn’t have him ask Severus to leave, not after everything you’d been through and you weren’t ready to hear a lecture about your safety and the dangers of sneaking out at night. “Have a seat. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Severus felt his heart drop, his legs shaking in fear of what your father would say next. You could feel his nerves, his eyes heavy with worry as he looked at you. Smiling, you squeezed his hand as you led Severus to sit on the couch adjacent to your parents. You moved as close to Severus as you could, holding his arm with both your hands, showing him you wouldn’t let anything they said change how you both felt right now. You would defend him, his right to stay with you in this safe warm bubble until September came.

“That policeman who spoke to you both last week,” your father began and you felt Severus shift in his place, both of you suspecting where this was going. For you, it was about finding assurance in his safety, but for Severus, it was about keeping himself informed to keep you out of harm's way. “After that night at the hospital, he contacted child protective services and a case against your parents was opened.”

Your father spoke mostly to Severus, but you kept yourself hung on every word as if they were meant for you. Anything that concerned him directly affected you whether your father liked it or not. You were invested in him, living happily with him, planning a future with him.

“We don’t know all the details, but we do know the police tried to visit Eileen and Tobias Snape to ask a few questions and instead found their home bare. They spent about a day searching for them before releasing a warrant for their arrest,” your father spoke calmly, doing his best to ease you both into this new development, but you couldn’t help wonder how long he’d known about this, how he’d spent all week waiting for Severus to come home, for the pressure you felt to melt away.

“What?!” Severus could hardly believe what he was hearing. Of all the possibilities he thought would come of the interrogation with the policeman, this was not one of them. He wasn’t sure how to feel, what could possibly be going through the minds of his parents right now. “What of the house?”

It wasn’t the most prominent question he could have asked, and judging by the look your father gave him, it wasn't the question that was expected to be asked of him, but he needed to know. It was now the only thing left tying him to his childhood, the only piece of his past left to hold him back. He needed to know if it was something that would come back to pull him into the horrors he’d lived through, or if he’d been truly freed from the cruelty of the life his parents had given him.

“The house currently remains under the name of whoever owns it, I assume your parents, and if they were to be tried, they will need someone else to make their payments, otherwise the bank will take ownership of the house.”

Severus nodded, bowing his head as he thought through what could happen next. His parents had no one that would care enough to help pay off their mortgage. No one except him. It was up to Severus whether or not he wanted to let the house die in the loneliness it felt now, or revive it, build it anew and create memories he perhaps wouldn’t grow to hate. He held the key on his past possessed with the power of ridding him of everything he’d resented over the years. He shouldn’t have hesitated to slam the door shut, lock it and toss away the key, but it was hard from him to let go. As much as he hated Spinner’s End, that house was the reason he’d grown to be who he was, the potential he held within him.

“Severus, there’s something else you need to understand.” Your father leaned forward and you both gave him your full attention again, your hearts beating furiously as you waited to see what more you’d missed this past week. “Your parents were declared unfit to raise you, which means child protective services filed to put you under their care.”

“No!” you immediately protested, completely heartbroken at the thought of Severus having to leave you for a bunch of strangers who wouldn’t care for him like you would. Your father raised his hand, asking you to wait until he was finished, but you couldn’t contain yourself. You couldn’t take any more of this. “He’s not leaving! I won’t let them take him!”

“I understand (Y/N),” your father stayed calm as he tried to go on and for the first time since you saw him that day, you let go of Severus’ hand just to throw them over his shoulders, hugging him as tightly as you could. Severus gently wrapped his arms around you, bowing his head to meet your shoulder. It could have been worse. His parents could have found him before all of this and cleared it all up with the authorities, but they didn’t and at least this way, he could still see you, he could still be with you. “Your mother and I have discussed this, and we know that in the Wizarding World you are of age Severus, which means you won’t need legal guardians once you leave for Hogwarts. Until then, we’ve decided to take up the responsibility of becoming your legal guardians.”

Both of you were left speechless, frozen as you stayed with your arms wrapped around one another. It seemed too good to be true, a golden ticket just handed to you after the headache of a week you had. Loosening your grip on Severus, you looked over at your parents and giggled in glee. You were so blissfully happy you weren’t even sure how to react.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Severus spoke in such a small voice, his tone neutral. You’d never seen him so starstruck before. Even if he never showed it, he'd always been sure of himself, always knew how he felt, what to say, but for the first time ever, he was completely helpless to the situation. Your smile grew wider as you took his hand again, pulling back from Severus to look at your parents with such gratitude.

“We’re just glad you're safe,” your mum smiled at him, standing from her seat. “I’ll go make lunch, I’m sure we’re all feeling a bit famished after everything that’s happened this week.”

She walked out of view and you felt yourself relax, taking in the fact that it was truly over. Everything had worked itself out; Severus was safe, and you didn’t have to worry over him all summer anymore. You could finally enjoy your time together and perhaps for once, Severus could have a summer that didn’t end with him looking forward to a new semester at Hogwarts.

“I’ve moved your belongings into the guest bedroom. I suggest you start unpacking. Tomorrow, we can drive by your house to pick up anything you left behind.” Your father gestured down the hall before he stood to follow your mother into the kitchen. Finally, you were left alone and you couldn’t do anything but let out your happiness, throwing your head back with your arms in the air as you sighed loudly.

Severus looked at you and smiled, sitting back with you, watching you let go of all the stress he’d caused you this past week. Your arms fell down in your lap and he reached out to take your hand for once. You gladly squeezed back as he tightened his hold on you, seeking for the comfort you’d so graciously let him lean on this past week. He was happy to see you finally let go of your worry over him. He never wanted to weigh you down and he didn’t want to be the source of any of your stress.

“Let’s go unpack,” you said, pulling him off the couch and leading him down the hall. The guest room was much larger than he would have imagined, larger than his room at least. The bed was large, a queen-sized mattress sitting in the middle of the room against the back wall. Two nightstands stood on either side of the bed, a few picture frames hanging around the room, bringing the room to life. His trunk was at the edge of the bed like it had been sitting there for years. You walked inside the room and sat on the bed, watching him as he opened up his trunk to find everything he held dear in this world safe and sound, ready to settle into his new home.

“Your parents are generous,” Severus said as he shuffled through his trunk, removing his clothing and stacking up his books to one side. He’d never accepted help like he had from you this past week, and to have your parents do what they did, offer him a home and welcome him into your family was an absolute astonishment to him. He’d grown up around people who wouldn’t think twice about passing him by, assuming the worst of him because of where he lived or the clothing he wore on his back. But not you. You were the first to have ever truly accepted him for all he was, and now your parents had done the same.

“They wouldn’t turn their back on someone I love, Sev.” You were of course grateful for what your parents did, but you weren’t all that surprised. It was the right thing to do after all and it broke your heart knowing Severus didn’t understand that. He’d been so used to rejection, his parents treating him the way they did, this town shunning his side of the street, even his childhood best friend, abandoning him after everything he’d been through.

“They don’t know me,” Severus knew he shouldn’t question the generosity he was shown today, but he couldn’t help it. Your parents gained nothing from helping him, they didn’t know him and had no reason to trust him enough to let him live in their house for a few months. It didn’t make sense to him in the slightest, and his curiosity got the better of him.

“They know enough.”

“Like what?” he pushed, the urge for answers growing greater as he got closer to an explanation.

“They know that you’d always been there for me, that you stuck by my side at Hogwarts when no one else would. They know you care for me and that I care for you. And they know you’re brilliant and deserve a chance at happiness.” Your eyes twinkled, a smirk smeared across your face as you spoke to him.

Severus smiled as he closed his trunk, placing his clothing atop it to be put away later and carrying the stack of books to one of the nightstands. Taking a seat next to you, he ran his fingers along your hairline until his hand rested over your jaw. He looked at you as he felt you leaning into him, placing a hand over his, returning his smile.

“Your dreams are too optimistic,” he said softly, secretly hoping you were right. He would love nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you, to support you as you’d done him.

“I beg to differ. I think they are completely realistic.” Severus chuckled. You always opposed his pessimism, the light in the darkness he lived in and he had no idea what he would do if that light ever went out. For years he’d tried to imagine it, living without you, trying to stay independent, but he couldn’t do it anymore. It was too exhausting, and it wasn’t worth it. You’d never once given him a reason to doubt you’d do anything but stay together, and he was happy for it. He let himself dream of the future he wanted, the life he needed and no matter how impossible it seemed in the past, it was definitely one that seemed probable now, one he’d fight the world to have.

Fin

@sleepysnapesnake @wanderingtrails @darkthought15 @bush-viper-cutie @fluffymadamina @dracos-mudblood @mitchiesdungeon @severuslovebot @ravenhopeflyte54 @cuddlebunny0330 @flowerdementia

Edit: I’m so sorry I forgot to tag some of you yesterday! Forgive me 😖

@lizlil @eave3 @serena-9623 @1975weasley

#Severus Snape #Severus x reader #Severus Snape x reader #Snape x reader #young Severus Snape #young Snape x reader #my fanfic #my writing #pro Snape #snapedom #snapebang20

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Pure Adoration (Spencer Reid Imagine)

Summary: After Ally is saved by the BAU, Spencer treats her with tender actions that can only be out of pure adoration.

Category: Fluff Couple: Spencer Reid x OC Cotent Warning: Allusions to trauma, abduction Word Count: 2.6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Like he was handling precious china, Reid tucked his arms underneath her torso and the back of her knees to lift her off the asphalt with the utmost care. A low groan of discomfort fell from her lips.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, Ally. You’re safe now.” He whispered to her.

Her head fell limp against his chest, bringing her closer to the scent of his cologne. He smelled like something warm and sweet. She couldn’t place why the smell was so familiar, but she liked it to be associated with him from now on.

Through half lidded eyes, Ally peered up at the knight in shining armor who came to rescue her from the locked away dungeon she resided in for most of her adolescence.

He carried her to safety in his arms with such finesse, it was almost impossible for Ally not to smile at him and all his glory as he helped her into a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance.

Though she couldn’t yet gather the strength to speak, he answered her questioning eyes.

“My name’s Spencer and I’m gonna be right beside you the entire time.” He slid into a seat beside her head and reached for her hand to hold.

With the power she could muster, she squeezed his hand back as best she could.

‘Thank you.’ Her sorrowful eyes said.

. . .

“What’s gonna happen to her?” Garcia was on the verge of tears as she asked this.

Hotch sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets regretfully, looking down to hide the tears forming in his own eyes. “She’ll be under government protection.”

“That’s not good enough! There has to be someone out there. She has to have a family! Maybe I didn’t dig deep enough. Somebody better take that sweet girl home!” Garcia tried hard to deny the truth, but her blind optimism was merely a naive and desperate hope.

“Babygirl, babygirl,” Morgan rose from his seat to embrace Garcia in a hug as she began to weep. “We’ve checked everywhere. There’s no one.”

Hotch gathered his file and prepared himself to leave the room. He was torn about the outcome, even if he wasn’t showing it. “She’ll be in my office until the agent from Protected Services comes to pick her up.” With that, he left the conference room.

“That poor girl.” Blake softly tutted and shook her head.

“No kidding. She just spent a decade of her life in an underground bunker, and now that she’s finally out, nobody wants her.” Rossi noted.

Spencer was looking pensively into the distance, out into the bullpen.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Morgan asked, noticing the obvious shift in energy in Spencer.

He moved his hooked finger over his mouth under his chin so he could speak. “Has she eaten anything yet?”

“I think she had some applesauce at the hospital.”

“No, she didn’t even eat that. I tried to feed it to her, but she didn’t want it.” JJ explained.

“I’m gonna get her something to eat.” Spencer’s voice audibly choked up, and everybody knew he would sooner cry, so before he broke down in front of them, he briskly left the room.

. . . .

Followed by a courteous knock on the door, Spencer opened Hotch’s office to find it pitch black. He almost couldn’t see her, it was so dark. He had to wonder if she’d be so accustomed to the darkness of the bunker, that light would frighten her.

“Hey, Ally. I brought you some food. I thought you might be hungry.”

Spencer could see her body recoil and flinch as he neared her, so he set the bag food on the table to maintain a distance she was comfortable with.

“Is there anything else I can get you? Coffee, water?”

He saw her shake her head no but made a mental note anyway to grab a bottle of water to give to her to be polite.

Spencer threw his hand in the air to give a little wave goodbye before reopening the door to leave.

“Wait, Dr. Reid!”

The voice shocked him. He almost didn’t register that it came from her, it was so tiny and frail.

“Can you keep stopping by . . . whenever you can?”

He tried not to get emotional at the small breakthrough they just had - her finally speaking and him finally hearing her voice, so he left her with a swift, “Yeah, of course. I’ll check in every hour.”

“Thank you.” She peeped.

Spencer scrunched his face into a smile and closed the door behind him. When Reid turned around, Prentiss was right there. Startled by her close proximity, Reid yelped.

“Whoa, you alright?”

“Nothing! I mean - yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Prentiss is skeptical, and rightfully so. “You sure?”

“Yes.” He exasperatedly sighed.

“Forget that I asked, then. But you know you can always talk to me.”

This was true. Anything someone told Prentiss, would die with her. She would lock their secrets and throw away the key.

“Ally just talked to me.”

Prentiss face lit up with excitement. “She did?”

“Yeah,” He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, she did.”

Prentiss engulfs Reid in a hug. “That’s great, Reid!”

“Yeah?” He asks once more for confirmation.

“Absolutely! That is a really good sign.”

. . .

After an hour passes, Spencer nonchalantly leaves the round table to walk eagerly to Ally. When he gets there, the door is slightly ajar, but open just enough to see that Ally isn’t sitting at the desk. Spencer opens the door fully and scans the entire room for her. He sighs in relief when he sees her asleep on the couch. He approaches her gingerly - being careful not to disturb her. He shrugs off his cardigan and puts it on her to act as a blanket. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake. If anything, she leans into his touch unconsciously. Only out of pure adoration, he tucks a strand of hair that covers her face behind her ear and runs the back of his index finger along her temple, down to her cheek, and along her jaw. He studies her sleeping - smiling at how peaceful she looks. With great caution again, he exits the office, turning off the light and shutting the door behind him quietly.

. . .

Another hour passes and it’s 6 a.m. Once again, Spencer sees himself out of the conference room with no trace of leaving and walks to Hotch’s office. Knowing that she was previously asleep causes him to open the door more gently. He peeks a little to notice she’s not awake yet, but before the door closes he hears something.

“Dr. Reid?”

Ally’s voice is so quiet, that in comparison - a whisper would be loud, but he hears her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No worries.”

Spencer enters the room, still not turning on the light as a precaution to any psychological aversion she may have to it.

As Spencer tries to make his way over to her, he stumbles into things, making Ally laugh. Hearing that laugh is almost rewarding to him. Slowly but surely, he joins her on the couch. She sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have in years.”

Spencer tries not to frown at the thought that even this rock-hard couch was a better sleeping arrangement than the one she had before in that bunker.

Still in the dark, Ally fumbles with the piece of cloth on her.

“Is this your-”

Spencer is quick to defend himself. “I came by earlier and I didn’t want you to be cold.”

Even in the dark, Spencer feels her warm smile. Ally reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek and kisses the other. This is the first time she’s really touched someone back, much less let anyone this close.

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. That was really sweet of you.”

Hesitantly, but paradoxically confident at the same time, Reid puts his hand on her thigh and pats it.

“You should keep it. It looks better on you.”

Ally grins once more, and Spencer rises from his seat.

Not wanting to leave, he does anyway. “I’ll be back.”

“See you soon, then.”

Something stops him from leaving.

“You don’t have to keep calling me, Dr. Reid, by the way. Spencer is fine. Or Reid. Or anything, really.”

“What would you like me to call you by?”

Spencer doesn’t actually know. “Uh, Doctor . . . Dr. Reid is okay. I like it.”

Before he can embarrass himself anymore, he shuts the door behind him and leaves.

. . .

Spencer is finishing the geographical profile and trying to triangulate the comfort zone. When he finally does so, the team departs the office and heads to the potential location. When he checks his watch, he realizes it’s been more than two hours since he’s stopped by to visit Ally. He rushes to Hotch’s office, only to knock on the door and see that she’s not there. He rationalizes with himself that there’s a strong possibility she’s still in the building - possibly using the restroom, maybe even on the floor somewhere. However, something catches his eye - she left his cardigan on the couch. Without a second thought, he snatches the cardigan off the couch, and runs out of the office, hoping - praying - he’ll be able to find her and give this cardigan back to her.

He wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t know for certain she didn’t get abducted in the time he was away. That’s why he scans the floor, trying to find her. He makes his way through each room, opening practically every door. Until finally he finds her, approaching the elevator.

“Ally!”

She turns around when she hears him.

“There you are. I was wondering where you were.”

“I was busy, sorry. Um, where, where are you going?”

“Agent Hotchner told me that Protective Services is in the downstairs lobby waiting for me.”

Reid nearly forgot about Ally’s predicament in the wake of the good feelings they shared.

“You um, you forgot this.” He handed her back the cardigan, wishing it wasn’t a parting gift, even though that seemed to be the case.

She took it gingerly, holding it flush against her heart.

“Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

She was about to slip into the elevator, but Spencer knew he couldn’t let her.

“Actually, why don’t we get coffee first? Protective Services can wait.”

Ally is hesitant, but in her naivete, she complies.

Unbeknownst to her, while Reid makes her coffee in the office, he makes arrangements for Ally to stay.

. . .

Ally and Reid are sitting at Reid’s desk and he’s pulled up a separate chair for himself to sit on. Ally nurses her coffee, while Reid sips at something with whipped cream on the top.

Reid begins to say something, but is interrupted by Ally’s chuckles. Reid knits his brows together in confusion.

“What? What is it?”

“You just, you have something -” She’s referring to the whipped cream on his upper lip.

She leans over and wipes it away. There’s something so delicate about her touch that when she comes close to his face, he’s mesmerized. For a moment, he holds his stare, before snapping out of his trance when he remembers what he was trying to say.

The team exits the elevator. Reid and Ally watch as they approach.

“How was it?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Nothing. Hotch said we need to rework the profile.”

“I have to go. I’ll be back.”

Reid gets up to leave and Ally is about to leave to return to Hotch’s office, but Reid stops her.

“Stay here. I’ll have a better view of you and you can see me through the glass. I also have newspaper crossword puzzles in my desk if you want to work on one.”

Ally needn’t be convinced further.

Reid smiles happily and walks with a bounce in his step back to the conference room.

. . .

Ally’s in the middle of completing a crossword puzzle, when she hears a noise. She looks around the office for where it might be coming from and her eyes land on Spencer, who’s knocking on the glass from inside the conference room trying to get her attention. He holds up a paper to the glass. It reads “Hi :)” There’s something so adorable about his chicken scratch handwriting. Ally smiles instantly and looks around his desk for pen and paper. When she finds some, she writes back “Hello!” It comes as no surprise that she’s got the most legible handwriting ever. It almost replicates a font of a computer. Reid writes on the other side of the paper quickly. “I have to get back to work before I get in trouble. I’ll come down as soon as I can.” Ally writes back. “I'm looking forward to your return, then.” Rossi sees this exchange, and when Reid turns around, Rossi glares at him. Ally nearly bursts into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, but her laugh catches the attention of the office.

Some time passes, and Reid still hasn’t come down yet, but Ally and him have found other ways of communicating.

The first time around, Ally was completely oblivious to Reid's staring. Prentiss caught Reid, and Reid quickly looked away. The second time, Reid looked at Ally, she felt it and looked at him through the glass. Just as he did with Prentiss, he shyly turned away. Didn’t change the fact that she knew he was looking. The third time around, Ally was looking at Reid. This time he caught her. She turned her head away, too.

The fourth time, Reid was looking at Ally again, and when she looked back, he smiled. And she smiled back.

Another hour passes and Ally hears that familiar knocking noise. She looks up at the conference room and sees Reid trying to get her attention once more. When she sees him, he waves at her so vigorously his hand flops around. It’s a pure and childlike wave. He’s so happy to say hi. Ally waves back and motions for him to return to his work. He pouts and makes puppy dog eyes, to which Ally shakes her head. Reid takes another piece of paper and begins to slowly move it in front of his face. Each time the paper shifts from left to right, he’s making a new expression. First he was smiling, then he was grumpy, then he was sad, then he was silly. And for the last face, he was stern and serious. Then he pointed behind him, and Ally saw that he was trying to imitate Hotch. Ally claps for him and jokingly blows him a kiss. He pretends to catch it, before he walks away to work.

. . .

Now that it’s noon, Penelope is on her way to invite the team for a lunch break. As she struts through the office, she sees that Reid is at his desk. She taps him - or who she thinks is him.

When the chair spins, Penelope sees Ally.

“You aren’t Reid. You’re Ally. Sitting at Spencer’s desk. Working on a crossword. Wearing his sweater. You can see where I’d be confused, right? Can we start over?”

Ally instantly stands up with an apologetic countenance. “I was getting cabin fever in Agent Hotchner’s office.”

Penelope’s face completely changes into one of empathy. Not only has Ally spoken to her, but she actually relates to her.

“You - you were lonely?” Penny asks in awe.

“Very much so.”

“I get lonely, too! It’s just me and my computers. Do you want to come to my bat cave? I have lollipops and cookies and figurines.”

Ally doesn’t even have time to nod before Garcia takes Ally’s hand with a childlike eagerness and runs to her office together. Garcia has a friend now :,)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #fluff #spencer reid fluff

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tuanyiems · 4 years ago

Text

The Spirit of Christmas

Jaebum x Reader holiday!au, roommate!au words: 2.8k

Plot: You are sugar and spice and everything nice and your roommate, Jaebum is coal—at least, that’s how it seems at first glance. With the pandemic and Christmas Eve coming to an end, maybe it’s not just Jaebum that needs a little Christmas spirit.

a/n – guess whose household got covid in time for Christmas? 2020 hates me lol anyways, I said I was going to post a Jackson holiday au but that was taking too long, I’ll post it next Christmas lmao here is jb and his kitties in the meantime <3 happy holidays folks, stay safe and merry and I’ll meet you in the new year

“What is that?” Jaebum looks at you incredulously as you carry an armful of green into his living room. You let it fall onto the floor, much to his annoyance and his cats’ pleasure. Nora flops onto her belly, rubbing against the green sticks.

“It’s our Christmas tree!” you grin, running your fingers through the fur of her belly and earning a nip to your fingers. You giggle at the tickle of her teeth on your thumb. Despite her feisty disposition, Nora very rarely ever bites for real.

“That’s a pile of plastic,” your roommate plops himself on the couch, feet thrown over the coffee table.

Your mouth twists as you push the ottoman closer to him with a gentle push of your fuzzy sock-clad feet. Jaebum glances at the bright yellow ottoman you brought into the apartment when he told you about a million times that the thing was a waste of money (and a neon eyesore). He then looks over at your feet looking awfully like a red stocking, and he truly does mean the awful part. He keeps his feet on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, arms behind his head.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” you emphasize, lifting his legs with a huff onto the ottoman. You dust your hands before placing them onto your hips. “And you’re going to help me put it up!”

He frowns, looking into your eager eyes. “Remind me why I moved in with you again?”

“Because I had a spare room and you needed someone willing to live with five cats,” you answer easily like you always do. You throw one of the plastic limbs at him. “Now come on, let’s get festive!”

“Your festive and my festive are very different,” Jaebum sighs, but he gets up anyways.

“Noted,” you chuckle, clearing a space on the floor for him to sit beside you.

You grab your phone to turn on your playlist, lovingly titled “HO! HO! HO!iday Cheer” and immediately you can see Jaebum’s face sour at the familiar jingle as Mariah Carey’s voice echoes through the room.

“Oh, we’re going with my festive, just so you know,” you warn him belatedly. He blows at his bangs, shoulders slumping in surrender.

“Let’s just get this over with before my ears start bleeding,” he grumbles, grabbing hold of a couple plastic limbs.

“That’s the spirit!” you cheer, slapping him on the back. You don’t miss the small twitch of his lips.

You had a lot of hopes for this year, all of which pretty much went down the drain. That was life though, you rolled with the punches. But you certainly did not expect that when you opened your home to Jaebum and his five cats, that just two weeks after, he would be your only social life for the next nine months (if you didn’t count your biweekly grocery outings).

And while you have nothing against Jaebum—in fact, you absolutely love his five cats—it doesn’t take a genius to tell that the two of you are very different. Jaebum’s black on black fashion, motorcycle riding, sterling silver face piercing-self, next to your pastel, soft knit cardigan-wearing, always smelling like bread and daisies…the two of you are a walking metaphorical neon sign flashing “opposites!”

“Why does that matter? He’s going to be my roommate, not my husband!” you had shrugged Jinyoung’s warning without a second thought.

That memory would come back to bite you during the first three months of shared living, for every time he woke you up from his random 3am showers or played horror movies in the living room right before your bedtime, and especially whenever he responded to your silly jokes with a deadpan face or worse, his unrelenting despondency.

Over time though, you learned how to read him—like how he was nicer after a cup of coffee or how he has trouble sleeping but always manages to fall asleep on the living room couch when you’re baking bread in the open kitchen. You’ve learned that when Jaebum scowls, it’s mostly just a reflex and actually, if you can catch a reflection whenever he’s looking away, usually he’s smiling. And although he will grumble about it the entire way through, if you ask for help, he will always be there (even when he tells you he won’t).

Maybe you both express yourselves differently. You say “I love you” and he will ask “Did you eat yet?” You bake cupcakes and have teatime on the porch with the older neighbors, Jaebum installs cameras and buys extra essentials whenever you go grocery shopping together. You fill the windowsills with abandoned plants and bring them back to life, Jaebum leaves cat food and old blankets in your backyard for the strays.

No one else understands when you tell them you think you and Jaebum might be the same person, but they haven’t seen him the way you have over the last nine months. Beneath his hardboiled exterior is a sensitive soul who loves quietly and cares a lot.

“There’s no point in putting this up,” Jaebum grumbles as he fits another limb into the trunk of the tree. “No one’s even gonna see it, it’s already Christmas Eve. Anyways, the Christmas party is canceled.”

“You will see it. I will see it,” you hand him another part. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“It’s a waste of electricity,” he adds, not even glancing at you.

“The lights I bought have a timer!”

“And then it’ll be more work taking it down again.”

With a pout, you stand up and Jaebum turns his head in surprise.

“Where are you going, it almost done?”

Your frown easily twists back into a smile, seeing the way he hurries to put the last limb into the tree. “Time for the decorations!”

Jaebum rolls his eyes and looks down again and you can just tell he’s hiding another smile. You hurry off into your bedroom to grab the supplies.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” you sing as you reenter the living room and Michael Bublé’s voice rings from your phone. Twirling in an oversized pajama pullover (which might be Jaebum’s that got lost in your laundry three months back), you settle the box of ornaments on the floor. “I’m so excited to show you!”

He looks at you blankly, waiting for you to continue.

You squeeze your shoulders together, excitement barely contained as you reach into the box and pull out an emerald velvet pouch.

“It came in the mail just in time!” you grin, clutching the bag to your chest.

He lifts his brow at you, but the rise of his cheekbones gives him away.

“Ta da!” you squeal, pulling round orbs out of the bag. “One of my co-workers has a side business making custom ornaments and I got one for each of the cats!”

“Woah,” Jaebum takes one of the ornaments into his palms, eyeing it closely.

You bite your lip, holding in a satisfied giggle lest you ruin the moment. He sits quietly, admiring each ornament of the cats. When he gets to the last one, you pull out one more orb from the bag, holding it up by its gold, glittering string.

“And I got one of us too,” you say quietly, showing it off to him.

He slides closer, nose practically touching the ornament. It’s a simple, clear bulb and inside are your figurine versions, dusted with glittering snow around a Christmas tree.

Finally, Jaebum breaks into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents. You find yourself letting out a breath you had been holding.

“They even got my cheek piercings,” he chuckles, pointing to the tiny orb. “And your derpy smile too!”

“Hey, my smile isn’t derpy!” you whine, smiling.

“It’s cute,” he adds and you falter, wondering if he means the ornament or your smile. But in true Jaebum fashion, he doesn’t explain himself and turns back to the cat ornaments. “This is really well made.”

You ignore the pulsing in your chest, nodding your head. “Yeah, I told her she should raise her prices.”

He gets up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Let’s put them up.”

Cheeks flushing, you let him help you up.

“Do you think it’s okay though? The cats might knock them down,” his brows furrow with worry.

You chuckle, grabbing the ornament from his hand and hang it off the tree. “Pretty things are meant to be shown and if it breaks…then we’ll get new ones!”

Jaebum rolls his eyes at your optimism but a small smile stretches across his face. “I think your co-worker would be offended to hear how you treat her work.”

You shrug, crouching down to Nora and Odd as both cats swat at the ornament hanging precariously off your finger. “Art should not belong behind glass walls. They’re meant to be seen and enjoyed, like your music!”

You giggle as Odd jumps into your lap, pawing at the shiny orb as you lift it out of reach each time. You miss the way Jaebum looks at you.

“Okay, less playing and more decorating,” he replies, throwing a string of gold tinsel at your head, much to the cats’ delight. You laugh at their excitement, glancing at Jaebum’s reddened ears.

Humming to the Christmas jingles, you stand alongside Jaebum, dressing the plastic tree in glittering ornaments and lights. Once in a while, you even catch Jaebum swaying to the music when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

“Aaand,” Jaebum lifts the shining star from the box to you and you rise onto your tiptoes.

“Done!” You cheer, placing the star on the top of the tree. You clap gleefully, elbowing Jaebum to follow. He gives you three limp claps before you give up and crouch down to Odd instead, forcing the kitty to clap paws.

“Okay, can I go to my room now?”

“Not yet!”

He groans, plopping onto the couch. “What else is there left to put up?”

You pout, hands on your hip. “We can’t have a Christmas tree without the Christmas tree lighting ceremony!”

He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “There’s a ceremony?”

“Of course there is!” you laugh, rushing towards the light switch. You flick the switch without warning, covering the living room in darkness.

With only the light from the streetlamp peeking through the windows, the falling snow is even more visible. The sight fills you with childlike excitement.

“Are you ready?” you whisper, walking over to the switch for the Christmas lights.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“We need to count down,” Your lips jut out at his indifference as you eye his dark figure. In the darkness, you can just barely see his features, but you imagine he is rolling his eyes at you.

Just as you are about to give in, you hear him sigh loudly, “Five,”

You break into a smile, “Four, three, two,”

“One…”

“Merry Christmas!” you sing, twisting the knob and flooding the room with small twinkling lights.

But you don’t look at the tree. Instead, your gaze remains in Jaebum’s direction and you watch as the lights illuminate his face. And you are pleased to see he is smiling. You know it’s just the reflection of the lights, but he looks like he has stars in his eyes.

Sensing your gaze, Jaebum looks at you and frowns, embarrassed. “What?”

You smile, cheeks warming. “Your cheek piercing looks like it’s twinkling from here.”

“Don’t be weird,” he scowls. “Are we done now?”

“Do you want hot chocolate?” you offer, moving over to sit next to him on the couch.

He shakes his head, getting up. “I’m going to bed.”

Chuckling, you let him leave, watching as the cats follow behind him. “Merry Christmas, Jaebum!”

“It’s not Christmas yet!” he yells back before you hear the sound of his bedroom door closing shut.

With a quiet sigh, you grab your phone from the coffee table and turn off the music. The silence feels even quieter with only the lights from the Christmas tree flickering around the room. Without anyone else in the room, your energy quickly depletes.

Outside, the snow whips by in flurries.

This is not how you imagined you’d be spending your favorite holiday, although the festive lights do make you feel a little bit better.

You wanted the Christmas gatherings though.

You were a family person through and through.

You missed it all—the packed house, cooking dinner with the aunties, playing board games with the little cousins, throwing said boardgame across the room when you rage quit, making up for it with freshly baked cookies that you’d nibble on at midnight while opening gifts by the Christmas tree. You even missed the nagging from your parents, asking when you’ll get a boyfriend and settle down.

Snuggling closer into the arm of the couch, you hug yourself.

It’s colder this year.

Emptier.

“So, you turn off the Christmas music after I leave?” You jump in surprise at Jaebum’s voice entering the room again. He takes a seat next to you on the couch. “You listen to it just to annoy me, don’t you?”

You blink back, wondering why he returned. “Did you forget something?”

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch and gazes at the Christmas tree. “It’s my first Christmas tree, I thought I should look at it a little longer.”

“This is your first Christmas tree?” you look at him in surprise.

He nods nonchalantly. “Never really celebrated Christmas.”

You sink into your seat, thigh touching his. “What a year to start celebrating.”

“Only because you have me hostage.”

You chuckle softly. “Well, I’m glad you had no choice but to be stuck with me. Would’ve been a lonely year without you here.”

“Hmm,” he looks at you thoughtfully. “Never pegged you as the lonely type.”

“The holidays can do that.”

“Then just think like me, pretend it’s any other day.”

You sigh, leaning into Jaebum. He doesn’t scoot away like he normally does. Instead, you find his arm resting around your shoulder.

“I don’t want this to be any other day though. This whole year has been a blur of any other days.” Your lips jut out in a pout as you look up at your roommate. “I know I must sound like a child, but I want Christmas.”

Jaebum laughs softly. You can feel the rumble of his chest.

“Cute,” he mutters, and you flush. His arm around you pulls you tighter. “Then, do you want to open your present at midnight or in the morning?”

Your eyes widen and he laughs at your expression once more. “You got me a present?”

“Well, yeah,”

“But…you said you don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“But you do,” he answers easily, looking at the tree again. “And anyways, if you’re gonna make me do all the work, I might as well celebrate the whole thing, right?”

You grin, poking his chest. “Admit you had fun tonight, Jaebum.”

He shrugs, smiling. “The ornaments were cool. I’ll be the DJ next time though.”

“Deal,” you beam, holding out your pinky. You giggle when he looks at your outstretched pinky with an arched brow. You keep your hand raised though. “Come on!”

He lets out a loud breath but eventually curls his pinky around yours.

Your heart warms, seeing how big his pinky measures around yours. It’s why when he moves to let go, you keep your pinky curled.

Laughing at his confused frown, you show him your thumb. “You have to seal the promise, Jaebum!”

“You’re an actual five-year-old,” he groans.

“Yes, I am,” you grin, eyes curling into crescents. His tone doesn’t faze you. From up close, you can confirm that there are indeed, stars in his eyes. They twinkle in amusement at your gesture and his lips lift once more when his thumb presses against yours.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Pursing your lips shyly, you let your hand fall to his lap.

Looking back up at him, his gaze is soft on you. You pretend not to notice the way his fingers thread around yours.

“To answer your question, I’d like my present at midnight.”

“As you wish. Then shall we make hot chocolate and watch a movie until then?”

“Sounds like the perfect Christmas,” you tell him softly.

“Okay, Joker or The Dark Knight? You can pick.”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “We’re gonna watch Home Alone, Jaebum.”

“You’re terrible,” he feigns.

Chuckling, you let go of his hand and rise from the couch. “I’ll go make the hot chocolate.”

Jaebum grabs your hand again and you turn back curiously.

“Hm?”

His thumb brushes the back of your hand gently.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Jaebum.”

#got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #im jaebum #holiday au #roommate au #fanfic #fluff

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vagabonds-art · 3 years ago

Text

Lost

Summary: This is basically how I see Kebechet (my guardian) reacting to the start of the this season and the emotional fall out of that cutscene.

A/N: Major spoilers if you haven’t played up until the second cutscene, be warned! Also, I am aware of the Wolftone Draw lore tab but Kebe isn’t. So to her, Saint could be right.

Characters: Mara Sov, Osiris, Savathûn, Kebechet (OC Guardian), Demon (OC Ghost), a bunch of mentions like Saint, Ikora, Lakshmi

Word Count: 1,699

Warnings: Canon typical violence (its kinda there) and angst.

She should have known. From the very moment she found him wondering about the inner Hive structures on the moon, Kebechet should have known. Vaguely, she recalled telling herself that Osiris’s mannerisms and actions were unfamiliar because of his grief.

He had just lost Sagira. There was no way he could have been thinking clearly, anyone could understand and sympathize with that. More often than not sorrow and anger mixed together in volatile and self-destructive ways.

That was what she told herself. And now here Kebechet stood regretting it.

Saint’s screams of anger and sadness still echoed in her ears long after he had left. It’d been long enough that he probably made it back to the tower by now. Back to tell Ikora and Zavala everything that happened while it was fresh in his memory. Not that he would ever be able to forget.

Kebechet knew she wouldn’t.

That thing. That frozen construct hovered a few inches off the ground, trapped between two glowing triangle shapes created by Queen Mara was once Osiris. Though inanimate, the posture it had taken before being stopped made Kebechet feel as if it were mocking her. Locked in a position akin to something trying to rip itself free of an outer shell, head tilted upward toward the sky surrounded by wisps of swirling light. A constant reminder of what should have never happened.

“You may speak to it.”

Mara Sov’s authoritative tone snapped the Hunter out of her thoughts. Hazel eyes finally tore away from the barely open grated door off to the back of the room to meet luminescent blue ones.

“I’m not sure I want to…”

It was true. Kebechet wanted nothing more than to run and hide, to fall asleep and wake up from this horrible nightmare. If only that was all this was.

“I’ve told you before, your father still lives.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that? With everything we saw?”

Realizing her tone, Kebechet took a small step back and looked at the helm held in her hands for a moment. A small apology came on the back of a quiet sigh. Mara said nothing in return. Not that she needed to. Based on the subtle shifts of an otherwise stoic face, Kebechet knew she understood. Or at least, led on that she did.

“It… Can’t hurt me… right?”

“Not in its current state.”

With a small nod, Kebechet put her helm back on and turned, starting to walk toward the chamber that housed the construct. She was sure to give the Techeun in the center of the room a wide berth as she passed. She’d barely rescued the tech witch from the ascendent plane and trust was a little hard to give at the moment.

What was only a minute or two at most felt like hours the closer the Hunter got to the frozen statue. When her footfalls fell silent was when it started speaking to her.

“I am at your mercy, Guardian.”

Just like before, Savathûn’s voice was nothing like what Kebechet had expected. Not that she really knew what to expect other than low guttural growls or ear-piercing shrieks. Instead the Witch Queen’s vocals were gentle, almost welcoming in tone.

“This construct protects me, from those who wish me harm. From my worm’s hunger. But it is a prison too. Quite elegant… Don’t you think?”

It took a moment for Kebechet to register the familiar taste of copper on her tongue before a stab of pain pulsed from where she had bitten through her right cheek. From that point on, she focused solely on that as a means of distracting herself. Distracting the growing rage and want to destroy the construct.

For the most part, it had worked. A little too well. Savathûn was going on about her regrets, being called a liar and having skepticism. Kebechet had missed most of the one-sided conversation until she heard something about interpreting truth.

That was when the Hunter noticed everything around her starting to blur. At first, she thought it was just the visor of her helm acting up until visions of scenes past flashed before her eyes.

Savathûn’s voice acted as a narrator of sorts as she explained who she was and what she had been doing all this time. She claimed to be a friend, acting as a sort of protector when it came to the pyramid ships. The Black Fleet as she called them. When that didn’t work to her liking she took to finding a form that allowed her to gain trust among the Guardians.

To Kebechet, it all made sense now.

Osiris was the optimal target. He was the former Vanguard Commander, one of the heroes of the city. The means to Saint-14 being alive today. If those facts alone didn’t win over guardians and citizens alike then surely his ties to Ikora and Kebechet would. And they did.

The current Warlock Vanguard had no issue trusting her former mentor, especially after the loss of his light. She was only trying to look out for his best interest and keep him safe within the city’s walls. And the Young Wolf? Not only was Kebechet the guardian, she was also the only one Osiris trusted to send back in time and bring Saint back alive. Being his kid must have been an added bonus when the Witch Queen found out.

As if Kebechet needed even more reason to feel absolutely horrible, Savathûn continued.

She mentioned how it was her who brought Crow to the city for his own redemption. How she was the one to look out for Zavala when Caiatl was a threat. It even seemed as if she was bragging when she stated she was the reason House Light sought out aid from Ikora and the guardians. She was the reason for discovering Lakshmi-2’s betrayal and causing her death.

“You may disagree with my methods,” Savathûn said with a smile evident in her tone, “but you can’t argue with results.”

Now was when Kebechet really wanted to tear away from the visions.

Seeing the way the Witch Queen carelessly and effortlessly carried out her plan all while masquerading as Osiris was bad enough. But now the Hunter was being forced to see her father dead on the ground with the lower half of his face rapidly decaying while dozens and dozens of ink colored moths flew out of his mouth.

“I am no villain,” Savathûn declared as the vision mercifully shifted upward, “and you are no hero.”

The imagery ended with Kebechet looking up at the Traveler being surrounded by clouds that strongly resembled a Worm God.

“We are paracausal.”

There was a gasp that wanted to jerk out of the Hunter’s chest when her vision finally returned to normal. It took every ounce of restraint not to open fire on the construct with her auto rifle. But she did it, even managed to turn and start walking away.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Kebechet exited the chamber with as much poise as she could muster.

She’d barely gotten a few feet away from the door before bringing Demon out of his pocket to sit in the palm of her hand. “Please…” she whispered lowly, desperately avoiding Mara’s expectant stare, “get us out of here.”

Gladly, the Ghost did so, transmitting the pair back to the ship they came in on. Once safely inside and settled, Kebechet ripped off her helm and chucked it toward the back of the cockpit.

Demon could only watch as she fidgeted in her seat, staring at the console as if to decide what the hell to do next. Gathering his own courage, he hesitantly floated in front of her face.

“I got a couple messages while you were dealing with… that.”

When the Hunter said nothing he continued, “One’s from Saint, the oth--”

“Play it.”

With a twist of his shell, Demon let a ball of light expand from his core.

“My little bird, do not blame yourself for what has happened today. That thing is known as Queen of Lies for a reason. I do not trust that it ever had Osiris to begin with and neither should you. I will find the real Osiris and bring him home, this I promise you as a Titan and your second Father. Stay strong, Kebechet and remind Ikora of the same.”

The planes of Demon’s shall retracted back to his core as the message ended. His optic was downcast as he spoke, “The other was from Ikora, she just wants to talk.”

As if realizing what he had said with the fragile nature of his guardian’s current emotions, Demon’s optic shot up to look her in the eye, “Like a Warlock and not a Titan!”

That managed to get a small scoff of a laugh from Kebechet. Already Demon could feel himself relax until she sniffled a moment later. Not even a second after that was when the water works started.

Her chest jumped with sobs as she tried in vain to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“De--Demon… How-- What’re we gonna do? How can we-- Is th--there any… Can we even fi--fix this?”

“I… Kebe, I don’t know…”

Demon knew that wouldn’t help, even saw it when Kebechet’s face contorted with distress. Her head thumped softly against the back of her chair before she started to curl in on herself. The heels of her boots planted firmly on the seat of the chair as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

Wordlessly, Demon set the flight path back to the Tower before managing to squeeze his way under his guardian’s chin in an attempt to comfort her. When she shifted he worried he’d upset her further. His concern was put to rest when she grabbed the scarf Osiris gifted to her years ago and took it off to wrap around his small drone-like body. Then her whole form shifted.

Now sitting sideways in her chair, Kebechet tucked Demon between her shoulder and neck. Her hands cocooned around him and the scarf like she was trying to protect one of the few things she had left.

Because she was.

#vagabond writes #destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #destiny osiris #saint-14 #mara sov #my guardians #original character

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anxious-logic · 4 years ago

Text

5 Times Janus Gave His Boyfriends a Nickname, and 1 Time They Gave Him One

A Secret Santa gift through @sanderssides-secretsanta for @jowritesthingss here on tumblr!! I hope you like it!

Ship: Romantic Roloceit (Roman/Logan/Janus)

Word Count: 2,385

Warnings: Food mention, overworking, self-deprecating/negative thoughts. Let me know if there’s anything else!

Summary: Janus loves his boyfriends a lot, and shows that love in unique ways. And maybe his boyfriends will return the favor.

-1-

Janus was curled up on the sofa, reading a book on his bed under his heat lamp. The room was quiet, only the occasional rustle of pages from him or his boyfriend interrupting the silence.

Janus shifted slightly, readjusting so his legs didn’t fall asleep. He basked in the feeling of the heat hitting him at a slightly different angle, warming some of the skin that had been previously cool. He searched for where he had left off from his book.

He was startled out of the comfortable silence by a quiet buzz coming from Logan. The other side took out his phone, tapping on the screen a few times before the soft buzzing ceased.

“Bedtime,” Logan said quietly, placing a bookmark in his spot and standing up. He stretched his arms over his head.

Janus noted the page he was on before leaning over to turn off his heat lamp. He let out a quiet, mournful sigh as the heat dissipated, before standing up.

“Sleep well, darling,” he said, standing on his toes to brush a soft kiss across Logan’s forehead. He pulled back to see the other side blushing red.

“I- ah- you as well,” Logan stammered uncharacteristically before quickly making his way out the door.

Janus frowned as his eyes followed where Logan had been.

What was that about…?

-2-

Roman looked up in surprise as Janus knocked on his doorframe, peeking his head in.

“Roman?” he asked quietly. Roman rolled his shoulders back, putting down his pen.

“Come in,” he replied.

Janus gave him a small smile as he entered the room, his hands full with a sandwich and a glass of water. He saw Roman’s face light up at the sight of the sandwich.

“Crofters?” he asked hopefully.

Janus let a smile spread across his face at his boyfriend’s excitement. “Yes.”

Roman held out his hands, his fingers opening and closing. “Gimme gimme gimme!”

Janus let out a small chuckle, handing the plate over to Roman. His boyfriend bit into it, his expression turning to pure bliss at the taste of the strawberry Crofters.

“Fank oo,” Roman mumbled through the sandwich.

Janus put a hand on Roman’s shoulder, squeezing slightly.

“Remember to take breaks,” he said. “Your work is important, but if you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything.”

Roman quickly swallowed his sandwich. “Princess Bride? Yes.” He reached over for the water glass, quickly depleting it.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Janus said after a moment. “Remember to take breaks, beloved.”

Roman choked on his water, spluttering a few times and clearing his throat. “Ah- yes, of course,” he said distractedly. “I’ll… remember that.”

Janus leaned over, giving him a kiss. “See you later.”

He walked out of Roman’s room, barely keeping a straight face. As soon as he made it back to his own room, he closed the door behind him, collapsing back into it as he let out the laughter he’d been holding in.

Nicknames, huh?

He could work with that.

-3-

Janus softly tapped his knuckles against the dark blue door in front of him.

“Logan?” he called gently. “Are you in there?”

There was a pause, and he could very faintly hear rustling coming from inside the room.

“Yes,” Logan called back. “I was under the impression I was not expected until dinner, has that changed?”

Janus glanced at his watch. “It’s eleven thirty at night, Logan.”

Suddenly, the door opened, letting Janus speak face-to-face with his boyfriend. “I- eleven thirty? When- what?” Logan appeared distracted, but he was focusing intently on Janus.

Janus raised his eyebrows, feeling his lips quirk up. “New special interest?”

Logan shook his head rapidly, as though trying to clear something from his mind. “I- apparently so, I suppose.”

Janus held out a hand in invitation. “I can make you some dinner, and you can infodump what you’ve learned, if you like.”

Logan glanced back, seeming conflicted, but grabbed onto Janus’s hand. Janus rubbed his thumb over the back of Logan’s knuckles, not wanting to overwhelm him.

“Or if you’d rather, I can bring food up here. But I’d like to be sure that you finish it, because special interests can be fun, but you need to stay healthy regardless.”

Logan gave a slow nod. “Can I finish this article, and then you can get me to come down for some food?”

Janus brought Logan’s hand up to his lips, laying a gentle kiss on the back of it. “Of course, dear.”

He let the hand slip out of his fingers as Logan blushed slightly pink, turning back to his room. Janus just barely heard a giggle as the door closed behind him.

…Hm. Something to remember.

-4-

Janus gently combed his hands through Roman’s hair, the creative side’s breath hitching slightly.

“I don’t- I can’t-”

Janus hummed quietly as Roman collapsed forward into him, his arms coming up around Janus’s back. Janus materialized a few more arms, securing one around Roman’s shoulders and rubbing another up and down his back.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said gently into Roman’s hair. “It’s hard, I know it’s hard, but I promise it’ll be okay.”

He knew that the words didn’t help the situation – creative block was an absolute bitch, and when it came right before a big deadline like this? Well, everything just built up at once, and there was no hope of Roman staying together any longer.

(Which was okay. Because everyone deserves to break, sometimes.)

Right now, it was two days before a major video was due. Thomas had been under a huge amount of stress recently, between video due dates and his new boyfriend (!!!) and, well, have you seen the state of the world? Not all of it was bad stress (again, the boyfriend), but it was stress nonetheless.

And then Roman had hit a creative block right as Thomas was gearing up for a last-minute editing spree, and it had all spilled over.

“It’s going to be okay,” Janus said into Roman’s hair, rocking them back and forth slightly. “I love you.”

He heard Roman take a shaky breath, and felt his arms drop down from where they had been draped over Janus’s shoulders. He made his extra arms vanish, leaving one hand bracing the back of Roman’s neck and one hand still gently rubbing circles on his back.

“Thank you,” he heard Roman mumble, from where his head was still tucked into his neck.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Janus said, pressing a kiss onto the top of Roman’s head. “Anytime.”

-5-

Janus was overwhelmingly content.

He was snuggled between his two loves, their body heat keeping him warm. Logan was infodumping about black holes – terrifying things, in Janus’s opinion, but the way Logan presented it just made them fascinating – and Roman was also listening along. Janus was curled tightly into Roman’s side, his head on the creative side’s shoulder, and one leg thrown over Logan’s lap. Logan was gesturing as he talked, his hands occasionally flapping with excitement.

Janus felt a warm feeling in his chest that couldn’t be explained by the closeness he had to his boyfriends. He closed his eyes, tilting his head further into Roman’s neck as he let a happy smile spread across his face, letting himself enjoy the peacefulness of spending time with his boyfriends.

Janus tuned back in just in time to hear Logan fall silent in the middle of a paragraph. He frowned to himself; Logan didn’t usually stop so abruptly, and when he did, it usually wasn’t for a good reason.

“You okay?” he asked, letting his eyes flutter open and lifting his head up to look at Logan.

The other man was staring at him, a sappy smile on his face.

“I am perfectly optimal,” Logan said softly. He relaxed into the couch back slightly, a smile still firmly on his face. “You two are the closest thing to perfect that is possible.”

“Thank you, love,” Janus said, hearing the besotted note in his voice.

“I love you,” Logan said, before carefully, gently picking up Roman’s hand from where it was curled around Janus’s shoulder and raising it to his lips. “Both of you. An infinitely large amount.”

Janus felt Roman tense. “You don’t mean infinitesimal?”

“I assure you, I do not,” Logan replied shortly, but Janus could tell that the annoyance was false.

He relaxed back into Roman even more, reaching a hand over to touch Logan’s thigh. “Love you too.”

+1+

Janus wasn’t doing well.

He couldn’t help it. He was doing his best to stay happy, stay calm, keep it together. But, well.

He always told Roman that it was okay to break sometimes. He supposed that advice had to go for him, too, eventually.

Every time he looked in the mirror, all he saw was the inhuman scales, glinting back at him. The snake eye, staring soullessly at him from his reflection. The layers upon layers of his clothes, hiding (always hiding) more and more and more lies and truths and who Janus himself was-

And, well. Today it just happened to be worse. And so today was the day he broke.

He was staring at himself in the mirror again, trying to ignore what his thoughts were telling him. (Because they weren’t true. He knew they weren’t true.) Because – no. He did what he had to, at the time. He was honest with his boyfriends – as much as being the literal personification would allow him to be. He didn’t manipulate anyone in the Mind Palace, or Thomas. (At least, not anymore.) He wasn’t inhuman. He did deserve what he had. And he did deserve a breakdown.

The only problem was, it could be really hard to listen to those thoughts when others were screaming over them constantly.

He was manipulative. He wasn’t honest with people. He was inhuman. He didn’t deserve any of the good things in his life. And no way in hell did he deserve a breakdown.

His intense eye contact with his reflection was interrupted by a gentle knock on his door.

“Janus?”

Roman’s voice floated through the door. Janus ripped his eyes off of the mirror, hastily wiping the tears from the human side of his face.

“Yes?” he called back, doing his best to hide the quaver in his voice.

“Are you well? You have not been out of your room today.”

Logan’s voice joined Roman. From what Janus could hear through the door, his voice was steady, but the short, precise words showed his worry and preoccupation.

“I- yes,” Janus called back, almost choking on the word. Lying. “I’m just… tired.” Manipulative. “A bit of time under my lamp and I will be well, I’m sure.” Inhuman.

There was a pause. Janus could hear quiet murmurs from the other side of the door, but he didn’t try to make them out. He knew what they would be saying anyway. He can survive without us. He’ll be fine. No need for us to worry. He enjoys having time alone.

And, well. All of those things were technically true, but not right now. Right now those statements just hurt.

“Can we come in?”

Janus startled at the sentence, looking at the door in surprise. “Yes,” he said before he could engage his brain-to-mouth filter.

The door slowly opened, light illuminating the room Janus hadn’t even realized was still dark.

“May I turn on the light?” Logan asked quietly. Janus nodded, before realizing that the other two couldn’t see him.

“Yes,” he agreed, still slightly stunned.

The light flickered on in the room, Janus’s eyes quickly adjusting to the brightness to reveal his boyfriends’ worried faces.

“I’m sorry for being blunt, Janus, but you don’t really… you don’t really look okay,” Roman said hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

Janus was about to say yes again, tell them I’m okay, I promise, before the echo of manipulative lies reached his mind, and he felt tears well up in his eyes once more.

“Oh, sweetheart, no,” Roman murmured, reaching out to Janus before pausing. “Can I touch you, is that okay?”

Janus nodded, letting Roman take a step forward to envelop him in his arms.

“May I- also-” Logan began haltingly. Janus interrupted him by reaching out his arms and making grabby hands, opening and closing his fingers a few times. Logan obligingly stepped around the tangle of Janus and Roman, pressing up against Janus’s back to sandwich him between them.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours,” Roman murmured into Janus’s ear.

Janus couldn’t help but crack, telling them all of the lies that his head was telling himself. Lying. Manipulative. Inhuman. Undeserving.

“Oh, darling,” Logan whispered into Janus’s ear. “I promise you, you are not manipulative. You did what you believed you had to do, and you are no longer the same person you were then.”

“And you are human,” Roman added quickly. “Well- we’re manifestations of another person’s personality. But we’re as close as we can get. We all have our own hopes and dreams, our own personalities. We all have different feelings. Just having beautiful snakey traits doesn’t change any of that, and doesn’t make you any less human.”

“To add on, you absolutely do deserve everything that you have,” Logan interjected. “You work hard for Thomas. You do the best that you can, with the information you have. We all do. If you don’t deserve it, if you’re not human, than neither are we.”

Janus sniffled, shifting slightly to wipe the tears off of his face. “Okay.” He looked over to his bed, where the heat lamp was glinting enticingly. “Can we- can we move to the bed?”

“Of course,” Roman said gently, nudging the three of them over towards Janus’s bed. “We can stay as long as you need, love.”

“Thank you,” Janus managed to whisper as they all laid down, shifting around and tangling together. Roman snapped comfortable clothes onto all three of them, t-shirts in their signature colors and coordinating pajama pants appearing on all of them.

“It’s going to be okay, love,” Logan said gently as Janus tucked his head into his chest. “These thoughts can seem like the worst enemy to face. But I promise you, beloved, we are here to help you fight through them.”

Janus smiled.

#ts janus #ts logan #ts roman #roloceit #sanders sides fanfiction #i can write sometimes

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 4 years ago

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Hi! Can i just say that i absolutely love your writing and your vibe as a whole? 🥺💞 If i may, I’d like to request a fic where the reader is a very well known socialite, but she gets very bored of her life and wants something different. She suddenly meets J in some sort of situation and becomes infatuated with him & his lifestyle. You must be busy with other requests & your personal life, so if anything, i just want you to know that i love your writing! 💘

Sweet anon!!! AKADJSBAJSND 😭💖 I’m SO sorry this has taken me so long to get to and I hope you see it!! This was a really fun one and I had a great time writing it so I really hope you like it 💕

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, first time meeting Joker

Word count: 1,954

Warnings: tension, light violence

Something Different

Another boring party with boring people in a boring place. How many more of these must you endure?

Ah the fabulous life of the daughter of Dr. Thomas Elliot, famous Gotham City surgeon and longtime family friend of the Wayne family. Being born to one of Gotham’s founding families, she lives a life of luxury. Chauffeurs, butlers, ritzy charity events, fashion shows, brand promos, intense boredom. You were certainly grateful for the fact that finances were never something you had to worry about, but at the same time, money imprisoned you. It controlled your every move like a puppet master. Stand like this, wear that, speak this way, don’t forget to smile. And don’t even think about having your own dreams. You had access to all of the means in the world to do whatever you want, right? Wrong. If it’ll tarnish the family reputation on any way, its not gonna happen. Ever. And you’d be surprised at what they consider “tarnishing.” Learning to drive, going to school, coloring your hair, going on dates, having a job, getting ice cream with friends. What friends? You never got to experience these things. Things that were normal. Now you were in your late twenties and the life of the average young adult was completely foreign to you. Its been ten years now. Since you started to hate this life.

You were attending yet another fundraiser at Bruce’s place. What was it for this time? Friends of the Gotham Railway? Society for the Performing Arts? Gotham Heights Country Club’s new golf course? District Attorney Harvey Dent. Didn’t he just get elected? Okay then. It really doesn’t matter anyway. They’re all the same. Gourmet hors d’oeuvres, expensive champagne, some phony inspirational speech, bland conversation, smile through how much your feet hurt in these heels, send a check tomorrow. The predictability you lived your life by was astonishing. When were you finally going to get to do something different?

You lifted another glass of champagne from the tray drifting past you and took a heavy sip. Can’t get to drunk though, what would the media say? You were tempted to do it on purpose, just to mix things up for once. The sound of rough whirring broke you out of your melancholic trance and you turned to see a helicopter landing on the roof top balcony outside. The man himself arriving ever so fashionably late. Linking arms with three women you could only assume to be models, how classy. And here comes the motivational speech. I believe in Harvey Dent, a safer Gotham, optimism, face of our bright future, blah blah blah. Now everybody claps. Just wonderful. Back to our mindless mingling.

The evening continued on like they all do. This time you were stuck trying not to stare at the speck of food stuck in Mr. Kane’s teeth while he droned on about the new hotel, they planned to open it across from the opera house. Would it be uncouth to express to him how little you care about any of that? When you were seconds away from excusing yourself for a bogus trip to the ladies’ room, a loud boom rang out from the entryway. You spun around and your body froze at the sound of his voice.

“Goood evening, ladies and gentle-men.”

It felt like ice was running through your veins when you saw him. Purple suit, shotgun over his shoulder, unkempt green hair, painted face. His face. Covered in white with black swallowing his eyes, bright red over his mouth and crawling up his cheeks in a wicked grin. On the news they called him The Joker.

“We are… tonight’s entertainment! I only have one question… Where. Is. Har-vey Dent?”

He was so tall, walking with a slight slouch but had an air of confidence like you’d never seen. Like he knew just how much attention his presence attracted. No, attention it demanded. Like he knew you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He made it look effortless. Almost like he was bored by it. He tossed food into his mouth, chewing noisily while he spoke. Then he stopped and turned to walk toward the crowd, pointing his shotgun toward the people in front of him before moving on down the line. Your feet grew cold when you realized he was heading in your direction. He tossed champagne out of a glass before mockingly tossing his head back to let the last drop hit his tongue. You couldn’t move a muscle as he leaned in and muttered questions at the people standing nearby. He kept coming. Your heart pounded, climbing into your throat as he got closer.

Then you could see it. It was scars. The red smile stretching across his face, it was painted over scars. Someone had cut through the corners of his mouth on both sides, leaving behind a twisted, permanent, grin. It made your stomach drop. He said something to Mr. Kane, but you couldn’t hear it, only the blood rushing in your ears. He got so close. You swore you could feel the heat from his body, smell something sharp like acetone.

“You remind me of my father.”

Then he suddenly grabbed Mr. Kane by his collar and growled, “I hated my father.”

“Ok, stop.”

Mr. Kane was shoved into you while Joker turned to face the voice coming from behind him. Rachel Dawes, Bruce’s friend for as long as you could remember.

“Well, hello, beautiful. You must be Harvey’s squeeze-ah. Hm?... and you are beautiful.”

He circled her like a wild dog stalking prey, practically licking his chops. Relishing the feeling of cornering his victim. Waving a knife blade at her.

“You look nervous. Is it the scars?... Wanna know how I got ‘em?”

Then he reached forward and gripped her by the back of her neck and her face. You felt your cheeks abruptly grow warmer. He pulled her closer to him, holding her there, not letting her look away. A thought suddenly cut through you mind like the knife in his hand. You wondered if the leather of his gloves felt warm or cool on her skin. Your heart fluttered and a shiver ran down your back. Why were you thinking about that? He intruded without warning and started threatening people, but here you were wanting to know what it was like to be that close to him. You found yourself wishing you were her, just to know what it was like, him touching you.

You hung on to his every word. He had a wife once, who told him he worried to much, that he should smile more, she gambled, got in deep with the sharks. They carved her face, had no money for surgery, she couldn’t take it, he just wanted to see her smile again, he didn’t care about the scars, he stuck a razor in his mouth and did that to himself. He… he did that to himself?

“And you know what? She can’t stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now I see the funny side... Now I’m always smiling.”

You blinked and the next thing you knew, punches were being thrown and men in clown masks were falling to the floor. Batman. The masked vigilante everyone was talking about. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming out of the shadows to beat up the bad guys. Reality struck you in that moment. This was real. This was happening. The word surreal doesn’t quite cover it. You wanted something different. Well, this was different. Instead of fear you started to feel something else rising up from inside of you, tingling up your back. Excitement.

A punch from a clown masked man landed square on Batman’s jaw, sending him to his knee and giving Joker the opportunity to start kicking him in the stomach. All you could do was watch, spellbound by the violence occurring before your eyes, wide with anticipation. It almost happened too fast for you to see. He really had nothing holding him back. He couldn’t care less about what people thought of him. Showing up in face paint and a purple suit with a posse of men disguised as scary clowns, commanding even more attention than Bruce. He basked in it, not caring one bit what they thought, only that he left an impression. He did. Especially on you.

You blinked again and he had Rachel. He stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her chest to keep her from running, his other hand waving a handgun in the air. He wasn’t going to drop the gun, not unless Batman took his mask off, show us all who he really was. Then the window behind him shattered with a shot from the gun and he dangled Rachel by her arm out into the open air. Your chest felt tight, as helpless as everyone else watching and unable to do anything about it. But you still couldn’t shake the thrill you felt buzzing in your arms and legs, fogging your mind.

“Let her go,” Batman’s hoarse voice demanded.

Joker squinted his eyes and grinned with ironic amusement as he answered, “Very poor choice of words.”

He let go. His laugh reached down to your bones and held on, pulling you toward him while Batman dove out the window after Rachel. You didn’t know what you were doing but you couldn’t stop yourself. Your feet kept carrying you closer. People all around you started rushing for the exit, running from the taunting men in clown masks like the crowd at a Halloween fun house. Except this was real.

You kept your eyes forward, getting within a few feet of him when he turned and saw you. A chill washed over you, both icy cold and burning hot at the same time when his eyes traveled up and down your body where you stopped in your tracks. Your skin felt like it was on fire.

“Hello, there,” he purred.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. You just stared at him. Then he started to saunter toward you, slowly closing the gap that separated you, and you almost couldn’t breathe.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a sideways grin. “Aren’t you a pretty little flower, hm?”

Your heart fluttered and your lungs pulled in a sudden gasp of air, that sharp smell filling up your senses. He was right in front of you now. He was right in front of you and you could undeniably feel the heat radiating off of him. Your heart pumped faster, the adrenaline in your veins saturating every tissue. That tingling in your spine came rushing back as his tongue flashed out of his mouth to run along his lip.

“Can I, uh, help you with something, little flower?”

The last sounds of panicked voices faded, and it was completely silent. You were alone. With him. Fear tried to wrestle for a place in the front of your mind, to pull you away, to make you run back toward the door, but the allure you felt was too pervading. You remained still, trying to steady your breath while the gaze from his black-rimmed eyes seemed to swallow you up. Sirens started to echo in the distance.

Then your voice found its way out of your mouth, “I… I just wanted to… um, to get closer.”

His eyebrows shot up and his grin widened as a low hum rumbled in his chest. Your brittle nerves nearly shattered when he lifted his hand and gently took hold of your chin, lifting it and stepping forward to press his chest against yours. “Mmm, this close enough?”

His gloves, they felt cool on your skin.

Taglist!

@youmaycallmebrian @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos @into-crazy @killingjokee @astheworlddturns

#ledger joker fic #ledger joker x reader #joker x you #Heath Ledger Joker #the dark knight #tdk joker #joker fanfiction #one shot #anon request

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txchikaze · 4 years ago

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@deivorous cont. from here [x]

Grimmjow doesn’t know how he got this drunk. Kisuke kept handing him glasses, a goading comment on his tongue. He thinks. Competitiveness and the strange desire to be included combining together to have him drinking just to prove a point.

Maybe he stopped getting handed them after a while and just started picking them up on his own. He’s not sure he can recall where the current bottle in his hand came from but it’s his now. He sniffs it and takes another gulp, stumbling through the crowd of shinigami.

It’s some celebration alright, a great big pissup to celebrate not dying in the war with the Quincy or whatever, he didn’t pay attention to that either. Grimmjow probably shouldn’t have come, in all honesty.

Prime time to kill him right now, it was fine a while ago. Cuz he was with Kurosaki, and Kisuke, and even Yoruichi probably wouldn’t kill him when he can’t defend himself. Safe-ish enough that he could drink.

But he blinked and he can’t find them again. Dissipated into the crowd so now he goes looking too, anxiety rearing its head the longer he goes without safe pack to watch his back. Are they dead? Did they get dead when he wasn’t looking?

He wades through the sea of unrecognizable threats shinigami, blue eyes darting across the expanse of bodies in the hope of catching someone’s reiatsu. Nel’s or Harribel’s. Hell, he’ll take a human right now. The girl. Or... or...

It’s only when real panic starts to work its way under his skin that he finds a familiar face. A shock of silver hair and thick muscle. Hollow reiatsu twisted in with the shinigami part.

“Food guy!” He fed Grimmjow, once, out in the woods. Grimmjow hadn’t stuck around that time, but food means safety. And hollow means safety. That’s two more points than anyone else has.

He presses himself all the way up against the other arrancars side, his arm wrapping securely around his broad shoulders and the bottle of amber liquid thunking lightly against bare skin. His grip tightens until he feels anchored and secured. Not going to get dragged away by the ebb and flow of the crowd.

“I know you!”

--- He’d been forced to come. A chance to get the family all back together again. To celebrate life. Rose’s words, of course. And though Shinji and Hiyori had not been quite as poetic about it, they too had nudged him to indulge for once. It had been a while, Kensei would admit, that he had allowed himself to relax { and especially imbibe }. It did not quite feel like they should be celebrating, even though logically he knew that they had won and things.. Were starting to return to normal. As soon as all the rubble would be cleared. They had already buried their dead; they had waited the appropriate mourning period. And they had.. Mourned, that is.. But cautiously, optimism had come back, and calls for celebration came with it.

This particular celebration included those inhabitants of Karakura { the humans } and the visored. Including, of course, Kisuke and Yoruichi.. And then, a great crowd of unknowns.. Kensei avoided them, mostly. He had hung around with Lisa and Hachi most of the evening, but Hachi had excused himself a little while back, wanting to stick to his sleeping schedule { which Kensei could understand }. He’d left him and Lisa to play drinking games, which Lisa was.. Markedly better at than Kensei. But, after a while. Mashiro had yanked Lisa away for ‘girl time, and you’re not invited!’ That statement had been paired with her sticking out her tongue, and he had { uncharacteristically } stuck out his tongue in turn. He may be a little tipsy.. More intoxicated than he had been in years..

Still, he was perfectly fine to walk around the small square that had several stalls set up. Makeshift izakaya of sorts, though people were drinking and eating everywhere. Some people had dragged out pillows and blankets to shield from the nippy breeze that came with the cloak of night. Kensei walked through the crowd to.. Well.. He thought perhaps he might head home.. Especially if he wouldn’t see anyone he cared about in the next five minutes. He could still walk in a straight line, though the edges of his vision were a bit fuzzy, and everyone’s blabbering sounded.. A little like they were underwater.

And then, clear as day, someone wrapped their arm around him, and a sharp voice rang in his ear. Immediately, he scowled. glancing askance to find no other than that cat-like espada. Grimmjow. He was absolutely sloshed... Kensei elbowed him to get him off him, or at least to have him less close to him. “You don’t know me.” He replied tersely. “Who the fuck gave you liquor?” Seemed like a recipe for disaster. He blinked and squeezed his eyes shut, blinked again. Fuck.. His eyes.. Maybe he was more gone than he thought.

There was one thing he knew though.. He was less drunk than the arrancar, and he certainly shouldn’t be drinking more. Kensei snatched the bottle from him. What was that, whiskey? Good grief.. “Don’tcha got a chaperone?”

#[when you tell me i dont have to match length and then this rolls out l ol]#[welp #you dont have to match this either hahhaha]#deivorous

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choupichoups · 5 years ago

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Press F (Instagram/College AU) Epilogue

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

Okay so this is the end end, thank you again for reading!!

Lucas turns over, free arm carelessly swiping up the empty space beside him. Warm fingers drum a loose tune over cold sheets, long unoccupied despite the fact that it’s only nine in the morning. So Eliott did manage to drag his ass up for his photoshoot despite all the pouting and complaining from last night.

With a jaw cracking yawn, he pushes himself off their giant, comfy bed, landing on the floor with a soft thump. He conjures up whatever self restraint he’s gathered over the years to keep from nose diving back into the warm sheets. Eliott had left the curtains drawn over the windows, leaving their room bathed in burnt orange light, the air conditioning humming soft whirs of cool air. It’s the perfect recipe for a morning spent lounging in bed doing nothing.

But alas, he pulls his big boy pants up and drags his feet to the bathroom to follow his boyfriend’s itinerary for the day.

srodulv We’ll be at the west beach behind the big cliff i showed you yesterday Whenever your highness deems it fit to join us Lol nvm we’re inside a cave now Aaand we moved Right at the path when you head down Can’t miss me and my handsome face on a plank

lucallemant why is ur face on a plank less texting more posing

srodulv Being the breadwinnner in this relationship is really a thankless job huh

lucallemant where’s the bread tho???

srodulv THANKLESS

“Lucas, hey!”

He stumbles past the pathetic lumps of sand from where he and Eliott had attempted a friendly little sand castle competition a few days ago, clumsy on his feet as he holds himself back from rushing towards them.

“Morning, Jo,” he greets the photographer first before raising both eyebrows at Eliott, who does, in fact, look perfectly handsome lounging on his plank. As if the sand isn’t digging into the skin of his elbows. As if the sun isn’t beating directly over their heads. Ugh, an abomination.

“Oh hi, Eliott, good morning Eliott!” Eliott says in a mockingly high pitched tone when Lucas fails to say anything else. “How are you doing, Eliott?” he continues in that same annoying voice, prompting Lucas to kick up some sand his way. “I missed you, boyfriend, you’re working so hard, my dear!”

“Ew, shut up.” Lucas laughs, moving to sit beside Eliott when Jo pauses his snapping to adjust some settings on his camera. Despite all the teasing, however, Lucas presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek and throws both legs over one of Eliott’s thighs, hands instinctively searching to intertwine their fingers. “Morning,” he murmurs into the space between their lips, chest fluttering when Eliott brushes their noses together, whipped as the first time.

“Good sleep?” Eliott mutters back, smile melting sweeter when Lucas drops his head on his shoulder with a nod. “We’re almost done here and then we have the rest of the week to ourselves, okay?”

“Okay.” Lucas plays with their tangled hands, fingers stroking light across the back of Eliott’s palms. He almost forgets what they’re actually talking about had it not been for the loud click of a camera shutter coming from his right.

Jo is looking down at his camera when Lucas finally forces himself away from the very optimal cuddle he and Eliott had going on. “You sure you don’t wanna do a joint photoshoot, Lucas?” Jo turns the camera around to show him the photo he’d just taken. “You guys look really good together, it’d be a hit!”

Yeah, no. Lucas snorts, “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

Jo tuts, “Don’t be like that, this one looks good.”

“Lucky shot, trust me. My face does weird things in front of cameras most of the time,” he prattles out excuses, eyes narrowing when Eliott remains silent as he watches the exchange, laughter clear in his eyes. “Anyway, I’ll be taking a walk while you boys do your thing, alright, don’t have too much fun, drink water often, and I’ll see you,” he clicks his tongue, points to where Eliott is seated, eyes locked on Lucas ever since he arrived, “later. Bye!”

And he runs off before Jo could convince him to join the shoot. Lucas really isn’t about that life, the amount of followers he’s garnered only from the fact that he’s dating Eliott is already stressing him out as it is. He can’t imagine what a legitimate photoshoot together would do.

Making his way towards the beach, Lucas slips off his sandals and walks along the path where the waves hit the sand, relishing in the ticklish feel of sand shifting underneath his feet at every pull. His toes curl into the soft surface, wiggling at the cool touch of clear waters before the waves pull back into the ocean.

It’s nice out here. Lucas had been mighty skeptical when Eliott had mentioned it off-handedly during the giant final party of the school year. Granted, both of them had been pretty drunk at that point and Lucas wasn’t sure whether he was hearing things or if Eliott had really just asked him to go on a two week vacation in South Africa. Like Lucas doesn’t only have two whole dollars in his savings account.

It’s free, Eliott had cleared up once sober, chuckling at the dubious look on Lucas’ face. My friend wants a shoot there and he’s letting us stay at their private condo as payment.

Wow, bourgeoisie, and then Lucas proceeded to forget about it in the midst of tear inducing exams.

He digs out his phone and snaps a photo of the sun hitting the ocean’s surface with a pretty gleam. His mom would appreciate the view, maybe it would encourage her to take her own vacation somewhere too. She deserves a few weeks away from the city— maybe a trip with her friends would be nice, maybe with that nice guy she’s trying to pass off as just her friend whenever Lucas visits would be good too.

Lucas digs his heels in the sand and turns to face the ocean, rolling his sweatpants up to his calves as he steps deeper into the water.

Eliott’s graduated. He’d done a placement at a studio during his final year and they refused to get rid of him (Lucas can relate), add to that Eliott’s side film projects and this whole internet famous slash instagram model thing and Eliott’s suddenly found himself a lot more occupied that initially expected.

Lucas has quite a bit of catching up to do. Fuck, he’s not even employed anywhere. He’d left his job at the cafe during that unsavoury mess a year prior and his workload from school picked up at an abhorrent pace. The only reason he’s functioning as a semi normal human being right now is because Eliott has made it his mission to stop him from eating any more of Yann’s cheese bread and his mother has been helping him with rent.

He stomps his feet into the water, pouting as it earns him a very unsatisfying splash. And then his feet are suddenly off the ground, legs flailing on instinct as he’s grabbed from behind by an obnoxious, giggling giant—

“Eliott!” he screeches, two seconds before he’s unceremoniously dumped deeper into the water. Sputtering, he stands back up with as much dignity as he can gather and jumps onto Eliott’s back with a holler of curses, trying to keep his own head above water when Eliott’s knees buckle under the attack, laughter helpless as he clutches onto Lucas in their half-hearted tussle.

They roll around half in and half out the waves, laughter unbridled like giddy little children on a high. Careful steps on the sand turn to careless treading in the deeper waters, drenched clothes stuck on warm skin and playful fingers threaded in ocean darkened locks. Lucas breathes out a chuckle in the tiny space between them, foreheads aligning perfectly when he hauls himself up, arms wrapped tightly around Eliott’s shoulders for balance. This close, Eliott’s smile is more radiant than the sun reflecting diamonds in the water and Lucas can’t look away, not when the oncoming wave roars closer, not when Eliott whispers something reverent that steals the breath right out of his lungs.

"Eliott,” Lucas starts, blinking salt water off of his eyelashes. “Eliott, I—”

And then the waves claim them with an unmerciful smack, the force of it brings the two boys back to shore and they resurface with a sputter, their moment chased away by a newly triggered round of laughter.

“Oh shit.” Lucas squints as something dawns on him. “Fuck, Eliott!” He removes his soaked shirt and uses it to smack Eliott’s arm.

“Ow! What?”

“My shoes! I dropped them!”

“Oh. Oh, crap. I’ll buy— hey stop— stop that! I’ll buy you new ones at the market!”

The evening market is absolutely bustling with tourists. It seems like everyone had the same idea of whiling away the heat at the beach and whiling away at the shops once the sun starts to set.

“Lucas, come here! Look.”

Lucas follows the direction where Eliott’s voice is coming from, finding his boyfriend laden with all kinds of trinkets around the neck, around both wrists, and around most of his fingers. He’s such a fool. Lucas loves him so much.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna buy all of that.”

Eliott allows himself an offended look before remembering his excitement. “Course not, but look at this!” He stretches a hand and shows Lucas a handmade, wooden carving of a woman sitting on a piano bench with a dog beside her. “Wouldn’t this be perfect for your mom?”

Did Lucas say he loves him already?

“Yeah,” he says softly, squeezing the hand holding the figurine before letting go and looking around the stalls himself. He’s done a bit of shopping for their friends already (he’s not actually going to get them only rocks and sand, thank you very much), all he needs now is for some help getting things for Eliott’s parents. “Hey, do you think you dad will like—” He turns around, holding up a trinket, only to find Eliott already off to the stalls on the far right. Oh well, at least he looks like he’s in the process of returning everything he’s got draped all over him.

They don’t take very long to run into each other again once they’ve done their rounds, and Eliott beams like they haven’t seen each other in days, grabbing Lucas by the wrist with an enthusiastic, “All good to go?” And even if he wasn’t, Lucas would’ve followed him either way.

Speaking of, they’re not headed to where they parked their rental car.

“Where are we going?” Lucas asks, sneaking a glance around them to see if he can pinpoint familiar places. They haven’t done much exploring for the past week, preferring to laze around the beach area whenever Eliott wasn’t busy with photoshoots, but he imagines Eliott has been around more than him if Jo wanted some changes in scenery.

And because Eliott is Eliott, he doesn’t utter a word until they’ve passed a small bridge that leads to what looks like a dead end of shrubbery.

But Lucas knows better by now.

They squeeze through the thick shrubs, pushing branches and leaves aside until they reach a wide clearing. “Tada...” Eliott whispers, as if the sound of his normal volume would disrupt the scene.

And what a scene it was. A quaint circular area with boulders piled about, a large, ancient tree with drooping arms perfectly frames the view as if planted there years ago to fulfill this present purpose. The waves crash softly against the rocks, forcing pale, wet sand to shift with uneven dips. Over the horizon, blinding in its beauty, perches a moon so clear and bright Lucas would be hard pressed to believe it’s real if he weren’t standing right here.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, shaking excess leaves off his feet as he makes his way forward, entranced. “Holy shit,” he repeats with feeling.

“Yup, holy shit.” Eliott breathes out his laughter, shoulders shrugging up in that endearing way of his. “Thought you’d appreciate this.”

Lucas makes his way to the edge where water and sand meet, bending to pick up a shiny stone reflecting moonlight off its surface. He hears Eliott coming up behind him but doesn’t expect the hand that steals the stone from his grip and Lucas huffs, indulging in his boyfriend’s amusement for a few minutes and jumping up to try and steal it back from Eliott’s raised fist.

“Eli, come on, give it.” He tries for another jump, but Eliott brings his hands behind his back, putting the stone out of sight. “Eliott!” Lucas whines, shaking the plastic bag of trinkets he’s got hanging around one wrist. Eliott has the gall to laugh at his suffering. “Give it.” Lucas holds out his free hand, tapping his feet on the sandy ground. “Now.”

Eliott raises an eyebrow in turn, smile adorable despite its mischief as he holds out both hands in closed fists. “Okay, choose a hand then.”

Lucas’ groan is long suffering.

But unfortunately, undeniably fond.

“What is this now?” Lucas eyes him suspiciously, trying to figure out what Eliott has up in his sleeve this time.

“What’s what?” Eliott tries for innocent.

“Did you learn some kind of magic trick, is that it?” Lucas grins, looking between the two hands in front of him.

“I don’t know, did I?” Eliott’s eye crinkles when he smiles. It’s infuriating.

“Omygod, you’re literally impossible. This better be a good trick, Demaury.” He slaps a hand over Eliott’s left fist, digging in between his fingers to try and pry them open. Eliott gives in too easily, lifting his fingers open without a struggle, so Lucas expects it to turn up empty.

Except.

Except—

“Is this good enough for you?” His voice is a whisper, quiet enough to get carried away by a strong wind.

Lucas stares at the hand, mouth gaping dumbly. “That’s a ring.” He hears a chuckle, and then Eliott’s other hand is opening to reveal a matching pair. “That’s two rings,” he says, a necessary and intelligent contribution.

“I know you’re nervous about what’s going to happen.” Eliott starts, “with my graduation, and work, and all that stuff.”

“I’m not—”

“Lucas, please, you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lucas shuts his mouth, looks down at the rings again as if they hold the answers to all his doubts. And maybe, maybe they do. Hold them. Some of them, at least.

“Nobody likes change, you know. I hate it too.” Eliott steps closer, putting both rings inside one hand and using his free hand to grip one of Lucas’. “But for every change that happens there are still constants.” He places one of the rings inside Lucas’ palm. “And you have a lot of that, whether you believe it or not.” With both hands now free, Eliott takes the ring he kept for himself and drops it around his pinky finger. “But if there’s anything I want you to always believe, it’s that I will be your constant, Lucas Lallemant.”

“Constant?” Lucas chokes, eyes stinging from the force of the tears he’s holding back. God, he’s such a cry baby and Eliott knows it too, the bastard. “Like, always? Like—” Forever. But that’s a scary word. “Whatever happened to minute by minute?” He laughs weakly, hand gripping the ring tight in his hold.

Eliott leans down to press a kiss atop Lucas’ closed fist. “Okay, what if I tell you that here, in this exact spot, a minute lasts forever?” Because of course Eliott isn’t afraid of forever. Maybe Lucas will learn to be brave too.

Absently, Lucas mimics Eliott’s earlier movements, sliding the ring around his pinky and staring at it in wonder. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen himself wear a ring in his whole life. It’s a little loose on him but he’ll deal with that later, now’s not the time to worry about tiny details. “That’s absurd.”

“You’re absurd.”

“No you.” And Lucas launches himself up and into a hard kiss, putting all the brimming feelings he’s too stupefied to vocalize at this moment. “Buying promise rings,” he murmurs in between kisses. “When did you even— you sneaky bastard.” He pulls at Eliott’s shirt, dragging him down as he sags back on his heels. Eliott’s hands are warm cups over his cheeks, touch so soft, ever so gentle in everything he does. Lucas is shifting to fling his arms around Eliott’s shoulders to try and bring them even closer to each other when he feels the newly appointed metal on his finger fly right off his finger and into... well... into the unknown.

He pulls away so fast he gives both of them whiplash.

Fuck. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Fuck!

Eliott is understandably confused. “Uh. What’s wrong?”

“My ring!” Lucas screeches, throwing his bag of souvenirs over onto dry land before attempting to dive headfirst into the water. Eliott stops him just in time, dragging a protesting Lucas far, far away from the ocean. “But Eliott! My ring!! Your ring?! My— ring!”

And Eliott is laughing. “It’s okay, Lu.”

“It’s not!” He takes fistfuls of Eliott’s shirt and shakes his boyfriend because in what world is it okay to lose a ring given to you two seconds ago? “I just had it and then it’s gone!”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Eliott smiles down at him, shaking his head as he removes his own ring from his pinky and slides it onto Lucas’ ring finger. It’s a much better fit this time, but—

“But this is yours,” Lucas insists, “you’ve gotta have one too.”

“Oh, I do?” Eliott raises a teasing eyebrow.

“Of fucking course, that’s the point of a promise ring you dolt.” Wait no. “I’m the dolt. I can’t believe I lost my ring!”

Eliott’s giggles ring clear in the night. “Lucas, it’s okay, really, we’re here for a few more days, we can buy a new one before we leave, hm? Let’s go back now, I think you need some sleep.”

“I don’t need to sleep, I need to find my ring!!”

#skam france #elu fic #elu insta au #fictag #i will save my long sappy note #on ao3 #whenever i get to posting there #why did the image quality deteriorate #in between me posting this and the last time i updated #@ tumblr whats up widdat #now we play the game of #will this show up in the tags #gud night #i go back 2 sleep

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violet-knox · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, can you do Adult Severus/Muggle. Reader finds Severus and takes it upon herself to look after him? Can it be fluff and cute af, please?

Long Forgotten

Pairing: Severus Snape x Muggle!Reader

Summary: You’re infatuated by the man in black who hangs around the school where you work until one day you approach him out of concern.

Word Count: 6112

A/N: So I got a bit carried away with this one. The fluff comes a bit after and in this story they don’t actually end up together (yet), it’s rather slow paced, but it was a lot of fun to write. I may end up doing part two for this one when I get the chance. I feel so unsatisfied 😅

Your stomach growled and you knew it was time to pack up the essays you’d been grading and head home for dinner. But once again, the shadow hidden behind the tree at the edge of the playground wiped any thought you had of leaving the classroom. The same man, always dressed in black, always dragging his feet like he held the world on his shoulders, had been lurking around the edge of the school grounds every day for a little over a week now and the sight of him always sent shivers up your spine. You were wary of his presence, always caught in the corner of your eye as you stayed behind in your classroom despite better judgment.

Common sense told you to speak to someone of the man’s daily visits to the school, yet you were reluctant to say a word to anyone. He would always show up well after the students had left and he’d never wander anywhere past that tree. He didn’t seem like a threat to you, his sadness instead reflected by the way he’d hang his head low, one hand on the tree trunk, sinking down to the ground as he continued to stare at it. You knew he had a story, a reason for being there but you’d never once thought of approaching him to ask, fear striking you back. You were conflicted and so you stayed the observer, watching him from afar, his movements never changing, his intentions never present. He was a mystery that you weren’t sure you’d ever solve.

“You’re still here?” Looking up from the desk you saw Ms. Simmons at the door of her classroom with a smile as large as her optimism. She was such a sweet woman, under appreciated by her students and misunderstood by the staff. But you were happy to have been assigned to her, helping and learning from her. Most of your mates from college complained about the teacher they got placed with but not you. Ms. Simmons was the one good thing about the miserable placement you got: the worst ranking elementary school in Cokeworth. Many saw it as a joke of a school, yet children of varying households would attend it nonetheless.

“I’m just finishing up the essay’s they handed in today,” you informed her. She walked over to her desk where you were sitting and pulled open one of the drawers and reached inside. You watched her pull out an empty flask and stuff it into her giant purse, shattering your perfect, innocent view of her.

“I’ve worked here since the day this school has opened and never have I seen someone as dedicated to work with these students as you are.” She spoke with such glee in her voice but when you looked back into her eyes, all that optimism you’d previously admired sizzled away, replaced with the burden of working as an underpaid teacher in such a horrible school district. Your eyes drifted away from her face, unable to take the sight, your mind rejecting what you saw as your probable future. Instead you found your thoughts returning back to the man in black as you watched him hunching over the tree with one hand leaning on it’s trunk as he slowly kneeled down to the ground, his head hung as low as ever.

“I’m just delighted to have the opportunity to work with you.” Your words flowed like you were reading off a script, your mind completely detached from where you were, wondering why that man was so obsessed over that tree.

“Well don’t stay too long.” You snapped back in time to watch Ms. Simmons walk around you and back to the door. “Have a nice night!”

“You too,” you said, trying to reciprocate her fake kindness as she disappeared down the narrow school halls. Sitting back in the chair, you tossed the pen in your hand back on the desk in defeat. This job wasn’t worth it and you’d been lying to yourself, believing it was anything but a waste of time. You’d only gone into education thinking you could make a difference in the sad meagre town you grew up in when in reality, any impact you could possibly have wouldn’t make a shred of difference to anyone.

With a loud groan, you closed your eyes and threw your head back in frustration. What would you do if you quit this job? Four years of college down the drain and even if you tried to move to a different city, London perhaps, you knew your credentials wouldn't hold up amongst the competition that awaited you there. You had no choice; you had to stay in Cokeworth and make what you could of the path you chose, else you’d have to back pedal completely and find a way to head down a different road.

Looking back towards the window, you looked for the man in black, trying to get your mind off your own life because pondering over the mystery of someone else's was better than dealing with your reality. The man’s figure was nowhere to be found when you looked at the tree. Squinting you thought perhaps his shadow had merged with the trunk he’d been sulking over for so long, but you still couldn’t catch a glimpse of him. He couldn’t have left. You knew that because you’d always refused to leave before he did. He was the reason you’d eat dinner so late, why you’d been living off of four to five hours of sleep every night. Curiosity taking over any sense of logic, you stood and walked towards the window, realizing you couldn’t see him from the desk because he’d somehow found himself lying on the ground. Taking a step forward, you placed a hand on the window, your brows furrowed as you tried to make out any sense of movement, any indication the man was alright but you were given no such luck.

You stood there a moment, praying he would move but as the seconds slowed, your heart beat faster and your concern for the stranger grew. Against better judgment, you turned on your heel and ran out the door. The sounds of your quick footsteps echoed down the empty hall as you pushed open the door leading to the playground and ran towards the man, slowing as you approached him. He was in the exact same position you’d seen him from the classroom window but as you drew nearer, you couldn’t fathom why he was unconscious on the ground.

“Hello?” You tried to speak to the man. No response. He looked young, perhaps even a bit younger than you and you couldn’t spot any wounds on him though the black trousers and jacket surely didn’t help with visibility. “Are you alright?”

No response. Stepping a little closer, you kneeled in front of him, your hand hovering to reach for his shoulder but you hesitated. This was a bad idea. You didn’t know the man and for all you knew, he could have been stalking you this entire time, peering into the classroom window which was much more exposed than you thought it was from here.

“Can you hear me?” You tried again, your hand pressed against the thin material of his jacket, gently squeezing his shoulder. No response. You swallowed hard, your chest heaving for air. What were you to do? You’d never trained for something like this, never been told what to do in a situation like this. Desperately, you peered over the man and his surroundings, no open wounds found but his chest still rose and fell with every breath he took; he was alive at least.

Standing, you looked at the tree the man had spent so long near and saw an engraving, one that was clearly done a while ago, the wood browning as the tree healed from its carving. Judging by the height and sloppy handwriting, you assumed the two names that were spelt were written by children: Lily and Sev. Sev, what an odd name, or perhaps it was a nickname of some sort. Strange how you’d never noticed it before, but there was no time for your curiosity right now. Sprinting back to the school, you made your way to the office, panting as you picked up the phone and called the police, informing them of what had happened.

With the assurance that an ambulance would be by within a few minutes, you put down the phone and made your way back to the man, immediately peering at his chest to see that he was still breathing. The women on the phone had asked if the man had a pulse but you were unsure. You’d seen people check a person’s pulse in movies, but you’d never done it yourself. You felt absolutely useless talking to that woman, unable to tell her a single thing, not even a proper description of the man.

Peering at the man’s face through the hair that showered him, your eyes ventured down to his neck, his hair long enough to cover any skin that wasn’t cloaked by the black button up he was wearing under his jacket. Cautiously, you moved a hand to ever so gently brush away his hair and expose his face and neck. It felt as though you were defusing a bomb, fingers so gentle, gliding against his skin which seemed colder than it should have been. Pulling your hand away, you looked back down at him, realizing how awkward a move you’d just made. He wasn’t anyone you knew, yet you touched him as though you were waking up to your long-life partner in the morning.

It was odd seeing his face for the first time after recognizing him from afar for so long. He wasn’t anything like you imagined, his features though prominent, grew much softer the longer you looked at him. His eyelashes were long and thick, much like his hair and eyebrows, his lips were thin, his cheeks sharp along with his jaw and his nose was hooked. Looking at him now, you weren’t sure how old he was. You’d initially assumed he was in his early twenties but something about him made you think otherwise. It was as though he’d lived a life long enough to stretch over a century, but you knew that wasn’t the case, it couldn’t have been.

Shaking your head, you tried to get your mind off of filling in all those questions you’d wondered about him this past week and reached over, pressing two fingers on his neck, searching for a pule, unsure of what you were truly looking for. No resp-

You gasped at the sudden grasp on your wrist, the charcoal eyes of the man staring back at you as his nails dug into your skin. Your heart nearly stopped as you looked at his stern expression, his body too weak to project the alarm on his face.

“Are-Are you alright?” You croaked, your throat suddenly dry as you tried to pull your hand away from him. His grasp was too strong despite his obvious need for medical attention. Where was that damn ambulance!?

“Who are you?” His voice was raspy, like there was a frog in his throat but his tone confirmed he was on the defensive, unable to let go of your hand in fear of your intentions. His words at least answered one question floating around in your mind; he hadn’t come around the school this past week to stalk you, he was likely here for personal reasons, something to do with that tree and the engraving it carried.

“I-I work at the school, I-I'm a student teacher,” you said, reluctant to give your name, still completely clueless as to who he was. The man looked down at the school you gestured to, his expression suddenly changing as if he had some sort of awkward realization. “I think you’re hurt.”

You could still not identify the source of his wound, but people don’t just collapse, they don’t struggle to speak or move if there isn’t something wrong with them. You wanted to help the man despite his less than friendly attitude towards you, but you still had no idea what to do.

“I’m fine,” he replied, finally letting go of your hand only to press his palms into the ground and try to stand up. Instinctively, you grabbed his arm, trying to keep him from falling as his legs shook failing at supporting him. He was skinny, his limbs looking like twigs the kids would play with, pretending they were swords. How he’d managed to sit up was beyond you.

“I don’t think you should be moving.” You protested as he tried pushing you away, too weak to counter your own strength. “I called for an ambulance. They should be here any minute.”

“No,” he said all too quickly. “I don’t need them.”

His sudden reaction to the mention of an ambulance was rather alarming. Who would turn down help when they so obviously needed it? Even if it seemed that the ambulance would never arrive, at least he could have found comfort in knowing help was on its way.

“But-”

“Leave.” His tone turned cold as he summoned every fibre of strength left in his body to push you away. “I don’t need you either.”

You looked at him, stunned by his attitude. Sure, you were a stranger, but in his position, you wouldn’t have questioned taking any sort of help from anyone. His body trembled under your touch as he tried to get away from you, like if he’d stayed here any longer, all his secrets would be spilled, exposing themselves to you. You let go of him as he got to his feet, his body immediately seeking aid, throwing itself onto the tree to keep himself upright. You heard a low groan escape his lips as his entire upper body placed its dependence on the tree he’d been obsessed with this past week.

“I can’t just leave you here,” you said, your hands grasping him to ease the pressure off his frail legs. He seemed to finally accept your aid at first until you felt him regain some of his balance enough to push you away once again.

“I told you-”

“I’m not leaving!” you exclaimed in protest, your grip on him returning stronger than before. Clear shock was written all over his face as he looked at you blankly, wide eyed. You’d surprised yourself with your own assertive demeanour and clearly it had the same effect on him. You were inclined to give credit to your position as a teacher for your need to help the man, but it was more than that. He was a book you wanted to read, one filled with sadness and loneliness. You could see in his eyes the abandonment he’d been through, something you were all too familiar with. He wasn’t used to depending on anyone, thus the resistance he showed you now, your own determination countering it as you insisted on providing him aid, any sort of aid, no matter how little. “Let me at least help get you inside”.

You gestured to the school, your grip on his arm loosening when he finally stopped resisting you. You looked at him and you felt time stop, something new appearing in the depths of the darkness in his eyes. Hope was a powerful feeling, one that showed up in many forms. You’d felt it the day you met Ms. Simmons and now, you could see it emulated in the eyes of the man in black.

“No. Not here.” Whatever spell grasped you to his mind was broken when he looked back towards the school and as he spoke, you could sense a drastic change in his tone. He was much more relaxed, much warmer towards you, a sense of trust growing between you for reasons you couldn’t understand. “I-I need to go home.”

His lack of energy emulated itself in his voice. He seemed to have accepted the situation he was in, yet still seemed reluctant to accept proper help. There was only so much you could do for him, a hospital being the best place for him to be not his home.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” you protested his request, feeling rather nervous about his odd behaviour. It was human to accept help when offered so why was he so adamant on rejecting it?

“Please, if you want to help me, leave me be.” He sounded desperate, as if it was imperative for you to leave him to his own demise, like he’d die if you dare give him any aid. “I cannot go to a hospital. They cannot help me there.”

“Why?” His words told you one thing while his tone spoke the opposite. He’d been claiming he didn’t need you, that he didn’t need anyone’s help yet you sensed something entirely different from the way he spoke, the way he eased into your touch when he began to trust you.

“That is beyond your concern, now please let me go,” he said, his body making no motion to push you away either out of protest for his words or he was simply too weak to do as he wished. You couldn’t tell. His voice was still so raspy, even more so than before now that he’d started to let go of that defensive behaviour he’d taken with you.

“If you insist on going home, then at least let me drive you. My car is just over there.” You pointed towards the parking lot to the side of the school, not too far from where you stood. The man looked over to where you pointed and took a moment before hesitantly nodding in agreement to your suggestion. Slowly, you helped him walk down the hill to cross the school park, making your way to your car. You opened the passenger side door first and helped him in before jogging to the other side of the car.

“Your seatbelt,” you reminded the man, pointing to it as you fastened your own. Surely if he had enough energy to push you away, he would have enough energy to clip in a seatbelt. The man looked at you with that blank expression again before he rolled his eyes and slowly reached for the seatbelt. Funny how the man who seemed to be on the brink of death not moments ago continued to elude any sort of aid, even if it was from something as simple as a seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

“Spinner’s End,” he mumbled, the click of his seatbelt your queue to turn on the engine and leave the parking lot. You kept your eyes on the road but could feel the man’s black eyes on you, like he was studying you as you’d studied him over the past week. Fate must have a twisted sense of humour if this was where you were meant to be, driving an injured stranger to his home after pondering over the mystery that surrounded him the past few days.

“You know where Spinner’s End is?” The man asked, clearly surprised you hadn’t asked for directions.

“I used to live in the neighbourhood when I was growing up,” you explained, knowing most people in this town would rather pretend like the area around Spinner’s End didn’t exist before acknowledging there were actual people leaving there. It was reputations like that that made you adamant on changing the town, on trying to impact its youth. But of course, it was reputations like that of Spinner’s End that would live past the lifetime of the city itself.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said, his voice sounding a little weaker but at least he seemed to be relaxing in the car instead of fighting to get away from you under that tree.

“You say that as if you know every single person on Spinner’s End,” you said, smiling at his claim, trying to lighten the mood a bit after everything that had happened. For a short moment you felt like you were driving with a friend, someone you’d known for years but the awkward silence thickening the air broke that illusion all too quickly. You looked over towards the man and saw that blank expression on his face again, like his mind had wandered somewhere else as he stared at you. “I-umm, I moved away when I was old enough, went to school in London and came back to teach here.”

No response. The silence was quite deafening, but the awkwardness had begun to fade when he took his eyes off you, choosing to stare out the window instead, leaning his head back on the headrest. The feeling of friendly company returned as your grip on the steering wheel loosened. You didn’t mind the silence, for some reason, it felt soothing with him sitting beside you and you didn’t even know the man’s name.

“You chose to work here?” His delayed reaction took you a bit by surprise, but you found it rather warming. There was something about him, something about your dynamic with him you couldn’t quite get your finger on. All you knew was that you needed to find out more. You needed to find out more about him and why you felt such a connection to him.

“I wanted to make a difference,” you shrugged in response, feeling as though your story wasn’t interesting enough to go into. You arrived at his home a few minutes later, spending the rest of the car ride accompanied by the man in black and the settling silence that surrounds you. Turning off the engine, you undid your seatbelt, hearing the sound of his own coming undone. Quickly opening the door, you ran over to help him out of the car, the man already stepping out, trying to get to the door on his own but his body was still so weak, still so fragile.

“Do you need-”

“No-” He’d rejected your help before you could even offer it, trying and failing to get to his porch by himself. Neither of you said a word as you helped him up to his door, carefully letting him go, watching as he reached inside his pocket to fish out his keys.

“I-I can take it from here,” he said as he went to unlock his door. You stood there like a rejected puppy wanting to come home but the man had barely opened the door enough for him to slip through, leaving you on the other side of the door.

“My-my name is (Y/N), I-I realized I never introduced myself,” you said quickly before he could close the door on you. You didn’t want to leave him, whether it was because of the infinite amount of questions floating around in your head or simply to make sure he would survive the night you didn’t care. All you knew was that you couldn’t leave him, this wasn’t the end of your interaction with him. He wasn’t going to close the door never to be seen by you again.

“I- umm-” The man had frozen when you spoke, the door neither open nor closed and for a second you thought perhaps he’d obliged to you offering your company. “Thank you for your help.”

His words rung in your ears, his tone stuck in your mind as you watched his cloaked self disappear behind the door. He was gone, but your worry for him remained. You heard the sound of the lock clicking into place, followed by a loud thump. You stepped forward, placing one hand on the door, the other balled into a fist, your knuckles pressed against the etched wood, ready to request entrance. But it was your heart that pounded instead, begging him to open the door, to let you know he would be okay.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were tired of being pushed away and you were afraid of what might happen if he put any more effort into rejecting your help. Afraid you may do more harm than good, you slowly took a step back, trying your best to let go of that compulsive need to care for others until you found yourself back in your car.

Looking back at the house, you examined each window, trying to find any sign of life, anything to let you know he hadn’t dropped dead the second he locked the door. The house looked back at you offering you nothing but more questions. The place looked like it was uninhabited for years. Like the owners had decided one day the house wasn’t worth caring for, that it was a waste of space and that abandonment was the only solution.

Against instinct, you put your keys in the ignition and turned on the car engine. A small sigh escaped your lips as you put the car into first gear, slowly pressing down on the accelerator to drive away. Your eyes shifted between the road and your rear-view mirror, your mind still hoping the house would come alive but you were given no such luck.

Sleep didn’t find you that night. Your mind instead continued to replay the events of that evening over and over again. The more you thought about it, the worse you felt about leaving him there. More than once you contemplated driving back over there if not to simply observe him from afar like you had this past week at the school.

The sun finally rose, and you immediately jumped up to shower and make yourself a cup of coffee. You made your way to the only supermarket you knew would be open this early in the morning and went shopping for a few items before hurrying back to your car and making your way to the man in black on Spinner’s End. You once again found yourself frozen in place, staring at the forgotten house, waiting for it to come alive. Nothing had changed from last night, not one single movement was found through the windows that remained shut. The house was locking what it held away from the rest of the world, never to be seen by anyone or anything.

Despite its uninviting vitality, you still pushed open your car door, locking it as you gripped the paper bag in your hand tightly. Your heartbeat grew heavier with every step you took towards the house until you felt it stop the second you found yourself in front of the door. Once again, your knuckles were pressed against the wood, waiting for your queue to rap. Your heart settled in your chest, quiet in anticipation as it approved your request and let you knock on the door four times. Knock, knock, knock, knock.

No response. You could feel the protest in your chest, the ache from the silence of the morning but you made no motion to walk away. Instead, you tried again: knock, knock, knock, knock.

Was it you? Had he seen you from the window, identified your car and decided you weren’t worth opening the door for? Or had you made the grave mistake of leaving him to his injuries last night? You were no longer concerned with knowing the man, of having your questions answered, you needed to know he was alright, that you hadn’t killed a man by fulfilling his request of being left alone.

Knock, knock, knock-

The door opened and your mind drew blank. Staring back were the same black eyes you’d spent all night thinking about, his expression blank once more, his hair the same stringy black streaks, his cloak removed to show his lanky body.

“It’s (Y/N). From-from last night,” you croaked out, your throat suddenly dry. His face softened when you spoke, the door opening just a little wider. “I just wanted to see how you were doing and give you this.”’

You showed him the bag in your hand, but his eyes kept lingering on yours. He stared at you, into your soul, reading your empty mind, flipping through your emotions like a book, or at least, that’s how it felt. His stare wasn’t one you’d ever seen before. He looked at you like you were a puzzle to be solved, a mystery to be discovered. Like he was seeking for something he could never really find. Your thoughts were interrupted by his gaze shifting down to your hands, his face giving away nothing but more questions.

“It’s not much. A few home remedies, some tea and a first aid kit,” you tried to answer whatever questions were lingering in his own mind, hoping he would return the favour as you took a closer look at the man. He looked perfectly healthy, not a single sign of injury, like yesterday never happened. The way he looked at you now like he was shuffling the puzzle pieces in frustration, unable to figure you out. You began to wonder if you’d indeed hallucinated the entire evening and we're intruding on the home of a complete stranger.

“Why would you give me this?” he asked.

“You were hurt yesterday, or so it seemed. And I-I just thought since you didn’t want to go to the hospital you could use something to help you recover.” You tried to explain, to justify your presence not just to him but to yourself. Of course, you hadn’t spoken the whole truth, leaving out the fact you felt drawn to him, that you wanted to figure him out, listen to his story. But it didn’t matter as it seemed your words had eased him enough to open the door for you.

“Would-would you like some tea?” His offer took you back. He’d been so cold yesterday, his immediate reaction when he first met you to push you away and now here he was, inviting you in for tea. It was now your turn to stare into his eyes, frozen in the moment. Loneliness and despair stared back at you. You felt bad for the man as he started to open himself to you, his expression finally displaying a hint of his emotions. With a smile, you took a step inside, watching as he closed the door behind you, gesturing for you to take a seat on the old and forgotten couch.

“Why are you so insistent on helping me?” he asked as you placed the bag on the table in front of you, the man taking a seat on the armchair adjacent to you. He was trying to solve you again, his eyes narrow, his hands folded in front of his chin.

“I-I don’t know really. I’ve seen you around the school before and when I saw you weren’t moving yesterday, I thought something horrible had happened.” you said, finding his glare rather intimidating. You sank back in your seat, your back hitting the couch as you placed your hands on your lap. “I just wanted to help.”

He looked away from you, his hands falling onto the armrests. His defences had fallen once more, your words somehow assuring him of your intentions. He believed you and you weren’t sure why.

“Thank you,” he said, speaking to his lap more so than to you. His reluctance to accept help was rather astounding. He seemed hurt somehow, as if showing his gratitude to you would be to show weakness, to admit he was human. “I haven’t… It’s-it’s been a while since anyone has shown me kindness.”

You looked at him in surprise. Yes, the people didn’t take kindly to those living in this part of the town but surely he didn’t mean what he said. “That’s an awfully sad thing to say.”

You spoke softly, feeling rather nervous, not wanting to offend the man in any way. He however didn’t seem to care much for your thoughts, his eyes meeting yours once again.

“Perhaps,” he said simply, letting the silence settle in as you both sat there, wondering about each other.

“Have you lived here long?” You’d shifted through your many questions, trying to pick the best to ask without sounding horribly eerie.

“I grew up here,” he said, indulging you in the small talk you’d requested, but his answer only kept you guessing, feeling rather excited as you began to wonder if the name ‘Sev’ from the tree back at the school belonged to him or someone he knew. “And like you, I’ve recently returned.”

“And you chose to return here?” You giggled, referencing the comment he’d made last night about your job choice. The man smiled in response, a singular chuckle puffing out his chest. Your own grin grew, his elated expression contagious. He looked rather sweet in this moment, the harshness of his defensive nature gone, the sadness in his eyes replaced with temporary joy, his smile softening his features. You felt like you could speak with him all day in that moment, but it was gone all too soon, his smile fading along with your own as his anguish returned.

“I needed a reminder.” he said, his eyes fixed on his lap, his hair falling in front of his face, the curtains closing on that brief moment of bliss you’d found with him.

“A reminder?” You asked hesitantly. Silence fell once again and you felt the air thicken, the room around you somehow darker than before. The man slowed his breathing as he stared blankly into his lap, keeping his face hidden behind his curtain of hair.

“I’ve recently lost someone.” His voice was as low as his posture, his shoulders hunched defensively as if he wasn’t worthy of receiving comfort for his loss.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said simply, knowing nothing you could say would help ease his mind from whatever pain he felt. You sat there a while, waiting patiently for him to collect himself, the curtains opening not long after, a look of wonder and empathy meeting you. You happily eased into a different subject, speaking of your time as a teacher, hoping he would bring up the story behind the engraving on the tree but it was clear whatever memory attached to that story was too painful to hash up right now. You still indulged him in some small talk until you realized it was time to head to work.

“I’m sorry. I invited you in for tea and neglected to make you any,” the man looked guilty, liked he’d offended you in some way but you simply smiled, preferring the conversation you’d had over awkwardly sipping tea anyways.

“That’s alright,” you chuckled. Turning around, you faced him as he opened the front door. Taking a small step forward, you felt the heat rise to your face as you tried to summon up any courage you had left. “Perhaps you could make it up to me this evening?”

You could hear nothing but your heart beating, waiting for his answer, fear that you overstepped bubbling up in your mind. But you waited patiently and watched that blank expression of his soften, hope staring back at you as he nodded in agreement. Your smile returned to your face as you told him you’d be by tonight after work. As you stepped out of the house, the man spoke, turning your attention back to him one last time.

“My name is Severus.” Sev. “Severus Snape.”

Your mind was wiped clean, replaced with an abundance of new questions, Who’s Lily? Was she the one he’d lost? Is she the reason he’d hung around your school this past week? Is she the reason you’d met this mysterious man?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Severus Snape.” Your smile stretched from ear to ear and you felt a spark of joy ignite in your chest, one you thought would never return since you’d come back to Cokeworth. Extending out your hand to him, you felt his thin, ice cold fingertips graze your palm as he captured it. You walked back to your car and Severus Snape, the man in black, kept his door open as he watched you buckle in. He was too far to read his face yet not far enough to know how he felt; serene, rejuvenated, content. For the first time in a long time, you were happy to go to work, looking forward to the day as you were sure he must have felt. For the first time in a long time, you’d pushed aside your worries and focussed on the present. You’d found yourself again and all it took was a simple conversation with a mysterious stranger.

@raven-hopeflyte @sleepysnapesnake @wanderingtrails @darkthought15 @bush-viper-cutie @fluffymadamina @dracos-mudblood @mitchiesdungeon @severuslovebot

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