#WHERE ARE THE EAMES X READERS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ittybittyfanblog · 3 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold.

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug.

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works?

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really."

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy.

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours.

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit.

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you. Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?”

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by.

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself.

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill.

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter.

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it.

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons.

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical.

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind.

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session.

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.”

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?”

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her.

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him.

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams.

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown.

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood.

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight.

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen in mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light.

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival.

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond.

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.”

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment.

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable.

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unrealized. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her.

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake.

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose.

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization.

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her father struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you.

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark.

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it.

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict.

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door.

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point.

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes.

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences.

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him.

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation.

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home.

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown.

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath.

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation.

He exhales. Then winces.

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it.

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh.

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left.

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago.

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware.

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago.

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil.

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively.

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer.

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting.

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable.

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere.

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists.

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home.

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

1K notes · View notes

the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 2 years ago

Text

You're waiting for a train...(10)

You knew?

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Y/n is left alone to be confronted with her greatest fear.

word count - 1.7k

warnings - attempted SA, attempted r*pe, offensive language, tears, major angst.

a/n - this is a very important and angsty chapter.

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

“You’re in a dream, honey.”

Once the words had been whispered there was no way I could take them back. Each syllable had put a target on our backs and as I saw the realisation alight in Robert’s eyes, we simultaneously felt constricting gazes begin to penetrate the three of us.

I took deep breaths, refusing the desire to turn around to meet their eyes. My hand had remained on the back of Roberts neck. It had started as a sign of comfort but as my nails gripped tighter it became a warning. ‘Don’t look at them. Look at me.’.

“Darling,” My dads voice broke through my façade and pierced a vein which released all new gushes of anxiety. “Go. Take some off our tail. Give us two minutes.” I understood my fathers request and it’s logic was sound but still I could not move. My feet were planted next to Robert’s and that’s where I needed to be. I feared for his safety more than mine. I had been under attack more times than years I’ve lived. But he had no experience of combat and his danger could mean a one way ticket down to limbo. I stroked my fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck. This gesture was caught in my dads steely gaze and his demeanour became stern. “Now!” Upon daring to look up at him I found no room for argument.

I reluctantly left the warmth of his body to stand. I fixed my dress as if it would right everything else. I swiftly turned on my heel to leave the bar. The purposefulness of my walk was bound to attract others, as I had left my subtlety in favour for a bright red danger sign. My heels clicked down the hallway and I picked up on several presences beginning to manoeuvre in my general direction. None explicitly heading my way except one pair of footsteps which I could feel breathing on the back of my heels.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Arthur’s pov*

I walked beside Ariadne ready to assemble the team for the next layer. My eyes darted around on the watch for behaviour that would cause suspicion or warrant action. I also looked for Y/n.

We had reached the elevator and were waiting for it to arrive. But when I looked to my left I spotted Y/n. She was walking towards us in a manner of confidence. She didn’t blend in. She stood out. All eyes flocked to her unusual presence as she strutted down the hallway with an apparent presupposed destination.

The mark had been made aware of the dream; the projections were alert. This was not the time for anyone to be walking alone. Even Saito was with Eames. I had Ariadne. Cobb swore he’d stick with Y/n. So why did she leave? Unless she didn’t of her own volition.

I assessed her situation, analysing every eye that was solely fixed upon her. She was heading into the bathroom which seemed an unusual move. The soles of her feet picked up quicker and it seemed adrenaline spiked her blood to speed her forward in a speed out of the norm. Her body seemed desperate to remove itself from an unknown threat. I couldn’t discern the logic of any of her actions until she turned the corner to open the door.

My fist clenched but before I could move I was dragged into the now waiting elevator by a bustle of people wanting in. I loudly cursed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

The heavy door pushed back against my bones, but I was forceful and nearly threw my whole body against it. I practically collapsed inside the room, stumbling in my heels which burned. My breathing quickened and I had to grip the edge of a sink to ground myself once again. There was no time. There was no time. But Dad needed time. Robert needed time. I could give them time.

My heart jumped through my bones as the familiar creak of the door sounded once again. I refused to meet his gaze in an admittance of surrender. His steps got louder until he’d gripped my arm to throw me around to face him. He slammed his pelvis into my own making my back crash into the sinks edge. I cried out feeling the burn through my muscles. My legs begged to give out but they only managed to slide around on the tiles as he gripped my other arm.

“Who do we have here, ey?” His words poured out of his mouth like slime. A build-up of saliva decorated his teeth like tinsel and formed fangs when he separated his gums. I winced in disgust as he leaned down closer to my body. He found purchase in my neck and inhaled deeply. My arms struggled fruitlessly knowing no amount of strength would ever be enough for me now. A tear dripped down my cheek over my expressionless face. It was the only way I knew.

“Not a talker.” He spat out both literally and figuratively. “Don’t matter.” He pulled me up using my elbows as handles. As limp as a ragdoll meant it was easy for him to throw me against one of the closed toilet doors. “I have a much better use for that mouth of yours.” His grin consumed his entire face.

At the throw my head thwacked back with the reverberated force and for a moment I prayed that I would not have to be awake for what was to come. But the darkness never came, and it never would. There was no way out.

I felt his grimy fingers grip my shoulders in a pushing motion. Staging my limp frame in a kneeling position. My eyes burned with tears through their tight close. He used his fingers to stretch out my cheeks, taunting me of what was about to happen. My skin ached at the movement. His thumb entered my mouth and danced across my rows of teeth. I gagged at the intrusion. “Now, now. No biting.” I resigned myself with one last influx of tears until my ducts had dried fully.

The sound of a ripping door startled the man and he barely had chance to look for the intruders before he was punched square in the eyes. He toppled down next to me and I flinched away before any of him could touch me anymore. My tears blurred my saviour but I pushed them away and I managed to catch a glimpse of Robert standing over me with a hand reached out. I fearfully took his hand and my shaking seemed to stop once we were linked. He helped me up and checked me over. He was careful with his hand placements fearing a reaction to any sudden movement. My body unconcsciously leaning towards his in search of comfort was all the confirmation he needed to wrap me up in his arms. My head relaxed onto his chest but my arms remained tightly held to my chest looking as if rigor mortis had set in. He tucked his chin on the top of my head and delivered a light kiss. No words were spoke about it. He stroked through my locks and the consistent feeling slowed my racing heart.

Through all of this, my dad was searching my attacker for weapons.

“Your daughter was just – what the fuck was that?” Robert shouted through his breathy confusion. But his arms never left my frail frame.

Without looking up from the body, my father answered. “Projections usually react to attack whatever subject is put in front of them,” He gestured up to myself and Robert looked at me and his gaze held pure anger. “Projections are actually one of the weakest parts of the dream and can only focus on one threat at a time…”

“You knew?” I whispered, raising my head from Roberts embrace. “You fucking knew.” Rage began to build up in my veins and I separated so I could stalk towards his uncaring stance.

He still would not look me in the eyes. “Did you know?” I shoved his shoulder. “Look at me. Did you fucking know?” I used both hands to childishly bang on his back in a tantrum. “LOOK AT ME!”

He spun around to meet me. He raised so he towered over me. I shrunk in this unfamiliar gaze. “Yes.” My lip shook when the tears fought to climb out once more. I’d never cried more in this short amount of time than in my whole life.

“All this time?”

His gaze seemed to soften before his next phrase. “Every single one.”

I tightened my eyes to will myself to fight on. Once they reopened, they had steeled. “And you still ordered me to go.” I scoffed at his unapologetic confidence in the face of this confession.

“You knew what projections do. And yet you still sent me away.” The lump in my throat meant the words didn’t come out easily but I fought on. “No actually.” I searched through his face which screamed of guilt. “You hoped it would happen. Well, projections can only focus on one thing at a time. Right?” He couldn’t give me a confirmation but worse, he couldn’t deny. He passed by my body which I could no longer will to move. My eyes held nothing, and the only sign of life were my quick shallow breaths and the final tear that fell.

“Mr Fischer,” Robert’s eyes remained fixed on my back even as Cobb spoke at him. He was confused by the conversation which had just transpired between father and daughter but he was sure of his deep desire to comfort the girl. I felt his eyes on me but I couldn’t let him see me like this. He didn’t deserve to be sucked into the crazy knots which were my life. I could hear my dad speak, asking Robert for a number. But nothing registered. As if they were merely acting out on a screen which I had a viewing for.

I sucked back and planted a faux smile over my dried tear tracks. I spun back around the armour of character concealing any open wounds.

“I guess we should start with room 528 and room 491.” My confidence seeped through and left my body.

Robert’s brows furrowed at my sudden demeanour change. But they more so held concern and disbelief at the appearance of contentment I was portraying.

We left the bathroom, led by my father. I felt a hand ghost against my lower back. I almost succumbed to the show of genuine comfort. But it only confirmed the worries in my heart. I stilled myself to force the decision I didn’t want to make.

After this, I will never see Robert Fischer again.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Omgggg Cobb always knew??? What did you guys think of the new chapter??

200 notes · View notes

random-imagines-blog · 7 months ago

Text

The Last Story Ever {Arthur x Reader Oneshot; Part 2}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 4701 Summary: Arthur meets you one on one, and then his next time going into your dreams was more ... interesting. Notes: SMUT. Oral, penetration, kissing, nipple play.

Arthur could not get that dream out of his head. Even though he had been the one to engineer it, to make it go exactly how he had wanted it to go, there had been some surprises. The comfort that he had felt. The way that your hair had felt beneath his fingers when he brushed it out of your face. The way you looked so happy when he returned home from ‘work’, like you were just elated to not have to be alone anymore. Enthusiastic like you finally had someone that you could talk to, someone you never had before. It affected a lot of his thoughts throughout the day. It affected his own dreams at night. Whenever he felt the loaded dice in his pocket, he thought of you.

He was still stationed at the house across the street from yours, looking out for you. While Cobbs and Eames had already handed over the information that he had secured, there was more to get. And on top of that, Arthur was worried about your well-being. If your dangerous boss even suspected that information was getting out - it could lead to you. Normally, he would not care. He did his job and then he left but this time - this time, he couldn’t just walk away.

Every morning, he watched as you went off to work. And every evening, he watched you come back. Eames had started to make jokes, calling Arthur obsessed and a stalker. And every time, Arthur would smartly come back with, ‘If I was a stalker, I would be following her to work. I just make sure she comes home safely.”

Apparently, more had happened. For another job came through. It was extremely similar to the first one, Arthur just had to extract some more information. For the first time, it felt like he was going to be intruding upon something. It felt almost wrong to be in your head without you knowing about it. But Arthur was going to step up to the plate tonight. Better him than Eames, right?

Until you went to bed, there was not much to do except for wait. He prepared for an afternoon of planning, getting his story straight, until there was an interruption. And that interruption had, unfortunately, been you.

The doorbell rang, at quarter past three in the afternoon. He was going over the notes that he had written down of things to engineer, to design, when the sound went through the nearly vacant home. It echoed throughout the rooms, finding him in the living room, where the only furniture was a couple of lawn chairs, and a third-hand table. Only the necessities. Though he could have done with a more comfortable armchair, but Arthur didn’t complain.

Curiously, he went to see who it was, peering through the peephole, only to see you on the other side. This was certainly unexpected and - well, you truly looked so beautiful, even through the fisheye lens. You pressed on the doorbell again, looking towards the car that was in the driveway. Right. Damn. There was no excuse now.

Running his fingers through his hair, he psyched himself up. This was a good thing, he thought. If you saw him - it wouldn’t be as odd that he appears in your dreams. You wouldn’t be as confused when you woke up. Yes, good, excellent, now to actually open the door. His hand still hesitated when it got to the knob, feeling like this moment wasn’t good enough. It should be something special, shouldn’t it? The moment when he finally comes face to face with you?

One more deep breath, and then he opened the door.

You stood there, a little startled, because you had been ready to turn around and head back to your own home, figuring that despite the car in the driveway, your new neighbor wasn’t home. But here he was, and there was something just so completely familiar about his face. Something that made you feel safe, and - adored, somehow? You weren’t sure. But you had started to feel warm, and felt the blood rush into your face, and felt your smile go mega-watt even though you hadn’t told it to.

“Sorry, I was just - doing something,” Arthur said, unable to come up with an excuse in time, tugging his vest down a little. “Hello.”

“H-hi,” you said, remembering your purpose for being there. “I just stopped by to welcome you to the neighborhood. My name is y/n,” You introduced. “I brought you some cookies. I - didn’t know if you were allergic to anything so they’re gluten-free, dairy-free oatmeal.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at the plate that you held out. He recognized it, the blue design on it, because it was the same plates that you had eaten pizza off of in your dream. He took it from your hands, looking at the delicacies through the clingfilm that it was wrapped in. “That’s really kind of you. I’m Arthur, by the way.”

Despite Cobbs not being here, he could feel the man’s displeasure as his own name slipped out of his mouth. He could have said anything. He should have said something else. But so caught up in looking at you up close for the first time, he could only remember his own name, not anyone else’s.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” you said with a friendly smile. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

Your eyes seemed to go over his body, taking in the formalwear that he was currently wearing. The long-sleeved shirt, pressed trousers, matching vest. Arthur casual, as Eames would say. He held the plate a little closer to his body, as if attempting to shield himself.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just - working on - renovations,” he said on the fly. You blinked up at him, took a look at his outfit again, and then back up towards his face, your smile fading just slightly into something akin to confusion.

“Right,” you said with a nod, clearing your throat. “Well, I just wanted to come and introduce myself and welcome you. I live right across the street there, if you need anything. It was a pleasure to meet you, Arthur.”

“You too, Miss Y/N. I’ll be sure to return the plate,” he said, and waited for you to take a step back before he closed the door again. He leaned against it, after turning the lock into place, trying to catch the breath that he had been holding.

Shit.

He really was a goner.

He was, perhaps, a little too eager to go into your dreams tonight. He had spent the last hour or two pacing, driving his colleagues half-mad as he did so, and then was more than ready to jump in there tonight. Eames was staring at him, like he knew something was up, though Arthur was being far from inconspicuous about it. “Is it time yet?” He asked. Eames shook his head. He sighed, and then sat down, feeling a little jittery. He’d already eaten half of the cookies that you had made. The sugar - it had to be the sugar that made him feel this way.

“Keep your arse down,” Eames said, putting his legs up on Arthur’s lap and crossing them at the ankles. “You’re making me antsy.”

Arthur pushed Eames’ legs off of him and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I just want to get this over with. That’s the job, right?”

“Sure,” Eames said, folding his arms in front of himself. “This job’s getting to you though. I should be tellin’ Cobb about that-”

“No-” Arthur said, quickly. “I mean - it’s not. It’s not getting to me. It’s fine. Is it time yet?”

He avoided everyone’s eye until it was time, closing his eyes and entering into your dream space.

It was much like the other dream that he had constructed for you - your cute little house, him getting out of his car, walking up towards the front door, coming home from work. Only this time, he had a bouquet of flowers - orchids mainly, roses was coming on too strong - in his hands for you. As he went to unlock the front door, you opened it, greeting him while wearing the same outfit he had seen you wearing earlier. It had quickly become a favorite for him. Your style was just - exactly what he loved in a woman.

“Are those for me?” You asked, your eyes lit up in surprise, in happiness. He nodded, any words getting stuck inside of his throat. “Oh, they’re beautiful. What’s the occasion?”

“I was just - thinking of you, and my feet kept going until I found myself in a flower shop,” he said, stepping inside of your home as you took the flowers gently from his hands. “Do I need an occasion to bring my beautiful wife flowers?”

“Of course not, thank you,” you said, and you pressed a gentle kiss onto his lips, one that made him finger the dice in his pocket to make sure to keep himself grounded. It felt real. He was the one making it feel real. He reached up and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, ever so softly. When you pulled away, you were still smiling, and he had to wipe the look of bewilderment off of his face.

“You’re welcome - anytime,” he said with a half-smile. You gave him a full-on grin and then turned to go and find a vase to put the flowers in - which of course seemed to magically appear in the kitchen, right when you needed it. You didn’t question it at all. Dream logic and everything.

He followed you into the kitchen, and wrapped his arms around you from behind as you were adding water in with the flowers. He kissed the side of your head, taking every opportunity to just touch you. Dream you had skin as soft as silk, which he couldn’t help running his fingers across. Especially if this was going to be his only opportunity to do so. “How was your day?” He asked, mumbling it into your ear, sending happy little goosebumps across your flesh.

You sighed, despite the glee that your ‘husband’ made you feel. “It was alright, all things considering.”

“All things considering?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow, his face just behind your head, taking in the smell of your hair.

“It’s the boss,” You admitted. “He’s been - acting oddly lately.”

How were you this perfect? How were you so pliant? He didn’t have to mention your boss, he didn’t have to mention your work and there you were. It was like you knew exactly what he had wanted to hear and you were oh so willing to divulge it. His arms tightened around your waist, holding you protectively. “How so?” He asked, keeping his tone neutral.

You hummed, trying to think of how to put it. “I went into his office the other day to get some of the files that I needed and he completely erupted at me. I’ve never seen anyone get that mad in my life. You would think that he had caught me shredding things rather than just grabbing them! Oh, and do you remember my friend Kathryn, from accounting? She just had had the most gorgeous wedding, the flowers were - oh, never mind, you were there with me, of course you know. But she just got fired! Right there, when her husband had come by to bring her lunch. The boss saw Officer Howard standing there, bringing her a sandwich and he just ups and lets her go! I thought it was absolutely ridiculous. She’s one of the hardest workers there-”

Although he was listening to you attentively, Arthur couldn’t help but put some of the pieces together. Your boss hadn’t wanted you in his office to collect documents. Why? Because he was hiding something, no doubt. His reaction, just from what you had told him, pointed to that. And firing your friend - Accounting, was it? It probably had nothing to do with her job performance, but everything to do with her marrying an officer. She could let something spill, the way that you were doing with Arthur right now. So there had to be something going on there. This was good intel.

“- plus, I feel like he’s been getting cheaper with the lunches,” you said, concluding your rant. “It used to be sandwiches and usually a crock pot filled with something. But now, it’s a bowl of fruit and some microwave ramen. Anyway, I’m sorry. I’ve just been going on and on. I don’t mean to ruin your day...”

Your fingers were sliding across his arms, feeling both comforting and slightly arousing. Your touch was so gentle, so intimate. “You could never ruin my day, even if you tried,” He hummed close to your ear, swaying with you ever so slightly. “Besides, I like listening to you talk. I could hear you talk all day.”

“Even if it’s complaints?” You asked, leaning back against his strong chest.

“Even then.”

“You’re just amazing,” you said, and turned around so that you were facing him now, draping your arms over his shoulders, clasping your hands behind his neck. “I didn’t even ask - how was your day?”

“It’s a lot better now that I’m with you,” he said, looking into your eyes. He was really turning into a sap here; he could look in those eyes all day. Or rather, all night. “Let’s just relax the rest of the night. You can complain away about anything that you like and I’ll hold you, how does that sound?”

“Like a dream,” you said, making him chuckle. If you only knew.

Rather than go back into the living room, like you had in your last dream, you took his hand and you walked together towards the bedroom. Dream logic had made the day suddenly become night, only flickers of starlight coming in through the windows, a slight breeze rustling the curtains. It was quiet, peaceful, serene.

You unbuttoned his jacket and removed it, only to reveal the same vest that he had been wearing when you met him earlier that day. “I always did think you looked most handsome in this,” you said and began to unbutton that too. Arthur’s breath started to catch in his throat, his hands hanging down by his sides as he watched your fingers move dexterously. When he had suggested holding you - he had meant with clothes on. But you had other ideas. And you always thought - which means that today, you had thought he looked handsome? His mind was just spinning with that possibility.

“Really?” He asked you, letting you peel the vest off of his body. He felt so exposed in just the long-sleeved shirt and trousers that he wore - and of course the undershirt. He was an old-fashioned man, and he always wore one of those. You smiled at him coyly as you started to then unbutton the crisp white shirt.

“I remember you wearing it when we met, when you moved in,” you said, undoing each button carefully. “Feels like it was only yesterday.”

He chuckled a little again, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. “It does, doesn’t it?”

You hummed your agreement, untucking the shirt from his trousers and slid it down his arms. He let you, he let you reveal his shoulders and his arms and the clean white undershirt that he always wore. You giggled, a sound that he couldn’t get enough of and gave that a tug out of his trousers as well. “You always wear so many layers. How do you not sweat like crazy during the day?”

“Just a talent,” he said, the corner of his mouth going up in a smirk, his hands starting to trail down your waist. He hoped you couldn’t tell that his heart was racing. No, of course you couldn’t. It was only a dream. But you - you felt so real right now. The fabric of your clothing beneath his fingertips, the soft womanly body that was underneath. A woman’s soft. There was nothing else even remotely like it. You let out a soft little moan just at his touch like that and he couldn’t help but do more. He brought his hands up your ribs, up your side, then over your back, down to your ass. He squeezed it through your clothing and could imagine what it felt like without it being in the way. You moaned again and leaned in to start kissing his neck, bringing your hands up underneath the undershirt, feeling his body beneath. He really could feel you. He could make out the very grooves on your fingertips.

He could feel himself growing hard, his trousers starting to feel a bit too constricting. But he leaned his head back and let you continue your soft assault on his Adam’s apple with your tongue, swirling it around. “I thought you - wanted to talk about work,” he said, attempting to catch his breath. “Get some things - off of your chest?”

“I don’t want to spend my time complaining when I can be with you,” you said, pinching his nipple, making him hiss. No one had ever done that before, so it was a new experience, a new feeling. And he found himself enjoying it more than he thought that he ever would. “No more work talk. I just - I want to be with you.”

“Okay,” Arthur agreed without a second’s hesitation, lowered his head, and met you in a kiss. It started off gentle, but then turned into something more passionate, steamy. Like a married couple in heat, rather than unfamiliarity. Your tongue was the first to initiate contact, swiping at his lower lip, making him moan again, his mouth opening, granting you entrance to explore. To taste. You took advantage.

Your hands wandered down his torso, down to his trousers. Nearly pressed, pristine, just like he wore in real life, and you were fiddling with that button as well, with the zipper, tugging it down. The anticipation was more intense than anything he had ever felt before. He had never guessed that you were this bold. This hungry.

His pants fell down around his ankles then, and you went with them, looking up at him from your knees. He groaned at the sight alone. Never in his own wildest dreams -

And yet this was YOUR dream. He may have constructed the scenario but you were doing your own actions, saying your own words, adapting to it. This was all your idea. This was what you wanted. He swallowed heavily, nearly choking on his own spit as he felt the air start to touch his bare skin - and more of it as you lowered his briefs.

He gasped out your name when he felt you slide him into your mouth. He was girthy but he fit so perfectly inside of your mouth like this, like it was meant to be. You enveloped him, making him feel things that he had not felt - ever. Arthur had always been a serious person, a serious child, a serious teenager. He didn’t do high school flings, or college one-night stands. So, this was a new sensation. This was a night full of them. And if this is just what it felt like in a dream, imagine real life - oh, he was imagining it alright.

He was looking down at you, your eyes closed, eyelashes creating a gorgeous curved line against your skin. He wished that you would open them again. There was no sight that he could imagine wanting more. But then you moaned around him, tongue circling, and the thoughts flew out of his head again. All he could do was concentrate on not climaxing right then and there. It would be embarrassing, even in dream form. His hands rested them on your cheeks, lightly stroking with his thumb, admiring the way that you looked. Admiring the way that you felt. Admiring your very talented mouth.

Your head was moving back and forth in earnest, and you truly looked like you were enjoying yourself, which excited him even more. He moaned your name again, moving his hips, pushing himself further into your mouth, which you took with gusto. You pulled back after a moment and licked him from base to tip, causing a shiver to go down his spine.

Once you were off, he took ahold of you and brought you up to your feet, and made quick work of ridding you of your clothes. He felt like he was losing control. He never lost control. But this was one of the few times that he was fine with it. It didn’t even occur to his mind right now that his dice were in the pocket of his fallen trousers and he had nothing that he could ground himself with right then.

Once your body was exposed to him, he was the one who lowered himself to you, taking your nipple inside of his mouth, biting it ever so gently with the tip of his teeth, making you cry out. It wasn’t in pain though, your hands starting to mess with his perfectly styled hair, the gel falling apart beneath your fingers, pulling him even closer to you as you fell back onto the bed. He didn’t stop. His tongue was flicking at the end of your nipple inside of his mouth, suckling on it softly, arranging his weight so that it wasn’t on you too heavily.

Watching how well you were enjoying yourself, he took initiative, his hand coming up to grab your other breast, his thumb rubbing against the nipple, first slowly and then growing more aggressively. He felt it harden under his touch and that just made him all the more aroused. He was having an effect on you.

You were having a wet dream about him.

What he also noticed was the fact that your thighs were squeezing together, trying to give yourself some friction. Oh, just the thought of what heaven might lay between there - he was quivering with anticipation.

You were moaning his name now, making these cute little humming noises. These sweet little mews. He suckled a little harder, and to his complete surprise, heard you stammer -

“I - I love you-”

He froze for a second there. The fact that you said that made it real. This was a dream. You probably didn’t have any feelings for you. And he was taking advantage of a weird situation. Did you even want to have a dream like this? Did he need consent in a dream for this to happen?

“Stop thinking and come kiss me,” You mumbled, holding onto his shoulders. Another freezing shiver. How did you know that he was thinking? How could you have known that he was the kind of man who lived inside of his own head far more than he did the outside world? But this was still your dream so he did what he was told to do, moving upwards, his lips catching onto yours.

You were so damn soft. His hormones were starting to ravage at him, causing him to suck your lower lip into his mouth, nibbling at it softly. It had been a long time for him. Dream or no dream. He hardly even allowed himself to jack off so this was feeling like pure bliss and torture at the same time. His kisses grew a little more frantic, causing you to moan again underneath him, your hands moving towards his hips, pulling him closer. You weren’t just hitting at what you wanted, but you were leading him there. There was no room for any miscommunication or understanding.

He was finely kept. Everything was trimmed, neat-looking. His skin was soft beneath, and there was almost no friction as he pressed his hardness against you. He fit between your thighs oh so perfectly, pushing little by little until he felt the pressure of the tip going in, causing a groan to escape from the back of his throat.

He felt like he had a deadline. The dream could be over any moment now but he didn’t want it to be. He pulled away from the kiss and looked into your eyes as he pushed himself forward, felt you arching your back underneath him, penetrating without hesitation or struggles. He came back down, kissing you, setting a slow pace, sliding in and out deliciously. Now that he was in you, there was something about it that felt so special, so intimate - you weren’t just a dream anymore.

His hips thrust slowly, circling, and then started to speed up, finding his rhythm. You broke off the kiss to moan, to whisper his name, to tell him time and time again that you loved him, which made him feel absolutely exhilarated. It felt so real - that he had even started to say it back. Your name left his lips in the most loving way. And he found that he adored saying it. His pace picked up more, moving faster, feeling you squeezing him from the inside. You were so wet, so warm, he couldn’t get enough. His lips played at your neck, breath growing faster - making it all seem so real.

He could feel the tension starting to build in that way that was familiar and yet felt like it had been out of his grasp for so long. He pushed himself towards it and was getting closer when you seemed to break, the loudest moan out of you yet, an extra wetness flooding around him as your body started to squeeze more, refusing to let him go. That just propelled him the extra way there, his forehead against yours, sweat almost acting like an adhesive. His hips were no longer in any sort of rhythm, just moving, just going, just -

Bliss.

He felt every millisecond of it, as if prolonged by the dream, stretched out, powerful. And then he rolled onto his side ineloquently beside you, kissing your cheek as you both fought to catch your breath.

After a couple of minutes, he found himself spooning you, running his hands against your upper thighs. It was comforting, being this close to you, and he knew this was one dream that was never going to fade in his memory. He’d be keeping it alive by thinking about it as much as was humanly possible.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, which drew his attention back to the dream he was living in rather than the one he’d be thinking about later.

“You can tell me anything,” He breathed, kissing your bare shoulder.

“I think my boss is-”

Arthur’s eyes shot open just as he found himself landing hard on the floor. His hands didn’t shoot out in time to break his fall, and he had landed right upon his shoulder, causing a groan to come out from his lips.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Eames’ very annoying voice carried over from the other side of the couch. One look at the shit-eating grin on his face told Arthur that he had been the one to push him off of the couch. He sat up and rubbed at his shoulder, glaring up at Eames. “Thought you might want to clean up before the day starts.”

“Clean up?” Arthur grumbled, stretching the muscle which now ached. “I was just about to get more information about her boss-”

“You were getting something alright,” Eames continued grinning, motioning his head towards Arthur’s body. His own eyes trailed down to his lap and saw the very evident went spot on his bottoms. What happened in the dream didn’t just stay in the dream, apparently. The tips of his ears started to turn red in embarrassment, and he got up onto his feet and stalked towards the bathroom, ignoring the laughter that echoed through the walls.

#Arthur #Arthur inception #Arthur inception x reader #Arthur x Reader #Inception #x reader

22 notes · View notes

elwenyere · 2 months ago

Note

hi elwen! how about 1, 9, and 4 (for No Survivors) please? <3

Hello brigit!!! Thank you for the asks. <3<3<3 Questions are from this post.

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

This is such a good question and such a hard one, and of course it would depend on the ships and fandoms a reader was into (my muse has turned out to have a wandering spirit). For many of the pairs I've written, there's a 5+1 fic I wrote early on that takes place before/around/after key moments in canon, and I think these fics offer a pretty good window into my initial approach to the ship in question. This would be the case, for example, for Call Me By Your (Pet) Name (Sambucky), Good Soldiers (Codywan), What's Left for Us to Say (Melshian), Holding Pattern (Hangster), and Should the Way Become Too Dim (Xedgin).

But I would also say that even though it's much rarer for me to manage a fic over 10k (so those fics aren't necessarily, like, my median fic), when I do write longer, those are often the stories I feel stretch me to do more work on plotting and characterization and worldbuilding so that I end up producing something that feels more distinctive to my ethos. So if I were going to pick fics that I think would show a reader many of the things I try to do with narrative (mess with time, screw with perception and memory, explore grief and trauma and the loss of self-concept, and - of course - put that guy through the horrors), I would probably pick stories like Recollection (Codywan) or Hypnagogia (Arthur x Eames).

9. How do you find new fic to read?

I have a couple of different methods, because my reading mood can change pretty quickly, and for reasons I don't always understand myself. There are writers I follow here and/or on AO3 and whose work I read regularly when it's in the neighborhood of things I ship (and sometimes even when it's not). If I see a rec for something that seems up my alley I will add it to my MFL (though how soon I actually find myself reading it can vary a lot). And every once in a while I am possessed by a deep need to devour a bunch of stories with a very particular set of narrative beats, and often when that happens I will choose a completely-new-to-me ship and rifle through a specific tag for a binge. Sometimes in this process I trap myself into writing for that pairing myself: that was how I ended up writing Codywan and Arthur x Eames.

4. What detail in [No Survivors] are you really proud of?

Ah, thank you for asking about No Survivors! There's a bit in chapter three where I imagine a Kenari naming custom that I hoped would add texture both to Cassian's particular relationship to names and also to the significance of "Kassa" in particular. I really like how it works in the story.

Also this fic includes one of my favorite lines I've written about Melshian:

Melshi risked a glance at Cassian’s profile as they rounded a corner, remembering, suddenly, how Cassian had turned toward him on the platform on Narkina - how Melshi had never since been able to disentangle the look he’d seen on Cassian’s face from the sensation of feeling the sun on his own again.

#writer asks #ask meme #thank you brigit!!!

3 notes · View notes

jahayla-parker · 2 years ago

Text

Bewitched Love : Peter Parker x Reader

Part 14

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Desc. & Warnings: 1.4k wc, see navigation for description and warnings

Recap:

Peter glanced at y/n as tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked pointedly down at his bloody hand, subtly telling y/n where to look without alarming May. Peter noticed y/n’s hitched breathing upon seeing the blood. This wasn't good.

Y/n immediately pushed herself off the floor and moved to the other side of May. She pressed her hands against May’s shoulder. Y/n sent Peter a concerned glance when May didn’t react to the pressure of y/n’s hands against her open wound.

Peter pursed his lips and snapped his head around as he searched for a solution. He noticed the flashing lights of the first responders outside the collapsed building. Peter cupped his mouth to increase his volume. “Somebody help! I need an ambulance! Please, somebody...” he pleaded loudly.

“Consuendi vulnere, consuendi vulnere, consuendi vulnere,” y/n chanted. She took a shaky breath as she felt stitches slowly forming. But it wasn’t enough yet and y/n could tell. “Consuendi vulnere,” y/n screamed, using her hands to apply pressure to the wound as another attempt at stopping the massive blood flow exiting May’s body.

May was clearly not understanding what was causing Peter to act panicked. Nor did she understand why y/n was suddenly screaming in Latin. “What happened?” she asked, squinting at Peter in confusion.

Peter grabbed May’s hand and watched as y/n tried to heal her. “Nothing. You're okay. You're okay,” he chanted. Peter wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure May or himself at this point.

“It’s stitched b-but…” y/n’s voice rasped. “Something is wrong. The bleeding stopped, but…" y/n whispered. "May? How are you feeling?” She asked at a louder volume, sensing something was still wrong. But what?

May mumbled incoherently. “I'll just... catch my breath...” She repeated.

Peter nodded. “Okay. I'm right here. I'm right here,” he promised tenderly.

“Imple eam pulmonem spiritus plenus,” y/n hummed, hands on May’s chest again. While she didn't feel May's breath lapsing again, if that was what May said was the problem, y/n was going to fix it.

“Pe-Peter,” May choked.

“I’m here,” Peter promised, squeezing her hand. “I'm right here. We're okay. It’s me and you,” he cooed.

Y/n bit her lip aggressively. She could tell May’s lungs were getting proper air flow, but her body was still failing. Y/n could feel the energy draining from May’s body. She figured there’s had to be some internal injury that they didn’t know about. But, y/n didn’t know how to determine what it was. If she didn’t know what the wound was, she couldn’t figure out the correct spell to fix it.

Y/n felt a sudden lack of chemical energy coming from May just as May stopped breathing. “Imple eam pulmonem spiritus plenus, imple eam pulmonem spiritus plenus,” y/n whimpered. She pulled her bloody hands away and blindly began chanting a generic spell. It was pointless, y/n knew as much.

The spell needed to be more specific to actually work. But, y/n couldn’t do that without knowing where the injury was and she had to at least try to help May. As such, she began generically ordering her power to heal any of May's internal wounds, “consuendi vulnere internum”. “Quaeso!” Y/n pleaded with her cosmic powers. “Consuendi vulnere internum, consuendi vulnere internum,” she repeated, tears falling from her eyes and landing on May’s lifeless body.

Peter shook his head to himself in disbelief. “May? May? Will you look at me, May? Please?” Peter whimpered. “May? May? What are you doing, May? Please, will you just wake up and talk to me, please?” He cried, his chest heaving.

“R-r-reddet eam in salutem perfectam,” y/n tried desperately. She was pleading with her abilities to restore May to perfect health. If she was being honest with herself, y/n knew it wouldn’t work. She wasn’t able to do that. Maybe someday she’d be able to; but she doubted that even if she could do so, that she was supposed to do such things as bringing someone back to life. But, y/n let herself think it would work, she had to believe it was possible; otherwise, her doubtful emotions would certainly make her fail.

However, as she opened her eyes, y/n saw Peter’s despair. She knew it hadn’t worked. Her hands dropped as her body shook with tears, guilt, and shame. Y/n wanted to comfort Peter, but she was sure he was mad at her for not saving May. It was her job to get May out. It was up to her to save May after she was injured. Neither of which y/n had been able to do.

Y/N’s attention was pulled from her self-deprecating thoughts when she heard someone yelling. It sounded like Peter’s friend Happy. She focused on the voice, squinting to try and see through the bright lights of the police outside.

“Peter! Y/-. Azure Witch! Run!” Happy shouted again.

Y/N’s watery eyes finally focused through the smoke and lights. As such, she now saw the horde of SWAT officers that had surrounded the building, rifles drawn and pointed at her and Peter.

Peter was clueless to their surroundings, his eyes never having left May. He was shaking and crying, his hands clutching May’s shirt desperately. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Peter whimpered shakily.

Y/n painstakingly stood, moving to be beside Peter. She put her arm around Peter’s trembling shoulders. “Peter,” she whispered lightly, hating that she had to try and get him to leave. Yet, she heard Happy continue to shout “run!”.

Y/n’s heart broke even more as she watched Peter lay down as if trying to hug May. She wiped her tears quickly and rubbed his back. Y/n wanted to give Peter some time with his now-deceased aunt. Her eyes flickered between the SWAT team outside, Happy shouting behind them, and Peter crying into May’s motionless chest.

Once the SWAT team began firing at them, y/n knew she had to make a choice. But, she saw Peter was wanting more time and she couldn’t get herself to force him to leave May. “Praesidium per mea navitas cosmicam potestatem super NOS,” Y/n whispered, holding one hand towards the glass doors the SWAT team shattered with their bullets. She took a breath as the cerulean shield formed around both her and Peter, the bullets bouncing off. Y/n tried to rub Peter’s back supportively with her other hand.

However, the magnitude of the SWAT team’s assault only increased in response to her forming the protective shield. They brought forward more officers and began firing rounds in a faster pace, hoping to break the azure bubble.

Peter’s concentration suddenly shifted. He wasn’t sure what caused him to snap out of his grief, tearing his eyes away from the final teardrop cascading down May’s cheek. But, as he turned to find y/n, his eyes widened.

Y/n had both of her hands held out before her, palms pushing towards the SWAT team firing at them from outside. There was sweat beading down from her forehead and her hands had started to shake as she kept the shield blocking each bullet aimed for the superhero duo. She looked exhausted and Peter could even hear her shallow panting over the popping sounds of the bullets striking her blue shield.

Peter forced himself to stand; although the best he could do was walk in sort of a hunched manner. He gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to stay with May instead of what he knew he needed to do. However, when he saw y/n was kneeling and that her injured leg was bleeding again, Peter snapped back onto gear. Peter pressed forwards, grabbing her bicep tenderly. “W-we have to g-go,” he told her when she looked his way.

“Peter,” y/n sighed sympathetically.

Peter shook his head, offering y/n an appreciative expression. “We need to go, come on,” he commanded, tugging on her arm. “I’m getting you out of here,” Peter promised.

Y/n heard the determination in Peter’s voice and nodded. “I can’t move it with us yet, I don’t know h-" she tried to explain, nodding towards her shield.

Peter nodded, “that's fine”. His voice was weak and kept cracking, but he was determined to get y/n out of here and make sure she was okay. “I’ve got this,” he promised, moving her to the other side of him to be safe. “Just hold on, I know you’re tired, but please, just hold on tight, amica mea” Peter requested, gripping y/n’s bicep tightly.

“Mea stricta tena-” y/n whispered, her eyes heavy.

“No, no” Peter urged, “just rest, please. I-I.. I need you to rest, just b-breathe and…”

Y/n squeezed Peter’s hand and nodded. When Peter wrapped his arm around her and nodded, she let her protective shield drop away. Y/n leaned her exhausted head on his shoulder as he shot a web across the destroyed building to pull them away from the gunshots.

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Peter Parker Navigation

Tom Holland Navigation

My Main Masterlist Navigation (All My Works)

Taglist:

@justapurrcat @natswife-marvelicious @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @theslayerofthevampires

30 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

Text

WorkofArt! Series: Part One - Storm In A Teacup: Bobby Goren x Reader

Tagging: @darqchilddaydreamz @words-and-seeds @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @id1ehands

It’s the letters that ruin Bobby, seeing his name written in your haphazard scrawl. His fingertips trace over the indentations of the ink and he imagines you sitting at the table in that quaint little house writing them out.

I love you Bobby, I think it started that day at the Met, you had written. You scored your name on my heart, and I just haven’t been able to shake it since.

He underlines the words ‘Met’ ‘scored’ and then ‘heart’ before he re-reads the letter all over again. He’s been at this for hours, sifting through the letters they found addressed to him in a safe house up in Rochester. Eames thinks he’s torturing himself, that he’s searching for clues that aren’t there, but she doesn’t know you, not the way that he does.

This thing the two of you have, it may be unspoken but its no less real. He knows you would never have committed your feelings to paper, that you would never have left them for prying eyes to see. You would have known that they’d be admitted into evidence when you disappeared, you would have known that…

He pauses for a second before he tilts his head slightly to the right.

Oh…

Now he sees it.

The code you’ve used.

He remembers how you teased him that day the two of you visited the Freud exhibition.

“You like to think about the art, where I like to feel it.”

He runs his fingers over the paper again, seeking out the deeper inflections of your pen, the places where you’ve exerted more pressure, where the ink is slightly darker. He jots down each of the letters until it spells out a word and then he moves on to the next piece of paper and then the next.

Storm In a Teacup, it reads.

To anybody else it would be nonsense but to him it means everything because he remembers walking alongside of you that day in the Met, your shoulder bumping against his as the two of you stopped in front of that painting.

It was the first in a series called ‘Timeless Teacups’ by an anonymous painter. He could see how captivated you were by it. The hues were vivid, blues overlapping to form the restless sea inside of hyper realistic teacup. The contrast against the softer paintwork should have been jarring but instead it was bewitching.

“What do you see when you look at it?” He’d asked you.

“Perfection.” You had told him.

You meant it, he could tell by the tone of your voice. He had known that you couldn’t vocalise what you felt in that moment, the same way that he couldn’t. It was too raw, too powerful.

When your hand sought out his, he hadn’t pulled away, instead he’d clasped it tightly because everything about that instance was perfect. He was standing in front of one of the Met’s most stunning pieces of artwork, holding the hand of the woman he loved.

It doesn’t take him long to track down the painting.

It’s been loaned to a small gallery in Ithica called ‘The Mink’

The drive takes him six hours. He heads up there alone because he knows the reason you disappeared, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

When he enters the gallery, he sees you sitting there upon the stark white bench they’ve placed in front of the painting, a cane resting alongside of you. A reminder of the reason you ended up in Rochester.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He says as he sits down alongside of you, his palm coming to rest over yours. “The restlessness of the sea, the way it reflects off the porcelain.”

You smile and he can’t help but smile too because once again you’re both in the midst of another perfect moment, one filled with elation but marred with sadness too.

“I meant what I said in the letter.” You tell him as your fingers entwine with his. “I do love you, Bobby.”

“I know.” He tells you. “I know that’s also the reason you can’t come home.”

He knows that Nicole Wallace found you up at that safe house in Rochester. He sees the stark reminder of her violence every time he looks at you because you’re still gaunt, still weak from the neurotoxin she pricked you with on the steps of the courthouse. She hadn’t managed to administer the full dose, you’d pulled away at the last second, your attention turning to something that Carver had been saying as she’d moved in for the kill.

That had been the first time she’d tried to take your life, the next had been two days later while you recovered in the hospital. Her tenacity was why they had moved you to Rochester, to a safe house where you could recover without the threat of a sociopath hanging over you.

All that had changed when you had bumped into her at the diner you frequented for lunch.

We have something in common you and I… She had said when she slipped into the seat across from you. We're both in love the same man, we both want to give him our hearts.

Despite the damage she had done to you or perhaps because of it you had laughed in her face.

“You don’t know what love is.”

When she came for you a third time you'd vanished.

“I guess this is goodbye for a while.” He says, tilting his head towards you.

You look into those gorgeous brown eyes of his and you see everything that could have been. Rainy days curled up in his lap with a good book, hours spent seeking out the best Cannoli in New York and those nights, the ones you would have spent loving him until the sun rose and he would have laughed because time had gotten away from the two of you yet again.

“I love you.” He says quietly, his lips brushing over your cheek before he raises to his feet. “When this is all over, I’ll find you again.”

You turn your attention back to the painting, your eyes surveying the deluge of colour as you try to ignore the ache in your chest.

“I know.” You tell him. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Love Bobby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#bobby goren x you #bobby goren x reader #bobby goren #goren x you #goren x reader #robert goren x reader #robert goren

28 notes · View notes

thatonepeasant · 1 year ago

Text

My Roman Empire Ships list:

Here's a list of ships I personally go feral over along with their fandom/where they're from!

Quick Clarification:

X/Y = romantic relationship

X & Y = platonic relationship

Haikyuu!!

Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi

Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou

Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Hanamaki Takahiro/Matuskawa Issei

Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru/Hanamaki Takahiro/Matuskawa Issei

Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou

Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru

Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi

Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi

Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Regulus Black/James Potter

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Kuroko No Basket (Kuroko's Basketball)

Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga

Takao Kazunari/Midorima Shintarou

Hyuuga Junpei/Teppei Kiyoshi

Hyuuga Junpei/Teppei Kiyoshi/Aida Riko

Tian Gi Ci Fu (TGCF)/Heaven Official's Blessing

Feng Xin/Mu Qing

Feng Xin/Mu Qing/Xie Lian/Hua Cheng (Xianle Quartet)

Modao Zu Shi (MDZS)/ The Untamed/ Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji

Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen/Xue Yang

Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen

Word of Honour (TV) or Faraway Wanderers (novel by Priest)

Zhou Zishu/Wen Kexing

Cao Weining/Gu Xiang

Global University Entrance Exam

You Huo/Qin Jiu

The Sandman

Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Supernatural

Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Six of Crows

Jesper Fahey/Wylan van Eck

Nina Zenik/Matthias Helvar

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint (ORV)

Yoo Junghyuk/Kim Dokja

Yoo Junghyuk/Kim Dokja/Han Sooyoung

Found family for all of them

Beyond Evil (TV Show)

Han Joowon/Lee Dongsik

Captive Prince (C.S.Pacat)

Damen/Laurent

Voltron

Keith/Lance

Inception (2010)

Arthur/Eames

Prince of Tennis (TV 2019)

Zhang Baiyang/Qiao Chen

Mu Siyang/Zhou Zhi

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Sokka/Zuko

Balance: UNLIMITED (Millionaire Detective)

Kambe Daisuke/Katou Haru

The Witcher

Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel

Aiden/Lambert

Aiden/Lambert/Milena (inexplicifics)

All For The Game (trilogy by Nora Sakavic)

Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard/Kevin Day

Renee Walker/ Allison Reynolds

Merlin

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

Munich: The Edge of War

Paul von Hartmann/Hugh Legat

The Man from U.N.C.L.E

Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo

Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller

Sherlock (manga and TV)

Sherlock Holmes/William James Moriarty <- Yuukoku no Moriarty or Moriarty the Patriot

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson <- Sherlock (BBC)

Mycroft Holmes/Albert James Moriarty <- Yuukoku no Moriarty or Moriarty the Patriot

DCU

Jason Todd & Tim Drake

Jason Todd & Dick Grayson

Jason Todd/Roy Harper/ Kori'ander

Jason Todd/Roy Harper

Jason Todd & Roy Harper & Kori'ander

Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

Hannibal

Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

Fic recs are always welcome and wanted, just general preferences:

Happy Ending

Give warning if mature/explicit

Written in 3rd person

Can be super angsty

Seems like I have a thing for enemies or rivals to lovers

Any form of Wrong Number AUs etc would be FANTASTIC

Bon appetit!!!

19 notes · View notes

whereisten · 3 years ago

Text

Cry For Me

“There’s something about Mark Lee.”

Summary: There’s something about that Mark Lee. Everyone praises him for his kindness, for his respectfulness, for his easiness. He never shows anger or distain, no, he’s always—always content. So how does he do it? He’s human like the rest of us, surely he must get angry? You know the truth, you see all sides of him, the nation’s dear Mark Lee.

Pairing: Idol Boyfriend!Mark X female reader

Genre: smutt, hm? Yeah just smut and a cute aftercare moment

Warnings: oh boy..BDSM (Dom Mark, hot wax, spanking, handcuffs, electric shock usage, stick flogger, dacryphilia), impregnation/breeding kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex, mirror sex, unprotected sex (be safe tho!), c*eam pie, biting..forgive me for my sins

Word Count: 4.6k

(A/N: bro so like Mark is so sweet and so adorable and I couldn’t help but think “what if he’s actually wild behind close doors?🤔” and well..that’s how this was born! Hope you like it! It’s been a while since I’ve written such descriptive smut but it was fun!

———

Mark is a sadistic dacryphiliac. He enjoys taking his anger out on you and watching you cry.

He’s an idol during the day, and most nights he's the sweetest man you know. But there are some nights when he wants to tear you apart. It’s not that the man the world sees is a facade or mask of who he truly is, it’s just that this man is only possible because of the existence of the man he is on those nights when he gets upset with you. It’s give and take.

The best part? You love it, you love every side of Mark. You adore his sweet “I’ll make breakfast for you,” “I’ll carry your bags for you,” “I bought 10 bouquets and this $10,000 watch for you,” “let me cuddle you all day” etc. side. You love crying for him and bringing him to paradise, but most of all, you love being the only one to see all sides of him. The evil look in his eyes that you saw some nights was unseen by the rest of the world and you ate it up.

It’s not like he’d break up with you if you said ‘no’ to his dramatic kink, but the sub in you just wanted to make him happy..by any means. You would watch him work 23 hours a day and still punish himself for not being good enough. You wanted to ease his stress in any way you could, and after one night of riding him until you cried from overstimulation, you both realized that he was more relieved than ever.

Any worries he had disappeared each and every time after.

Tonight is just one one of those typical nights where Mark desperately needs you to do the thing that relieves his stress.

He comes home at 9 PM and throws his bag to the ground.

“Y/n…” he whispers before sitting on the edge of the bed and exhaling.

You’re in the shower so you don’t hear him.

“Y/n!”

“Mark? I’ll be out soon.”

“Need you now!” He runs a hand through his hair and based on his tone you already know he’s in *that* mood.

You quickly rinse yourself off and step out of the shower. “I’m coming!”

You say a little bit more aggressively than you intended. You were just frustrated that you couldn’t enjoy your aromatherapy body wash for a little bit longer.

You walk out in your robe. “What’s wrong? Everything okay?”

Mark chuckles. “It smells good here, I see you lit some candles.”

You smile nervously. “Yeah..it’s for my aromatherapy.”

Mark hums, but still hangs his head low.

“Come here.” He pats the spot beside him on the bed.

You sit down and turn to hug him. He embraces you quickly and caresses the nape of your neck with his finger tips.

When you pull away, he stares into your eyes and rubs his thumb along your chin.

He knits his brows. ““My” aromatherapy? How selfish of you…what about me? Are you gonna do anything for me?”

He pouts and your eyes widen.

“I-uh- yes of course it’s for us both, that’s why I put them in the bedroom.”

“On your knees.” He frowns.

You instantly get up and kneel before him like he demanded.

“Remember the safe word?” He asks as he stands up and caresses your hair, and then the side of your face.

“Yes.”

“Back straight, don’t you dare change that pose.”

He smiles softly then walks past you to take a shower. He then makes himself something to eat and sits on the couch while watching T.V.

Your knees and back grow tired as you listen to what sounds to be a Twilight movie.

How long would this take? Couldn’t be any longer than two hours, right? But then once the movie is over, Mark makes himself some popcorn and watches another movie.

Your body starts to shake as hours go by, you aren’t sure how much longer you can go.

“M-Mark?” You call out his name to see if he’s still awake.

When you don’t receive a reply, you relax your body a bit and slouch over. You start to doze off finally.

Then suddenly, Mark snatches your head back. “Can’t a whore like you listen to basic instructions?” he says huskily.

“I’m so sorry! Please forgive me! I got tired! It’s been so long!” You whine.

“Get up.” He lets your hair go and sits on the edge of the bed again.

It takes you some time to shake off the numbness in your legs, but you manage to stand up.

“Take your robe off.”

He opens your nightstand and takes out a pair of electrified handcuffs..oh yeah, the sweet Mark Lee certainly had his sadistic ways.

These were created to deliver moderate shocks to you any time you tried to break out of them.

You put your hands in front of you to let him put them on like he’s done for so many nights.

He locks his deep brown eyes with yours. There was something funny about how he maintained his large, innocent eyes while doing such a scandalous thing. The puppy-like expression seen across the world daily is still seen by you now after you’ve kneeled on the hardwood floor for nearly 3 hours just for him.

He pats his thigh and you lay across him in just his boxers with your ass up. He loved that you always knew what he meant. You were such an obedient girl.

“Let’s see how wet you are.”

Without warning, he jabs two fingers into your pussy. You close your legs tightly and cry out.

He places his other hand into the small of your back to hold you down. “Stop fucking squirming.”

He pulls his fingers out and licks them while moaning. “Ahh such a good whore..I think I can still taste my cum from the last time I graced this pussy.”

He puts them in again, deep enough to make you tremble. “Mark! Please! I’ve been a good girl.”

Mark shakes his head. “We’re just getting started, save it.”

He moves his fingers in and out continuously, brushing his thumb against your clit every so often just to feel you clench. You can feel every ridge and the knuckles of his slender fingers. You moan and try to keep yourself from moving your wrists too much.

“Ass up, my arm is tired.”

You kneel over his lap and hold yourself up on your elbows.

“Ride them”

You push yourself forward and backward to ride his fingers and it feels too good. Your moans start to get louder, you can’t control your clenching. It didn’t bother you that your body was sore from staying in one position for hours. You just want to cum on his wonderful fingers. You close your eyes and start to chant “yes.” over and over as you approach your climax.

You don’t notice that Mark has picked up the burning candle on the nightstand. Just as you’re about to cum, Mark pours the wax on your back, causing you to cry out in pain and try to pull out of your handcuffs. Electric jolts are sent through your body instantly and the sensations are all too much to bear.

Mark smirks to himself as he watches you struggle. He wraps an arm underneath you and holds your body still over his lap.

“Mark! Fuck!” You pant as the pain starts to subside.

“You would’ve seen that coming if you weren’t getting off on my fingers like that.”

He says lowly. He holds your face in one hand, pushing his fingers and thumb into your cheeks as he watches your eyes fill with tears.

“Now, go get the mirror.” The “innocent” boy nods.

You stand up on your shaky legs once again and manage to push your standing mirror on wheels over to the edge of the bed.

Mark wraps his arm around your waist and brings you to his lap.

He looks at you through the mirror with a dark, sinister expression.

“Open.”

You spread your legs so that one leg is over his lap and he holds you in his arm. You bend your bound arms and bring your hands to your chest so you can both see.

“Look at that wet cunt..I bet you want me to fill it up right?”

He pinches your nipple, causing you to yelp.

You sniffle. “Y-yes.”

With his other hand, he takes a stick flogger from the nightstand drawer and starts to drag it up your thigh.

You fidget.

“Wanna walk around swollen with my babies? Everyone will know that you’re my whore, is that what you want?”

He teases your entrance with the tip of the flogger as he whispers in your ear. He nibbles on your neck then delivers a sharp slap to your clit.

You yelp.

“Huh?” He slaps you again, this time, leaving the leather tip on your clit and moving it in circles.

“Mhm.” You close your eyes tightly at the mix of plain and pleasure you’re receiving.

“Open your mouth slut. Do you want me to fill you up?” The question is followed by another slap.

“Yes! Ah!”

Mark chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

He places the flogger down. And fingers you while staring at your body in the mirror.

“Gonna watch you take my fingers first. Then, I’ll know if you deserve it.”

“Please..Mark, I do.” You whimper.

“What are you begging for?”

He pumps his fingers in and out, curling the tips into your sweet spot and you can’t help but moan at how sexy he looks with his disheveled hair.

“I’m talking to you, whore.” He pushes his fingers in even deeper, making your body rise up in an effort to get away.

“Don’t run away..a slut like you is used to this.”

“Please..give me your cock, Mark, I’m ready for it.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t cum then, only cum when my cock is in you, okay?”

And this would’ve been possible had Mark not started massaging your clit with his other hand.

His digits draw deep circles as his fingers move in and out. You shut your eyes tightly, for the sight only pushed you closer to the orgasm you needed to keep yourself from having.

“Mark!” Your legs start to shake and threaten to close completely.

“Look at me or this will last all night.”

You open your wet eyes and look back at him through the mirror. He’s start to sweat and his chest is heaving.

He can feel you clenching as your beautiful moans grow louder.

He chuckles. “I should’ve known you’d be a bad girl.” His fingers move faster, you feel the bed grow increasingly wet under you. He slides his fingers in and out before spreading your essence across the entrance. He hums to himself when he sees how wet you are.

“Mark..please, I..I need you..”

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and your breaths become shorter, you’re about to cum and then-

Mark stops moving his fingers and pulls on the short chain of your handcuffs. Your wrists move with them, instantly triggering another shock.

You shake and curse.

Mark digs his nails into your side as he holds you still. “A slut like you deserves that.”

“Fuck..oh my god.” You cry.

“Lay down.”

You lay down on the bed and silently thank the heavens for the comfort against your back.

“On your stomach.”

You sigh and turn over.

You hope that he will take you now and bring you both to your long awaited climaxes, but you know that he isn’t ready quite yet. You’d have to do some more crying and begging first.

He slaps your ass hard. Your body jolts in response.

“Going against my orders?”

He spanks you harder.

“That’s not very nice.”

He leans over and grabs the candle again, pouring the wax onto your back once more.

“Mark!” You scream in the bed.

He only grabs your hair and pulls your head back. He bites into your neck.

“Fuck!” You whimper.

He pours hot wax onto your shoulder. He then puts the candle back and resumes spanking your ass. His attacks are harsh and cause tears to finally start flowing down your face.

“Mark..please.” You beg through sniffles.

“What is it you want now?”

He brings your lower half up off of the bed and spanks your clit.

“Baby..please fuck me.”

He flips your body over and spanks your clit again.

“I’m so tired and I need you..” you beg again.

“Is that so?” He spanks you hard. His fingers then dip inside your pussy.

“I’m tired too, you know? Having to practice all fucking day long just to hear that we’re nowhere near ready for our concert in two days…yeah, I guess you could say I’m tired.”

You nod. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

“But it’s okay, that’s what you’re here for, right? Just let me play with you and it will all be okay. I’m making you cry and beg like a good little slut.”

You nod again. “Yes, I want to make you feel good. Please..I’m ready.”

Mark laughs to himself and he continues to pump his fingers in between your walls. “Silly girl, I don’t need to put my dick in you to feel good. I feel great right now.”

He lowers his face to your pussy and breathes against it.

“When you’re a mess like this, you’ve already made me feel amazing.”

He licks a long stripe along your entrance before burying his nose onto your clit. He fixes your legs over his shoulders by bending them at the knees.

Your head falls back into the pillow as your stomach sinks.

Only you knew that the talents of Mark’s mouth extended beyond his rapping and singing abilities. His lips and tongue made you dizzy every time.

And tonight was no exception. He lapped up the juices that leaked out of you earlier like he needed it to survive.

He moaned against you, sending vibrations through your core. He moved his tongue in circular fast motions before sucking your clit. His soft plump lips kissed your skin with haste.

It didn’t take long for you to cum all over his mouth.

You cried out his name as he kept going, his tongue never stopped its rhythmic pace. It was constant and left you feeling open and raw, but in need of more. He didn’t even have to add his fingers, his tongue and lips were enough.

“Cum for me again, slut.”

And you did. You shut your eyes tightly and arched your back.

Mark tapped your clit with his finger tips relentlessly now while licking your entrance. The attack was too much. You were overly sensitive and so dizzy you forgot about the handcuffs. You reached down to push his head away, but ended up receiving an intense shock. Your body twisted on the bed, but Mark was unfazed.

“Mark!” You called out loudly, not caring if the neighbors, i.e the other members, heard you.

He tugged your skin in between his teeth.

“Stop making so much noise..or do you want me to fuck you on the balcony for everyone to hear?”

You clenched and moaned at his threat.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? I’ll breed you up nicely right in front of everyone.” He chuckled. He continued to tap onto your clit while looking up at you through hooded eyes.

“Baby..please…I can’t...it’s too much.”

“Yeah you can..one more..for me..”

His tongue goes in even deeper and your eyes begin to roll in the back of your head.

To Mark’s satisfaction, you squirt this time while he continues to tap.

“Good girl.”

You’re so sensitive, you cry and carefully bring your hands up to your face to try to hide it.

He kneels and licks his lips before chuckling.

“No no no..don’t hide your pretty face from me. As a matter of fact, I want you to see it too. On your knees.”

You get on your trembling knees and position yourself in front of the mirror.

He approaches you from behind, sneaking his hand from your warm butt cheek all the way up to your hair. He grabs a fistful of it and pushes you down into the bed.

He brings your ass up as he kneels behind you. You can feel his hard cock against your thigh and swallow hard.

“Look at me.”

You lift your head up and look at his handsome face through the mirror.

You lock eyes as he pushes into you slowly, so slowly you struggle to keep your eyes open and head straight.

You arch your back in an attempt to get more from his length, but it doesn’t work. If he keeps going at this painful speed, you’re bound to end up crying.

“My little whore is getting all nice and stretched out. It’s still so tight..fuck.” He says with a low tone that you loved. You clench and he pulls out immediately and spanks you hard for it.

You fall into the bed, but resume your position right away.

“Not yet..you’re greedy.”

You look up to see his lips slightly parted while his chest rises and falls slowly. The intense glare told you if you did that again, you’d surely regret it.

“I’m sorry.”

Mark smirks and continues to bring your body onto his dick slowly. You were always so beautiful from every angle, but this position was one of his favorites.

He could stare at your smooth back and ass, and the way it took him in like it was nothing, he could grab your hair and hear you whimper as you took his back shots, and he could watch your weepy eyes through the mirror as you begged for him over and over with just his name on your mind.

A part of him did like the idea of people, or more specifically, the other members watching him fuck you like this. They had no idea he could get this rough, and based on your usual sassy attitude, they had no idea you could be so obedient and desperate for him.

He nearly cums from the thought of them watching you cry and push him away as he forced his offspring into you.

You wondered how he was able to hold himself back after all this time, but Mark was a talented man. There truly was no limit to what he could do.

You still look at him through the mirror but your eyes start to grow tired and he notices.

“Count how many times I push into you..”

You nod. “One..”

He pulls out after a few seconds, and you’re about to say ‘two’ but he takes his time.

He chuckles as he watches you bite your bottom lip and furrow your brows. “So anxious..relax.”

“Two.” You whine as you feel every vein and ridge on his length. The curve and girth alone made you see stars.

You continue until you get to Ten and it feels like it’s taken you 8 minutes to get there and while it may not sound like a long time, it was definitely painful.

“M-Mark..faster please..” you can feel your core throbbing and pleading for satisfaction again.

“Okay..”

And Mark does go faster but he goes harder as well, finger tips digging into your hips as he drives into the depths of your pussy with each thrust.

“15! 16! 17!” You cry out.

He leans over you and behinds to fuck into your body doggie style. He reaches around and presses two fingers into your clit again.

“Fuck! I wanna cum with you, baby.”

You watch him as he smirks, for he knows that you were much further along than he was.

He pulls your body up in front of his so you can see his fingers working on your clit in the mirror.

His thrusts stop as you begin to ride him on your own. You go forward slightly and anchor yourself on your palms as you let your body take his cock at its own tempo. Your mouth falls open as you pant.

“You’re so fucking desperate for my seed huh?” He whispers into your ear, his fingertips draw smaller circles with more pressure.

“Yes! Yes, Mark! I’m gonna-l”

He pinches your nipple hard as you cum. You cry out while trying to pick yourself up from his dick but he continues to thrust into you fast.

“Have you lost count?” He says calmly.

“I’m sorry..l” you sob.

“Don’t apologize, we’ll just start over.”

And so you did. Mark made you lie down again, this time with you staring at your face upside down in the mirror as he ate you out.

You came over and over, despite trying to push his head away. He sucks and tugs on your clit to drive you insane.

“One more time..” he’d say after every orgasm you had. “You were so greedy earlier, I just wanna make sure you get enough.” But really, it was like he was the one that couldn’t get enough.

“Mark please, I can’t..Can’t take any more.”

He pauses his attack and lifts himself up over your face while licking his red and swollen lips. He smirks and suddenly pulls on your handcuffs.

A high pitched noise leaves you and your back arches when you feel the jolt of pain.

“Go ahead and cry, you know it makes me cum faster.”

He goes back to licking every part of your pussy like his life depends on it.

You cried for nearly 10 minutes after. Your knees and arms grew tired.

“M-Mark..” you barely croaked out.

“Mmm so good.. I guess I should fuck you now.” He wipes his mouth with his arm and brings a leg over his shoulder while kneeling.

He entered you once again. This time, your body moved limply on the bed. You had no more energy to call out his name. You cried from sensitivity for too long. All you knew was that it felt good to have him inside you. He was the perfect fit.

“Fuck…” he moans at the sight of you fucked out and in tears.

He thrusts into you harder and watches your breasts move with satisfaction.

He leans down to bite a nipple. “Your breasts are gonna be so swollen.”

“Ahh!” You moan.

He starts to go faster and you lean forward with both hands in handcuffs still to run your fingers along his abs and pelvis. His thrusts start to become painfully rough. He stretches you out even more and you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

“Slower..baby..please.�� You whine.

He shakes his head. Mark goes in and out of you forcefully as he watches you below him, hypnotizing him with your pretty wet eyes, gorgeous breasts and heaving stomach.

You could only think of his name while you held his eye contact.

He smirks, watching you go silly for him. Your cheeks are completely wet from tears and it makes him ridiculously hot, but to get him to the edge he has to see you cry just one more time. He pulls the chain on the handcuffs and watches you scream.

“Mark!”

Your eyes shut tightly as you shook in pain.

Mark’s eyes widen as he watches tears overflow within seconds and that’s all he needs. You try once more to wiggle away from him, but fail.

“I can’t! C-Can’t!” You whimper through sniffles and shake your head. You’re completely ruined from the shocks and overwhelming pleasure. You clench and moan as your head falls back.

He jams himself into your pussy faster and harder while holding your hip down firm. He shakes his head and growls.

“Take it! Don’t fucking run away from me.”

“M-Mark..please.” Your tears are endless now and he finally releases into you at the sight.

You’re so close to blacking out, but you don’t. You hear Mark’s glorious moans and praises as he cums deep inside you, his tip curving right onto your sweet spot. “Fuck..so good. This pussy is so good. Don’t let anything escape, okay?”

He moves just a few more times to ensure that you’re stuffed with all he has to offer finally. You wanted him to fill you up and in true Mark fashion, he refused to disappoint.

He collapses onto the bed beside you and pants.

“Shit..”

“Fuck..that was good.” you exhale.

He leans over and takes the handcuffs off. He throws them to the floor, then brings your face to his and kisses you deeply.

“You did so well, thank you.” He whispers while wiping your tears.

“You’re amazing, Mark. I love you.”

You manage to utter even though your voice is almost gone after yelling his name all night.

He kisses your forehead and leans over you on his elbow. “I love you too. How are you feeling? Did I go too hard?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Nah..I could’ve said the safe word, but I didn’t need to. You’re so hot when you get like this.”

He smirks. “Can’t believe you like this..you’re just as twisted as I am.”

You both laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that.. but you’ve been getting pretty brave with the baby thing.”

He gets up and grabs a washcloth. He takes his time and wipes you up with it. “Mhmm..and you get wetter every time…” the corner of his mouth pulls up into a sly smile.

You chuckle and relax your head into the pillow as he cleans you . “Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll get off the pill..let’s see if you’re still excited to say all that.”

“Of course, baby, I mean it, you know that.” He kisses your ear and goes back to the bathroom.

“So about what you said earlier…did the manager say you’re not ready?”

Mark sighs when he walks back in. “Yeah..”

“It’ll be okay, Mark. You guys have been working hard for months.”

“Yeah I’m just disappointed in myself. I know I can do better.”

“What on earth are you talking about? You’re amazing at what you do. Years of experience doesn’t just go away for one night, you got this.” You caress the side of his face.

He nods. “Thank you.”

“The fans love you! You could go on stage and sing a terrible rendition of My Heart Will Go on and they’d still love you. So don’t worry about it.”

He lays back down beside you as he smiles. “I’m not worried about it anymore..I think I just needed to see you beg for me.”

You laughed out loud. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m just one of hundreds of thousands of fans begging for you.” You look into his eyes and kiss his lips.

“Yeah…I guess you’re right.”

“Ugh..don’t get cocky.” You tease while running your fingers through his hair.

“Let’s go to sleep. We can do some aromatherapy tomorrow together.”

You hug each other, with your head resting on Mark’s chest, and fall asleep soon after.

2K notes · View notes

hcwritter · 2 years ago

Text

DREAM X RIVAL READER

( for females)

⭐️SWF⭐️

(Only on part 1)

Includes:

(Late) slow burn ( at its climax )

Romance

Nswf ( in part 2 )

After care ( in the end of part 2 )

Fluff ( in the middle & end of part 2 )

Hate sex & Make up sex ( on part 2 )

“It was me not him”

Part.1

One day at the castle you were brought up to a meeting with one of the largest kingdom and consequently you, yourself knew inhered prince. Dream, he was a former childhood friend of yours but conflicts happened in between each others teen den age and well you could say you and Dream are not Long termed rivals and Ex-Best friends.

“Come one now, princess. The prince awaits” you sighed annoyingly as you took the coach mans hand and went down the carriage ‘great,just great’. As you were lead by the maids and house keepers you looked around the castle that used to echoed with you and dreams high pitched voices and screaming from the top of your lungs until tomorrow. ‘What a waste, i hope he at least changed.’ As the maids opened the large doors to lead to the royal hall, there stands all of the nobles and riches and high statued servants. They watch as they announce your name and you walked with struts as if the attention wasn’t all on you, it was. As you reached the end of the red carpet you stood there the king and his two sons, Nightmare and Dream.

“Why hello there princess, nice to finally met you again ay’e?”

“Yes my king, it is an honor to be back here. Feels like nothing had changed after all, hm” you hummed at the end of you sentence that clearly stated it was directed.

“Ahh..ahem! Well please enjoy your stay here my dear!” As the king clapped and went down to hug you and then leave you be, you stood there wanting to take a glance at dream but dares not to and just left the ball room that didn’t fancy you too much. “Geez, how many days am I supposed to be here?” You sighed swinging your legs on the edge of the balcony. “You’ll be here for a month.” With a quick look you saw there the man who you never thought to ever speak again, and you intended to let it stay that way. “Hm.” As you tried to ignore him but he came up and tapped your shoulder

“What did i even do?” He looked pleaded and hurt, ‘this moron..’ you put your legs back inside the balcony floor and walked pass him “hey I’m-“ “listen here golden boy, our friendship is down in the gutter where it will never be fixed again! So leave.me,alone!” You were panting and holding your heart out as tears seems to form out on the corners of your eyes “please just-I’m sorry okay, i was young and i was in another mindset that i couldn’t handle-“ you slowly looked at him with teary eyes and pinned him on the balcony railings “what on gods name were you on ?! What mindset did you had to be to purposefully sabotage your own friend so the person she like would reject her later on?!? What were you on- nmmn!” Without a thought dream smashed his lips into yours and pulled your hair and waist in different directions “dr-eAm!” Your muffled voice was too quite to be heard by the staffs as he pulled away you immediately slapped him across the face and tried to make a run for it but unexpectedly he ran after you mid way the halls and hugged you from the back “please don’t go! Please! I beg you! Please! Please… darling please..” dreams voices screams ‘take me’ as he slowly then went on his knees and cling into your thighs “please..” you were funneled.

You didn’t know what to do, the man that you truly hated or did you? Was clinging and begging for forgiveness. Right in front of you, was there any other man who could have done this? Did that person he sabotaged you on, will he ever do this? No. “Dream..you hurt me..” dreamed knew, dream knew damn well he did “dream..why did you-“ “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU OKAY?!-“ he fixes his kneeling position to loom at you more and hugged your waist “-I LOVE YOU, ever since we were kids! I always adored and admired you! I was the one who wrote you that love letter, i was the one who have you that bouquet of flowers, i was the one who fought for you , i was the one who saves you , I WAS THE ONE WHO WAS THERE NOT ‘HIM’! i never told you because i wanted to let you find out for yourself but goddamn you were such a moron!… a godamn moron.. my moron..” as he weeps and slowly lowered himself and glides his wrapped arms around you to your legs again. You in the other hand was shocked and felt a little dumbfounded on how it all make sense and how clear it is now. ‘Oh god..’ you are dumb.

“Dream..” you tried to held him up but he assumed you were trying to leave and so he cling more on to you, “dream!” You unexpectedly yelled as he jolted and just stayed at his position. “Ugh.. dream your so immature get up! People are gonna see us-“ as you mentioned people he quickly teleported you two into his chamber. “Dream what are we-“ “you said were going to be seen by people, so I brought you were here. In my room” you slightly irritatedly blushed as you have no time for these as you should have returned in the ball room moments ago “dream i need to go, the king is waiting for me!” He didn’t budge and only stayed “ugh! Dre-ah!” “Please stay..” you were pushing him as he suddenly went up and pinned you on his bed and over towering you underneath him “dream! This is not the appropriate time!” He tilted his head “so there IS an appropriate time to do this? With, you?” He smirks playfully as you only widely open your mouth and was shocked at the flirt “when did you become so-“ “flirty? Yeah I don’t either, i guess you bring out something in me. Isn’t that cute?” He chuckles as you were sighing in irritation

“Oh come on please my princess, i swear ill be good...”

Side note: the nswf part will be on part 2 so stay tuned!

#headcanon requests #headcanons #undertale #one shot #fypart #fypsarawak #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #fypfypfypfypfypfypdypfypfypfypfypfypfyfpfyfpfyp #fyp gay #tumblr fyp #fypchallenge #fypシ゚viral #fypage #fypdongggggggg #fyppage #dream sans #dream x rival reader #Spotify

76 notes · View notes

sivyera · 3 years ago

Text

His guardian angel.

PAIRING: Robert Fischer x fem!reader

WARNINGS: shooting, guns, bad grammar otherwise none

CONTAINS: fluff

SONG: Out of My League - Fitz and The Tantrums

MOVIE: Inception 2010

gif is not mine

You were in a car with Cobb, Arthur, Saito and Eames following one taxi driver. Cobb bumped into him and stopped the car. You saw angry taxi driver step out of his car and mumbled swears on Cobb. But Cobb pointed a gun at him. The taxi driver turned pale and closed his mouth.

‘Walk away.’ Cobb said with a gun in his hand. Arthur and Saito ran out of the car to get in the stolen taxi. You with Eames were getting ready to go out too. When you saw Fischer got into the taxi you opened door and with Eames you ran to them.

Fischer was telling Arthur adress where he wanted to go when Eamas opened the door. Eamas hold the door for you and you quickly got in. It was raining a lot so you didn't want to get any wetter than you already were.

Fischer turned to look who opened the door and when he saw you he froze. You were absolutely beautiful. He never saw prettier girl than you.

He quickly shake his daze off when he saw Eamas. ‘What are you doing?’ Fischer asked no one particular. You looked at him with a little smirk on you face and he blushed a little. His blush was light but you still could see it.

‘We are sorry, we thought it was free.’ Eamas answered. Fischer looked surprised. He was little speechless at this time. But he quickly again shook it off. ‘No, it’s not.’ Fischer said with a hint of anger in his voice.

You giggle a little bit and it seemed to catch his attention. He give you a quick little smile.

‘Maybe we could share.’ Eames suggested while he raised his eyebrows. Fischer frowned. That was ridiculous. How dare he said something like that. Fischer thought.

Fischer turned to Arthur. ‘Can you pull over to get this-’ He didn’t even finish the sentence when Saito pointed a gun at him.

Fischer let out a loud sigh and leaned back against the seat. You and Eamas looked at him with grins on your faces.

Meanwhile Cobb picked up Ariadne. They were right behind us when a big black train rammed into them.

You heard a loud blow but Fischer started talking. ‘It’s 500 dollars in there, the wallet worth more than that. At least drop me where I want.’ Fischer said while putting the wallet on your lap.

‘I’m afraid that-’ Eamas couldn’t finished because Arthur stopped the taxi.

You could felt how Fischer let his hand on your thigh little longer. But you were more interested in the car which stopped in front of you. You saw two man got out with guns. Arthur tried backed but there was another car with some man with guns in it.

‘Cover him!’ Arthur yelled on you. You put a piece of rag on Fischer’s head and pull him into you. More precisely into your belly. He was right in the middle. He was glad you couldn’t see him because he was red like tomato.

Those mens started shooting on the taxi. And they didn’t miss. They shot out the entire rear window. Arthur stepped on the gas and drove into the grey car in front of him.

Eamas turn to those mens behind us and start shooting back at them. You pulled Fischer more into you and put your arms around him tight.

Arthur was driving like a crazy to get us out of there. Saito looked out the window and starts shooting too. He shot one guy and he fell on the floor. Arthur backed up again wile four mens where coming to us. We were surrounded.

One guy shot through front window. Luckily he missed Arthur’s head. Arthur quickly shot one guy and start driving again. Fischer put his arms around your waist and he snuggled up to you. You cover him with your body.

Suddenly Cobb bumped into one men with his own stolen car. You pull out your gun and started shooting too. Arthur backed into one of the armed guys. But he didn’t kill him. He wanted to shot you to back of your head.

‘Take him down!’ Arthur yelled on Eamas. Eamas quickly shoot the guy and covered himself. ‘Thanks.’ you said to him. Eamas nod as a sign that he heard you. Arthur could finally leave. ‘You alright guys?’ Arthur asked. You looked up on Arthur and you nod at him. Fischer was still curled up in your arms.

‘I- Yeah, yeah I’m okay.’ Eamas answered. Arthur turn on Saito who was sitting next to him. ‘Saito?’ Arthur asked. This time the question was aimed at Saito.

But when Arthur looked at Saito he could see that Saito get shoot. He get the shot into his left shoulder.

Arthur was right after Cobb’s car and he stopped in some street.

Eamas ran out the car to open big white gate. You drive in. ‘Get Fischer to the back room now!’ Cobb shout at you. You grab Fischer who was still wearing the piece of rag on his head and take him out. You found the back room, got in quickly and closed the door.

You put Fischer down on the floor and sat in front of him. You took off the rag from his head and checked him out. ‘Are you okay, they didn’t shoot you right?’ you started look on his face, arms, chest and legs. You never know.

He raised his head and look at you. He had the most beautiful eyes you ever saw. He had messy wet hair from the commotion.

He was still shaking a little so you stroked his hand quickly. ‘I’m okay.’ he answered to you. You gave him little smile when you start standing up. You were almost at the door when you heard him speak again. ‘Thank you.’ he mumbled. You turn to look at him actually little surprised. ‘You’re welcome.’ you answered.

You left the room and he sigh. Maybe his kidnappers weren’t that bad. No he thought it wrong, you weren’t that bad. Those other people who were with you were bad but you are absolutely perfect!

♡

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy characters #cillian murphy imagine #inception #inception movie #inception 2010 #inception imagine #inception x reader #robert fischer #robert fischer imagine #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer x female reader #robert fischer x fem reader #fluff

393 notes · View notes

the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 2 years ago

Text

You're waiting for a train...(16) - Epilogue

I Dreamed We'd Grow Old Together...

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Robert and Y/n's life over the next five years

word count - 2k

warnings - pregnancy, and an insane amount of fluff

a/n - and so it ends! This fic has been very important to me and has given me such a great outlet. I want to thank you all for your continued love and support for this fic! If it hadnt been for you guys I probably wouldnt have had enough confidence to continue it!

Please like/comment/reblog/follow!!!

a/n pt2 - Also seeing as I have fallen in love with this relationship I will be accepting questions and headcanons on their relationship!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

Questions and Headcanons on Robert x y/n - here

And so we came together. It felt like the culmination of a thousand dreams.

We went out on many dates. Robert would plan these luxurious and expensive expressions of affection: dinner at the fanciest restaurants, cinemas bought out for our private viewing experience. But we alternated who planned the dates, so when it came to my turn I went for the simplest. Walks on the beach, picnics in the park. One day I even found a crafting class for us, and I could’ve cried on the spot when I saw his eyes light up at the handmade windmills. Of course, he saw it as a happy coincidence when in reality I enjoyed feeling like I was healing his childhood self, one step at a time.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. We were out on a hike which I had chosen. He had grumbled about the idea of getting up early, but I could see the stress leave his body at the first gulp of forest air. I carried on ahead as he went to tie his shoe but when I turned back I gasped. Robert was down on one knee, holding a beautiful diamond ring.

“Y/n Cobb, I have loved you since that first moment I laid eyes on you, and I think even before that.” I walked closer to him so I could hold his other outstretched hand. Tears were streaming down my face and my smile was holding back an extremely loud yes. “I know how much you believe in dreams and so on. And last night I had a dream that we grew old together. When I woke up I knew it had to be my reality. Y/n Cobb, will you…”

I threw my arms around him.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” I placed a loud kiss right on his lips.

“You could have at least let me finish!” He teasingly whined.

“Well I could see where you were going!” I argued back but was halted when he kissed me once more. We pulled away long enough so Robert could slide the ring onto my finger.

Safe to say, we did not finish the hike that day as we quickly went home to celebrate.

I had moved in with Robert before so we visited Dad and the kids for lunch the day after to give them the news. Dad had always been weary around Robert, not knowing if he would recognise him. But it was fine as, in my Dad’s words, ‘when Robert is around Y/n, it’s like the world doesn’t exist.’. Dad still couldn’t stop himself pulling Robert aside whilst Philippa was asking me a million questions about the wedding and if she could be a bridesmaid. All he did was roughly grab his hand and pulled him close and merely whispered

“She’s my precious girl. And I have a gun.”

Safe to say Robert was healthily shocked.

We got married weeks later as neither of us could wait. I told Robert I didn’t care about a big expensive wedding, but he couldn’t seem to accept that.

I got my wish for a small wedding in the garden of my childhood home, with just my closest friends. But everything else about it was still ridiculously posh. Right down to the flower arch we were married under.

James and Philippa were my brides’girl’ and brides’boy’. My father walked me down the makeshift aisle. Arthur and Eames were there as well as Yusuf and Ariadne. They were all worried about the risk of the inceptors being so close to the mark after the heist.

“There’s no telling what could trigger his memory.”

“Well, y/n spent the most time with him out of all of us and she’s marrying him.”

“We can’t all sleep with him!”

“ENOUGH!”

I then put a rule that there was to be no dream talk at my wedding. My father even gave his own little speech explaining that if anyone ruined my wedding, he would kill them. We all laughed but his continued silence quickly shut us all up.

Robert did not want any family there. And he also didn’t have friends he felt were close enough to warrant an invitation.

One night, whilst planning, I cautiously asked him about inviting his godfather. He tensed up and lowered his eyes. He brushed it off saying it would be too many people. I reluctantly agreed with him whilst looking at the sparsity of his side of the guests.

The wedding was beautiful, and we finished with dancing on the grass well into the early hours of the morning. I got my first dance with my father, a day I thought would never come. Philippa asked Robert to dance, and he graciously accepted, lifting her up onto his feet and they swayed alongside us.

The morning after we were curled up together in bed. My back leaned on his chest as he played with my fingers. The morning sun bleeding into my childhood bedroom.

“Where do you want to live?” His morning voice broke the quiet.

“I thought we were going to move into your house.” I tilted my head to look into his eyes which were trained on a picture of me, my dad and my mum.

“I don’t wanna go back. Being here, in this house, with all the love in it. I just don’t want to go back there.”

“Okay.” I leaned up and planted a soft kiss to his cheek.

“So if you could live in any house, anywhere in the world, where would you live?”

I snuggled myself back into his chest and closed my eyes as I imagined.

“Somewhere in the countryside, with a big sprawling garden that backs onto fields and forests with plenty of walks. The house should be cozy, with a big kitchen with an old fashioned stove that keeps us warm in winter. Wooden tables where I can cook and bake all day long till my hearts content. The house should have big windows so the sunlight can dictate our day. Small bedrooms but big comfy beds, fluffy rugs, open fires. And maybe even an extra room...with a cot.” I met his eyes for the last word.

“Yes.”

“To which bit?”

“To all of it.” We kissed passionately.

A few days later and Robert woke me up and told me we were going on a trip. We bundled into his car and drove for hours until we came to a stop outside a house that seeped with familiarity. I got out, transfixed by what stood before me. It was as real from my mind as if I had created it in my dream. Robert moved to unlock the little gate which led to the front door. He turned to me and held out a set of keys with a little windmill keychain.

“It needs a bit of work and I know I shouldn’t have bought it without showing you—”

“I love it.”

We didn’t need a honeymoon, the two weeks to ourselves spent decorating and filling the house with our love was enough. I drew designs for each room and Robert would do the heavy lifting. I could see how much he enjoyed working with his hands after dismantling his business a week into our relationship. I also was unable to help much as my hand found softly stroked a barely noticeable bump.

We relished in the days of decorating, where trying to paint a single wall would turn into silly games or dancing round to music, intermittent with many kisses and hugs.

Eventually we had built our home out of our house and we relaxed into our sofa, a bottle of red between us. We sealed the night with a kiss and it definitely didn’t end there.

Five Years Later

I stand at the sink washing our dishes from lunch and look out of the window onto our expansive garden. Robert runs about the grass, clad in soft jeans and a ratty knitted jumper. Our three darling children chase around him at varying speeds. Our eldest, Isla, holds her baby sister Aspen’s hand, and Nicholas, the youngest, toddles behind his sisters, excited to be involved.

Arthur runs up from behind and scoops Nicholas up into his arms through the giggling shrieks of the three. He bounces Nicholas up into the air. Isla and Aspen then run over and begin shouting up at their uncle for their turn.

I don’t hear Robert make his way into the house, I just feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist and soft kisses being ladened up and down my neck. I sink back into his body which is warm from the sun. His arms snake down and his hands lay on mine.

“Leave those now. I’ll do them later.” I agree by turning in his arms so we can meet in a proper kiss. His fingers grip my waist and stroke my sides.

Our moment is interrupted by a loud opening of the door. I roll my eyes at the familiar sound and break apart to greet Eames at the door.

“Right! Where are my darling godchildren?”

“I give you a good time to come round, and you insist on coming just before their tea and bath time.”

He laughs and knocks my chin with his knuckle.

“Motherhood suits you.” I bat his hand away and gesture out the door. “Make it quick.”

I turn back to a still laughing Robert who quickly stops once he sees my stern face.

“I’ll ask Eames if he wants to stay for tea with Arthur.” He goes to go back into the garden.

“What you thinking for tea?” I ask his retreating form.

“Chicken and potatoes?”

“Delicious.” He smiles and leaves.

I begin sorting through the mail which still sat on the side. I smiled once I reached a postcard from Dad. He’d taken the kids to Disneyland for a week and sent a picture of them with Goofy. I pinned it up on our cork board.

My peaceful moment is soon interrupted.

“Y/n! Tell Arthur that I’m the favourite uncle!”

“Y/n! Tell Eames that fun does not have to mean dangerous!”

“Mama, mama, Uncle Eames turned me upside down and span me around!”

“See! Dangerous!”

“Honey, where’s the disinfectant? Aspen scraped her knee.”

“Mummy it really hurts!”

“Mama! Uppies! Uppies!”

I picked Nicholas up into my arms and simply giggled, perfectly happy with my life.

It was now night. Arthur and Eames had left after insisting on reading the kids stories which meant they were roped into reading 3 stories per child. Nicholas had gone down first. Then Aspen and even though Isla had loved staying up with mummy and daddy, tiredness had overcome her quickly. So Robert carried her up and tucked her into bed.

We now lay in bed together, curled up. Simply relishing in the silence that was so foreign in our big house.

“Do you wanna know something strange?” He broke the silence. “That day we met, I had a dream about a girl who I fell in love with. I like to think it was you.”

I bit my lip to stop myself uncontrollably grinning.

“And since then, my dreams have been consumed by you and our little family.”

I tried to meet his eyes, but he was locked in thought and I knew I couldn’t interrupt his thoughtfulness.

“The moment I met you I realised that I wanted to create my own family rather than continue working for one that never loved me.”

I hugged him tighter as his voice shook slightly.

“Well, that’s good. Because your family is about to get a little bigger.” I took his hand and drifted it down until it landed on a subtle bump.

“Perfect.” He kissed my hairline as his hand stroked up and down my stomach.

The silence resumed and we both fell deeper into the stillness of the night. But as I drifted off one thought plagued my mind.

Perhaps the idea never actually took hold.

Perhaps it was me and him.

Us together, that changed his life.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Thank you so much for reading!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612

#cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian series #robert fischer #robert fischer x y/n #robert fischer imagine #robert fischer x you #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer inception #ariadne inception #tom hardy inception #arthur inception #inception fanfiction #you're waiting for a train

226 notes · View notes

alikaheroes · 3 years ago

Text

Eames the Handsy Flirt

300-400 Word Request (357 words) by anon:

“a very flirty/handsy Eames x reader (female) Thanks!”

Warnings: 18+, some mature content

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

You could not stop staring. You just kept staring at this handsome man in the restaurant, who you heard he was waiting for a man named Cobb but you didn't think anything of it. The slicked brown hair, plump lips.

As you took a sip of your coffee you gasped as you looked up and saw him looking at you. You quickly looked down, spinning your mug around to see the liquid swirl.

"How are you, darling?"

You heard a soft British accent interrupt your thoughts and you turned around. You saw the man standing there, as you were met with his blue green eyes that could cut through your soul. He pulled a chair next to you.

"Oh, I'm--I'm fi--" you began when he put his hand on your leg.

"Oh baby girl, I saw you staring at me. I can see in a woman's eyes when they've got a thing for me. And that just makes me feel extra special."

You were wearing a sundress so his hand was touching your skin, sending electricity up your spine. He slid his hand up your leg, right at your thigh.

"Ooh, you're a handsy one, aren't you?" you smirked.

He smiled. "Eames. My name is Eames. And I can enter your dreams in ways you can't imagine. I'm good at...entering..."

As he uttered the word entering, he looked right between your thighs. He slid closer next to you, stroking his hand across your cheek.

"many things..." he finished, in a whispered tone that was so sexy you immediately felt yourself getting wet.

He grabbed a strand of your hair and twirled it around. "I can see me grabbing this tonight..." He looked at you and winked. You smiled.

"Well, Eames, babe, why don't we find out right now?" you smiled at him and gave him a wink back.

You both stood up, his confidence just flowing off of his body. He put his arm around you and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"Well gorgeous, where shall we go?" he asked, his soft yet husky voice continuing to send electricity through your body.

"My place or yours?" you asked.

#tom hardy #alika writing #tom hardy fan fiction #eames x reader #inception

79 notes · View notes

cinebration · 4 years ago

Text

Personal Life (Eames x Reader) [Request]

Hello,, uhm could I request reader and Eames bickering on a job when someone says they're like an old married couple and them basically going "well,,, duh? We've been married for years how's this news to you?" cue everyone on the team (except Arthur cause I just can't imagine him missing that in research) being surprised and shocked because they've always assumed reader and Eames dislike each other

Thank you <3 — Requested by anon

I love Eames so much, haha.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: elisabetholsen

“That’s a shit idea, and you know it.”

A hush fell over the room as your words lanced over to Eames. He turned slowly, one eyebrow arching in amusement. “That so?”

“You’re a compulsive gambler, Eames, and it’s showing.”

“We all take risks on this job.”

“But not on the prep,” you insisted. “You’re basing this assessment on your gambler’s instinct. This isn’t a craps table!”

“I know your forte is poker, love, but this is a game of chance we’re playing with here.”

Rolling your eyes, you strode away from him, trying to walk off your agitation. “No, you play the table in those games of chance. In poker, you play the players. This is one of those games.”

“My gut is telling me—“

“My gut is more reliable than yours.”

“That depends. Are we talking cooking-wise or instincts?”

You shot him a venomous glare, earning a smirk.

“God, you two should just get married already,” Yusuf muttered.

“Too late for that,” you grumbled, raking a hand through your hair.

Ariadne straightened. “Wait, what?”

The mood in the room shifted from tension to surprise as everyone but Arthur stared at you and Eames.

“You heard her,” Arthur murmured.

Cobb leaned forward, brow furrowing. “How long?”

Self-conscious beneath their gazes, you ducked your head. “We’ve been married for two years…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Eames crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against a table. “We let you go traipsing around in our dreams. We don’t need you to know everything else.”

“I can’t believe it.” Ariadne stood, unsure of where to direct her energy. “You’ve been married this whole time?”

You nodded, then turned back to Eames. “The base emotion for this case should relate to the mother, not the father.”

“He’s got more issues with his father.”

“But his mother protected him from his father and was more supportive.”

“There’s too much grief attached to his mother.”

“Not in this instance. It can work better this way.”

“Is this your gut or your brain speaking?”

“Both.”

He shook his head, laughing ruefully. “I might’ve had more luck marrying you, Arthur.”

“I would’ve smothered you on our wedding night,” Arthur quipped.

Cobb turned on him. “Did you know about this?”

“Of course.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it.”

“They work effectively as a team. Their personal life doesn’t factor into it.”

Cobb gestured with a sharp hand motion at you both. “That sounds like their personal life does factor into it.”

“We are professionals,” you groused, offended by the implication.

Cobb rounded on you, his face etched with fury. “What happens the day that you prioritize each other over the mission?”

You met his gaze levelly. Eames spoke your thoughts aloud. “Then you poor bastards better hope it isn’t one of your missions.”

Yusuf rocked back on his heels, overwhelmed by the tension in the room. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave a low whistle and slowly backed away, gathering up his serums as he went. Ariadne followed him. “Let me help you with that.”

The four of you remained: Cobb, Arthur, Eames, and you.

“We’ve been married almost the whole time you’ve had us working together. We get results, and not once have our personal interests interfered in the work.”

“I let her take a bullet in Vienna,” Eames offered.

“I thought that was a ricochet.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.”

You snorted and shook your head, the tension leaving your body. Eames offered a small smile in your direction as you withstood the glare from Cobb.

“Listen, I understand your concern. But things will be okay,” you assured him.

Shaking his head, Cobb stormed off, leaving just the three of you. You shot a glance at Arthur. He met your gaze with an amused expression.

“I’m glad you two bozos are enjoying yourselves,” you grumbled, striding over to the whiteboard. You slashed a line through “FATHER” and wrote “MOTHER” underneath.

Arthur gestured at the whiteboard. “See, this is why I approved of her.”

“No one asked for your opinion.”

“It’s why I didn’t say anything when I discovered it,” Arthur continued, ignoring Eames. “You are in desperate need of grounding.”

“In more ways than one,” you quipped.

“Come talk to me when you come back to your senses and see why the father is the way to go.”

“When will that be? Because if you want dinner, you’ll need to see my side before then.”

Eames waved you away as you grinned wickedly in his direction.

#Eames x Reader #Eames #Eames imagine #Tom Hardy x Reader #Tom Hardy #Tom Hardy imagine #Inception #requests

351 notes · View notes

akallia · 3 years ago

Text

bart-t-tender

hi all! this is the beginning of what (I think) will be a songfic series! Let me know if you like it. As always, content UTC!!

Song: Bartender by Lana Del Rey

Pairing: Levi x Fem bodied reader

Word count: 5k

Summary: In a last ditch effort to escape a controlling yet distant millionaire husband, you run away from your life as a rich housewife only to meet Levi, a gruff war veteran working at a bar in the middle of the Californian desert.

CW: violence, smoking, drinking, implied abusive relationship

It was difficult for you to put into words the paradox you were experiencing. The primal part of you reveled in how the sun drenched your body and the earth, exalted in the warm caress of the infinite richness of it, drank itself stupid on the raw beauty of it all. The way the light didn't reflect off the canyon walls but instead absorbed it and glowed with it filled you with an inexplicable love and appreciation for the sun and the life it brought. But the rational, civilized, and socialized part of you called you away from that. You couldn't sit and stare out the window for the rest of eternity no matter how much you wanted to, even though it was your given right as a woman of your station to choose to do so. But no, you had obligations, responsibilities.

Responsibilities. You pondered the absurdity of the claim that you of all people had responsibilities. If you thought about it, sure, you had responsibilities - responsibilities to stay pretty and keep quiet. It wasn't that you didn't have any responsibilities, it's just that they were inane and insulting, and not really responsibilities at all, at least not in your book. It wasn't fair to say that you had pressures on you when others could barely eke out a living.

And here you were. Not scraping by off the skin of your teeth, not living hand to mouth, no. Your surroundings were evidence of the audacity it took to label your day to day goings-on as responsibilities. Here, in this pristine ranch in the hills. Here, on acres of private property surrounded not by neighbors and a community, but by the canyons of southern California. Here, in a mansion. Here, in opulence and luxury. It didn't disgust you, no. You were far too selfish to be disgusted by the privileges granted to you. But it did make you restless and unfulfilled. Your stony, crock-of-shit husband made sure of that.

As you mused, seated carefully in a leather Eames chair while you overlooked the scenery, you picked up pieces of the chatter of those around you, the noises floating in and out of the space where you could actually register what was being said. The house party was in full swing at this hour and the wine was flowing at tempo. The theme for the night was Wild Woman, and the ladies had taken it to a level that hit close to home for many of them, most choosing to wear Victorian-inspired dresses that hearkened to the widowmakers of old. The theme was handpicked by none other than yourself, the woman of this house, and the idea rang true when you chose it. It felt right that tonight of all nights you should choose to be the Wild Woman. The poeticism of the matter struck you to the core.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the fire inside of you began to grow. This was your time to take control. This was the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end. You laughed inwardly. What rotten poetry. A rich woman like yourself is only gifted in having fun, and even you failed at that.

The alcohol-addled brains around you heeded you no mind as you slipped away into the garage, swiping the keys to the shiny black roadster your husband's money bought you as you closed the door behind you. You had already made preparations for this moment. You had thought that your heart would be racing, that you would be shaking and terrified of this moment, but all you felt was a strange oceanic calm - vast and present.

The car was old. It was a 1920s roadster. It wouldn't break down but it was… obvious. It matched your house and its surroundings, but it didn't match your crime. No, you would need something different.

You drove silently down the narrow single lane road into the desert. Now that the sun was down, you regretted leaving the hard top at home. It was downright freezing out here, with nothing but the saguaros and the odd desert rat to keep you company. On second thought, you had the stars with you. Yes, the stars. You glanced up over the top of the chromed windshield. The abyss of space was blanketed by a sheen of soft glowing balls of gas illuminating your path, but were outshone by the brilliance of the waning crescent among them. You didn't mind that there was no full moon. It was less light for them to find you by.

A few hours of driving later, you pulled into the driveway of a small, dirty home. The adobe roof was near crumbling, and the stucco walls had long since faded from their original shade. The house was bare regarding ornamentation save for the smattering of cars and twisted bicycle tires laying in the yard. It was unkempt, but you found it to be quite charming.

You knocked on the front door, and a few moments later a bent over old man revealed himself. You wordlessly swapped keys, and he pointed a crooked finger at the vehicle parked closest to the road. You nodded and bowed your head in acknowledgement before handing him a wad of cash for his troubles and taking your leave.

As you approached the big black work truck, it dawned on you that you hadn't changed out of your party clothes. While the rest of the women had chosen the scandalous widow-maker as their inspiration for the Wild Woman, you had gone a different route. You had left your hair unbrushed and free, not a hint of makeup to be seen, and donned a simple ankle-length gray sheath dress, adorned only with a threadbare red shawl around your shoulders you had found in the trunk of the roadster when you purchased it. It wasn't wild, but it was free. Is wild equated to free? You weren't sure, but it was the avenue you'd chosen. You didn't mind. While it was cold in the desert, your choice of clothes matched the poetic mood you were in as you committed your crimes. You hopped in the truck and it rattled noisily to life as it carried you towards selfishness.

Another hour down the road, you found yourself in something resembling a town. If the boom towns of the Gold Rush era had a modern equivalent, this was it. In the middle of the desert, isolated, too large for the environment, it fit the bill perfectly. You decided this was where you would stay for the night. There was an inn there, and in front of it you parked your "new" truck and wandered inside.

The first floor of The Underground Inn, which wasn't underground at all, was a hazy, dim, and busy bar in the peak crowd that comes with midnight, lit by neon signs and rusty, abused jukeboxes running on pure willpower. You felt a bit out of your element. The bike gangs and young people that constituted the clientele were lightyears away from the company you typically kept. Regardless, it was a welcome change of pace, and you decidedly needed to continue in that direction, and thus sat down at the bar, peasant dress and all.

The barkeep was a man of shorter stature and a fierce glower, eyes hooded by a strong and sharp brow curtained by black strands of hair that constantly fell in his face as he worked. Most of the people at this point had already consumed their fair share of alcohol, and the barkeep did not seem too terribly busy save for his frantic and thorough cleaning of the bar itself and the glasses behind it. You decided that you would find your company for the night in this man no matter how much his glare unsettled you.

You cleared your throat daintily. "A Manhattan, please," you piped up. You weren't really in the mood to get hammered, but your high class tastes called, and you needed some sort of drink to loosen yourself up.

"What are you doing here, little lady?" The man responded, not moving to make your drink and instead fervently scrubbing the inside of a glass. He examined his work and, satisfied, began to pour the whiskey into the glass, uncorking the vermouth as he did so.

"What do you mean?" You pretended not to know what he meant. It was clear you were the outsider here. You were dressed like a medieval peasant, barefoot and hopelessly alone. He was probably just looking out for you.

Suddenly self-conscious, you lowered your voice. "I mean, I know what you're saying. I just needed a place to stay is all."

His eyes softened a fraction of a centimeter, so minute was the movement you would have missed it had you not been staring at him so intently, hellbent on figuring him out. He intrigued you immensely, especially as you looked closer and examined his face better. On the left side of his face were three parallel scars with deep dents in their center, almost crater-like. His right eye was clouded over and accompanied by a long silvery strip running from close to the corner of his small mouth and disappearing under the bangs on his forehead.

The unusual man snorted in disbelief, shaking his head slightly to reveal a sharp undercut. "You must be an idiot to be out here by yourself. Did you run away from mommy and daddy to find yourself in the desert?"

You wanted to be offended, but couldn't find it in yourself. Instead, the weight of your decisions came down on your shoulders in full force and you slumped on the bar, chin leaning on your palm as you sighed in defeat.

"In a way," you said. "Why do you ask? Aren't you just a bartender?" You stole another glance at him, finding the need to assert your age. “And I’m twenty nine by the way.”

"It's my bar. My bar is my own business. You are in my bar, and now it's my business." He placed the speared cherry on the top of the now-completed Manhattan and slid it over the counter to rest in front of you, ignoring the comment about your age. You stared at it. The glass left much to be desired in terms of presentation, but the drink itself looked delicious. Eagerly you set about trying it, and made a noise of delight in the back of your throat at the taste of it.

“Mmm,” you said, closing your eyes as you savored the experience of it on your tongue. “Delicious. You’re an excellent mixologist,” you complimented.

“Almost like it’s my job or something,” he mumbled. “And just because you’re twenty nine doesn’t mean you’re not running away from ‘mommy and daddy.’” He did air quotes, rolling his eyes. You couldn’t tell if he was a grounded, realistic person or remarkably fed up with you. “You’re just running away from something that took the place of that. That’s all it ever is.”

“How wise you are,” you mused, smiling absentmindedly. “Perhaps you’re right. I won’t burden you with the whole story, but I am running away. It’s just that I’m running from heaven.”

“Heaven?” His brow furrowed slightly. “No such thing.”

“It was heaven, at least in its own way,” you said. “To most people I think it’s a bit of heaven.” You thought about the ranch and the endless desert surrounding it. Your husband was always gone, intermittently visiting between meetings he arrived at via private jet. It was a heaven that drugged you. No amount of material possessions could destroy the ache of unfulfillment, but it could dampen it for a time. You became an expert in distraction, in denial disguised by self care. You never wanted to do that again. It made you sick to think about.

“It’s all horribly cliche and awful. I don’t want to ever go back to living that way again,” you finished. The barkeep just looked at you, vaguely thoughtful, picking you apart and taking his time in doing so. You felt a little thrill at the attention that you were unaccustomed to.

“What’s your name, little lady?” He asked finally, after staring at you for what felt like forever. The blush on your face deepend, and you felt incredibly undignified.

You told him your name and he told you his. Levi. You rolled the name around in your mouth, exploring the way it sat on your tongue and echoed off your hard palate. You decided you liked Levi and that you would make a friend out of him by the time this night ended.

“Levi,” you said simply. You sighed a sigh of relief. “I like you, Levi.” You stared off into space, lost in thought. When would the consequences for your actions catch up to you? It frightened you to think about it. You knew this wouldn't be forever. He would come for you eventually, and your little escapade would end. But for now you were determined to enjoy your momentary freedom, however short or long it would end up being.

A group of six men stepped into the bar and settled into seats around you, pulling Levi away from you. The sudden lack of attention was akin to stepping out of a warm bath, and you involuntarily shivered from the mental sensation. You felt mildly delusional for finding yourself so taken by this strange bartender, but you also didn’t mind. In your mind, you were justified. You were starved in so many aspects.

As you continued to sip on the cocktail, you let your hair fall over your face as you subtly observed the thieves of Levi’s attention. They were in slacks and button-downs, with expensive watches on wrists and leather wallets poking out of pockets. They reminded you of your husband’s bodyguards. Being an arms dealer wasn’t necessarily a dangerous job, but the growing tensions with the USSR since the war’s end had put him on edge.

Your gaze involuntarily slid back over to Levi. You watched the sinewy forearms as they flexed with the back-and-forth motion as he shook a drink. You watched the pursed lips and even look in his steely, focused eyes as he listened to his customers’ orders. You watched the solid white tee shirt ripple over his chest as he glided across the bar in search of the bitters. You took in the multitude of scars snaking up his neck and down his biceps and you wondered callously if he was a veteran, making a living as a barkeep after throwing away his youth in Europe or the Pacific. You wanted to know everything about this man.

A heavy hand on your shoulder yanked you from your not-so-subtle admiration of Levi’s physique. One of the newcomers leaned down close to your ear and whispered your name, saying, “Your husband is waiting, ma’am. Please come with us.”

Your stomach plummeted through the ground and into the core of the earth and you felt sick. No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. It’s too soon. I just got free. You knew that it wasn’t going to last forever, but for it to only have taken a few hours… it was more than you could bear. The disappointment was immeasurable. Your mind went blank with static.

Levi, finished with his job for now, glanced sidelong at you from the other end of the bar. You made eye contact, and his eyes widened a millimeter at your expression. You knew how you looked; you’d seen the look of a cornered animal on your face in the reflection of the bottle of everclear on a shelf in front of you. You absentmindedly wondered how that stuff was legal, especially with it being so new. Levi must have some regulars with an insane tolerance.

You begged Levi with your eyes to do something. You knew it wasn’t fair to put him in this position, but the instinctual resistance to going back to your gilded cage had you desperate. He slowly nodded his head, and the tension disappeared from your shoulders. You slumped over onto the bar again, feigning defeat, and didn’t look at the man so he wouldn’t see through your shaky facade.

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll be outside in ten minutes. Let me finish my drink and freshen up first.”

The hand left your shoulder, and the group of men downed their drinks and left.

Levi sauntered over, movements careful and measured as he threw his cleaning rag over his shoulder and leaned over the bar to converse with you.

“Mommy and daddy want you back?” He said lowly, gaze startlingly fierce.

“Something like that,” you answered, throwing back the rest of the Manhattan he’d made you so expertly. You held the glass up to your face and frowned. “This didn’t taste very alcoholic.”

“You didn’t seem like you needed a fogged brain. I put cherry coke in it.”

“Must be some cherry coke to fool me,” you said. “I’m very knowledgeable about my alcohol and you almost got me.”

“Alcoholic?”

“Something like that,” you repeated with a coy smile. There wasn’t much for you to do at home other than drink, stare out the window, and host parties. What a life you lead.

Levi shifted to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth before shaking the pack to pull one up for you to take. You wordlessly took one, and he expertly flicked a small lighter to life, starting to bring it towards the unlit cigarette you placed between your lips. You plucked it daintily from his fingers and lit his first, then leaned across the bar to press your cigarette next to his in order to light it. He looked at you while you did this from behind unfairly long and thick black eyelashes. You felt a rush at the sensation of his milky right eye and the steely blue left eye boring into you.

“So what does your husband do?” Levi said after exhaling the first puff of smoke.

This startled you and you almost dropped your cigarette. “What?” You breathed, eyes wide. You took a shaky drag, letting the toxicity fill your lungs.

“I said,” he repeated, “what does your husband do?”

“He… he’s an arms dealer. He basically owns Lockheed Martin.” You attempted to compose yourself enough to answer, and propped your elbow up, cigarette aloft and held daintily between your painted nails.

Levi didn’t attempt to mask his disgust, wrinkling his nose and recoiling as though struck. “Look at me,” he seethed, voice gravelly. Your eyes snapped to his, wide and childlike.

“I’m looking,” you said breathlessly.

He grabbed your hand. “Look better.” Levi brought your hand to his face and grazed it over the deep dents in his cheek, across his sharp nose and over to the raised bump slashed across his right eye. Your breath caught in your throat at the sensation.

“I went through hell over there.” His eyes were frantic, a deep emotion you couldn’t read coming to the surface, and he dropped your hand.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have grabbed you with no warning like that. It was inappropriate.”

“No, no,” you rushed to clarify. “I… I didn’t mind.” You felt your face heating up. You looked down at your watch, realizing you only had so much time. “And… I’m sorry. For what you went through… in the war. I understand how awful it was. I lost my brother to the war.”

Levi stared wide eyed at you, lips pursed and brow intense. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

You cleared your throat, the both of you leaning back from the heavy air surrounding you, suddenly bashful. You thought it looked good on him.

But ah, such moments cannot stay. You glanced at the door, and the window next to it showed one of your husband’s men holding up three fingers to signify your remaining time. He turned around and you grasped Levi’s forearm.

“Please. I know we barely know each other, but I can’t go back to him. I can’t give up my freedom when I just got it. Please,” you begged. “I’ll do anything I can to repay you. Just… help me.”

You were growing used to having to scan Levi’s face intently in order to read his miniscule changes in expression, and with this new skill did you see his eyes harden.

“You don’t have to repay me.”

And then he left. He turned the corner into a back room and grabbed a tall, slender blonde man with a wispy goatee, an upturned nose, and a mop of fluffy hair. You thought he looked rather canine. Levi held a short, terse conversation with the man, who began to set up the bar in a different manner than Levi had. While he did this, Levi fiddled with the underside of the counter, unhooking something to reveal a rifle. You were suddenly aware when he turned around that he was carrying a pistol in the waistband of his jeans. You gulped.

He finally faced you. “Act like you’re going to the restroom. When you go down that hallway, turn right instead of left and go into the men’s room. There’s a door in the men’s room that leads to the dumpsters and the back of the building. I’m going to make a distraction out front. While that’s happening, run to your car and get the hell out of here. Don’t, and I mean don’t look back.”

“Levi,” you breathed, full of warmth for this stranger.

“Don’t. Now go.”

“Wait,” you said, standing from the barstool. “Come… come with me.” He looked at you incredulously. “Please.”

Levi appeared distressed, and affixed you with a hard stare as the panic faded. “Just focus on getting out of here first.” He snatched a napkin from the counter and materialized a pen. He finished writing something down on it and shoved it into your hands, nodded, and pushed you towards the hallway at the back. You understood your cue and made your move, the two of you heading in opposite directions, a small group of men following Levi.

Your breath was shaky as you pushed through the throng of pool players, dancers, and lovers. You put your cigarette out on an errant ashtray and walked down the long wood paneled hallway, finally pushing open the door to the men’s room and praying it would be empty. While it wasn’t empty, there was nobody at the urinals, and thus you were safe as you pushed open the door to the back of the establishment.

Immediately, you were on high alert. You turned the corner, hearing a commotion, and your jaw dropped shamelessly.

There, on the sidewalk and spilling into the street, was a full on brawl. The six men hired by your husband fought wildly against Levi and four others. In the neon-lit darkness, you could make out Levi’s small form kicking a man a head taller than him with such power he flew into your truck parked four spots away, grunting in pain as his head made a dent in the frame. He didn’t get up. Levi and his people were winning. The rifle he had brought from under the bar lay discarded against the entrance, and there were spectators placing bets.

You pushed through the growing crowd, and broke out into a sprint towards your truck, resolved now to fight tooth and nail for your freedom, especially if Levi was helping you. That freak. You couldn’t believe that this was his grand plan to save you. Not that you were complaining. The grace with which he exercised such opulent displays of violence enchanted you. It was like nothing you’d ever seen.

You were steps away from the door to your truck, fumbling with the keys, when the man who had approached you in the bar approached you again, this time more menacingly. He made a grab for you, wrenching your arms behind your back. You screamed and attempted to bite him, only succeeding in grazing his hand and kicking his shin pitifully. The man turned you around and growled in your ear as he pressed you to his chest, “Look what you’ve done. Now we’ve got to leave no witnesses. It’s a shame, isn’t it? All this violence for a pathetic whore. Boss won’t be happy with this. Not one bit.”

You screamed again, yelling Levi’s name. In the chaos of the bar fight, he still managed to subdue his opponent and search for you. He pulled away from the brawl, approaching you and your captor with a hand inching towards the back of his waistband.

“Don’t even think about it, short stuff,” your captor scoffed. You felt something cold and hard press against your waist. “Be careful with your next move.”

Levi slowly retracted his hand, holding both in the air in surrender. “I don’t know what your deal is, but I promise if you harm one of my patrons there will be hell to pay. I didn’t go through hell all those years ago for nothing. I can and will kill you if you don’t let her go.”

The man just laughed, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. Levi’s eyes darted towards the gun held to your side. The man opened his mouth to speak, and faster than the speed of sound Levi whipped the pistol out from his jeans and shot the man in the foot. He howled in pain, dropping you. Levi sprinted forward to help you up, and he grabbed the keys from the ground. He practically threw you into the passenger’s seat, started it up, and tore away from The Underground Inn.

You sat in shock, silent as the grave. The hum of the engine began to overpower the shouts and cries from the street fight. Levi breathed heavily from the exertion, taking deep breaths in and out.

“Well,” he began slowly. “I came with you.”

You just looked at him, tears filling your eyes. He glanced sideways at you as he adjusted the rearview mirror, finally regaining normalcy.

“Levi. I don’t even have words.”

“Then don’t say anything.” His words were sharp but his tone was soft and easy. “Just try to get some rest.”

Your eyes felt heavy, and you used your shawl as a makeshift pillow as you leaned against the window of the truck, the engine noise and the knowledge that Levi was there lulling you into sleep.

When you awoke, it was still dark.

“How long?” You asked, rubbing your eyes.

“About two hours. It’s two thirty.” He was pulling the truck off the side of the road.

“Where are we?”

“I’m not sure. Does it matter?”

“No.”

“Good. Get out.”

Levi reached behind to the backseat and materialized pillows and a blanket you didn’t know were there. He saw your inquisitive glance and said, “I saw them when I put you in the passenger’s seat. I thought that we should both get some sleep if we’re really doing this.”

He pulled the blankets and pillows out and threw them into the truck bed unceremoniously. You both pulled the tailgate down, and he gallantly offered you a knee for you to use to get up. You arranged them neatly and settled in.

You both stared silently at the Milky Way for a few moments before you both began to talk at once.

Levi let out a low laugh, barely more than a sound escaping his throat along with the strong exhalation that marked it as a sign of amusement. “You first,” he said.

“Just… thank you,” you sighed. “You have no idea what it means to me.” You tilted your head to take him in.

“You’re welcome. How could I say no to a damsel in distress?” He responded sarcastically.

“It’s not sarcasm if it’s true, Levi.”

“Say that again.”

“What, ‘it’s not sarcasm if it’s true’?”

“No, my name.”

“...Levi.”

He responded in kind with your name. “So, mysterious woman. Start from the beginning.”

You resumed staring at the stars. “Alright, Levi. Let’s start from the beginning.”

#attack on titan #attack on titan fanfic #levi ackerman #levi fanfic #aot fanfic #songfic #bartender lana del rey #attack on titan songfic #Levi x reader #Levi x reader fanfic #Levi x fem reader #Levi x fem reader fanfiction #Levi Ackerman fanfiction #Levi Ackerman fanfic

52 notes · View notes

theweasleysredhair · 4 years ago

Text

Slipping Through My Fingers [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 3396

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: A series of snapshot memories through the years between Fred and his daughter. [Based on Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA].

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @sarcasticallywitty15 @tyyyweasley @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @wonderful-writer @marauders-loving-queen @vogueweasley @marvelettesassemble @thisismynerdyself @gcdric @loony-loopy-lupinn @gloryekaterina @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whiz-bangs78 @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @vivianweasley | message or send an ask to be removed! unfortunately, my taglist is closed until further notice due to hitting the max. amount allowed on one post!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: this is a fred x reader but focuses more on fred w your daughter bc i’m a simp for dad fred pls help

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

If you asked him, Fred would say his happiest day was the day he married you. Watching you walk up the aisle in your white dress, pretty smile on your face, was a sight engrained into Fred’s memory forever.

He was irrevocably in love with you, this he knew, and that day just made him fall for you even more - his heart had beat so fast when he saw you walking towards him, looking like an angel.

He didn’t think his life could get any better.

That was until the day he held his little baby girl in his arms for the first time. He felt an overwhelming feeling of adoration for the tiny infant whose whole hand could only just clasp around his finger. This little baby who depended on him so fully, his little bundle of joy wrapped in a pastel purple blanket, knitted by Molly.

He was wrapped around her finger from day one. She was a complete daddy’s girl, only settling to sleep when in her father��s arms, immediately stopping crying when being held by him. Often, he’d fall asleep with his baby girl laying on his chest, his hand holding her in place as she snuggled into his sweater.

He’d take her to his shop, holding her as he spoke to customers, whilst he served them at the tills, enjoying when they asked him questions about her - about his beautiful little baby who could barely open her eyes yet, but who owned his heart completely.

By the time she was a few months old, Fred insisted they were best friends, spending as much time as he could with her, looking after her whilst you went back to work. He was almost besotted - she was his soft spot, possibly the only person besides you who could get him to do whatever they wanted.

“Say dada! Come on, Evie! Say dada! Dada!” Fred stood in front of his little girl, who was sat in her high chair, giggling at the funny faces he was pulling at her.

She’d been making sounds for the last couple of weeks and you were both sure she was going to start speaking soon - something you were both excited about. Fred was determined that her first word would be dada, her being so fond of him and all, and couldn’t wait until she finally said it.

“Ba!” The baby announced excitedly, kicking her little legs in the chair. Fred grinned at her, “Yes darling, ba! But please say dada! Dada!”

At the silence, he sighed, “Fine, what about mama? Can you say mama?”

“Mmm?” The baby pursed her lips and blew a spit bubble at him.

“Are you trying to get her to speak again?”

Fred looked up at George, who entered the kitchen, and sighed again, “She’s gonna do it! I swear! She’ll say dada!”

George stepped into the baby’s eyeline and she began squirming in her seat, letting out a loud, happy squeal and banging on the tray in front of her.

She tried to point at the younger twin, who grinned at his niece and poked her cheek, making her giggle, “Hello darling! Someone’s happy to see me, aren’t they?”

She opened her mouth and Fred held his breath, hoping she would speak, before shaking his head fondly as she simply hiccuped, uninterested in saying anything at all.

“These things take time, she’ll say it eventually, you can’t rush it,” George reminded his twin, who leant against the fridge, not taking his eyes off the baby.

“I know,” he glanced up at George, “I just... I can’t for her to say-“

“Dada!”

Fred’s eyes widened, George nearly dropping the glass he’d gotten down from the cupboard.

“Did she just-“

“She did! My baby girl said- Oh Evie, my amazing, beautiful, smart little girl!” Fred lifted her from the chair and cradled her into his arms, “Did you say ‘Dada’?”

“Dada!” She cheered again.

“Y/n is gonna kill you for getting her to speak whilst she’s not here,” George said, amused.

But the words didn’t register to Fred, who was too busy lifting the baby up into the air and back down again as she squealed.

As she started getting closer to being able to walk, Fred made it his mission to baby-proof your home, ensuring she couldn’t hurt herself on anything. She was currently shuffling everywhere on her bottom, with the occasional attempt at holding the couch to help her stand up.

Every time she did this, you both encouraged her to try and move towards you, most of the time receiving blank stares or the occasional laugh.

This time, however, your little girl seemed more determined to move around by herself.

“Come on, come to dada!” Fred called to her with a reassuring smile. He glanced over at you, winking before his attention settled back on his daughter.

“Dada!” The infant babbled, grinning at Fred, who was crouching with his arms out around a metre distance away. Her wide eyes beamed at him as she let go of the couch and made a couple of wobbly steps towards Fred, her own little arms reaching out for him, before losing her balance and falling onto her bottom just in front of her dad.

“Evie, princess! Did my clever little girl just walk?” He cooed, clapping his hands together as the baby smiled at him. He scooped his daughter up and she clapped her little fists together copying his previous actions, before letting out a giggle - Fred swore he’d never heard something so adorable.

“You’re so smart, aren’t you baby girl?” You smiled, taking the baby as she held her arms out to you.

“Mama!”

Once she mastered walking, you found that you couldn’t get her to sit still for anything. A ball of energy just like her father, she happily ran around the place all day, especially enjoying when Fred would take her into work with him.

“We need to leave, come on Evie!” Fred held out her coat, watching as she crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, “No! Don’ wanna!”

Fred sat beside her, “We’re going to daddy’s work though! Don’t you want to come?”

Her resolve relaxed a little as she raised her eyebrows, staring up at him, “Daddy wor’?”

“Yes princess, daddy’s work. And if you’re good, we could get you some ice cream before we go?”

She immediately stopped pouting, peering up at him through her dark lashes in excitement, and bouncing around in her seat, “Ice ‘eam?”

“Yes, ice cream!” Fred agreed, “Should we go?”

She nodded immediately and stood up, allowing him to put her shoes and coat on whilst she happily babbled out a story to him.

She grabbed his hand as they walked to Diagon Alley, stopping off for ice cream as promised, before she noticed the familiar orange building in the distance and suddenly let go of his hand, darting off through a couple of crowds of people.

“Wait, Evie, come back!” Fred called out, dodging people, running after his toddler, who was surprisingly fast when she wanted to be.

She ran through the doors of the joke shop and found George quickly, the latter busy restocking some shelves near the entrance, a box in his hands. At the sound of the door opening, he looked over and smiled softly at the little girl who had entered.

“Unca Geowge, I got ice ‘eam!” She announced happily to him, holding out the ice cream cone to him and ignoring the fact that ice cream was now running down her fist.

“Oh Merlin, you’ve got ice cream?” He faked his shock before noticing it was everywhere but in the actual cone, “Well you’ve definitely got it all over you haven’t you, darling?” He left the stock where it was, placing the box he was holding on the floor, grabbing the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and crouching down to wipe her hands and cheeks.

“There we go, much better,” George nodded at her and she offered him a toothy grin.

“Tank you, Unca Geowge.”

He laughed as he watched an out-of-breath Fred nearly fall through the shop door, “No problem, sweetheart.”

“What did I say about running off, Evie?” Fred scolded her, though thankful that she had found the way to George without getting lost - he didn’t want to have to explain that he lost your daughter to you.

The little girl turned to her dad and dropped her head, pouting, “No’ to dwo it.”

Fred lifted her up and went to tell her off again, but stopped as he looked in her eyes, his face softening, “It’s okay baby, just don’t do it again, alright?”

She nodded, “I won’t.” Then, she turned away in his arms and dropped her ice cream cone onto the floor, before looking back up at her dad innocently, “I done wiv ice ‘eam now.”

“Evie,” he sighed, before placing her down on the floor and letting her run off towards George, who hid a laugh as Fred cleaned up the floor.

“You know what Mum would say,” George grinned, watching his brother pick up the cone and drop it into the bin beside the till counter.

Fred opened his mouth to answer, when suddenly there was a loud crash and the twins turned to where the noise came from, a stand of vials having fallen over.

Evie’s mouth was open as she pointed to the vials rolling across the floor, “Oopsie!”

“Karma,” Fred groaned, before moving off to clean up again after his daughter.

Wrapped around her finger, you always said. He’d do anything and everything his little girl asked of him, never being able to tell her ‘no’ without going back on his word once he saw her trembling bottom lip or puppy eyes.

You kicked off your heels as you entered your home, glad to finally be back after a long day.

“Hello?” You called out, rifling through the post that had been left on the table. You frowned when you didn’t receive a response, but the sound of giggling came from upstairs and you dropped the letters back where they were, going off to find your husband and daughter.

“What’s going on here?” You asked as you pushed the door to Evie’s room open, placing your bag down in the hallway and entering in. Fred looked up, and you stifled a laugh, noticing that your little girl had roped him into letting her do his makeup - if the lipstick on the cheeks and bright blue eyeshadow were anything to go by - a pink feather boa hanging round his neck, along with some costume jewellery clip-on earrings, a tiara and, your favourite, a way-too-small hot pink tutu around his waist as he sat at the little table in her room.

“Can’t you see, mummy?” Your daughter blinked up at you pointedly, “We’re having a tea party! I made daddy into a princess like in the stories you read to me!”

“He makes a very pretty princess, doesn’t he sweetie?” You grinned at Fred - who winked dramatically at you - before pressing a kiss to your daughter’s head as she nodded in agreement with you.

“Tea, daddy?” She asked, lifting her teapot and pouring her ‘tea’ into his cup without waiting for his answer. He raised the cup to his lips and stuck his pinky out, showing off the plastic rings he was also wearing.

“Delicious,” he confirmed as he placed the cup back down.

After spending nearly all their time together, Fred found it extremely difficult to say goodbye to his daughter on her first day at Hogwarts, not wanting to part from his little girl who he adored so much.

You walked along the platform, reminiscing about your own Hogwarts days, and hoping your daughter would make just as many happy memories as you watched families say goodbye to each other and friends reunite. Fred was holding her trunk, and she clutched your hand tightly.

“I’m scared,” you daughter admitted to you, looking around at all the Hogwarts students running around, laughing and boarding the train.

You lifted up the hand you were holding and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “You’re going to be just fine, baby. You’re gonna have an amazing time, and probably won’t even want to come home!”

She laughed, “I’ll always come home, Mum.”

You pulled her into a hug, “We’re only an owl away, you know that.” Evie nodded, “I know.”

“Gonna miss you sweetheart. Who am I supposed to prank your Mum with now? I’ve lost my partner in crime!” Fred grinned, laughing as Evie ran into his arms.

“You’ve got Uncle George,” she nodded over to where said younger twin was stood, saying goodbye to his eldest.

“Don’t tell him, but I prefer you.”

Evie giggled, before grabbing her trunk from Fred and bidding you both goodbye. She took a few steps towards the train, before turning back around, dropping her trunk and running back over to you, giving you another hug, before moving back into her dad’s arms.

“I love you both so much,” she mumbled, before heading to re-pick her trunk up.

“We love you too, princess,” Fred replied, watching as she headed towards the train. She settled into a compartment after a minute or so, and waved at you both through the window. You waved back, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Is it too late to have another one?” Fred joked, his hand snaking around your waist and sliding into your back pocket.

You slapped his arm playfully and let out a laugh, shaking your head at him. You watched the train leave, smiling sadly and waving again, before glancing at him, “What are we gonna do with an empty house?”

Fred winked as you began to head off the platform, “Oh I have a few ideas in mind.”

The goodbyes didn’t get easier each year, but the time apart was helped by the letters Evie sent to you, always keeping in touch where she could. You kept each of her letters, reading them when you missed her most.

Her latest letter held news you’d been waiting for since you’d sent her off, rushing to write her back as soon as you’d received it, and before Fred got home from work to help with the response.

“Did you read her letter? She’s going on a date!” He called through to you in the kitchen. The shock in his voice amused you, though you were expecting some kind of resistance to this new development in your daughter’s life.

“I know!” You replied cheerfully, stirring the food on the stove, “The boy sounds so lovely!”

“Y/n, love, I don’t think you understand,” Fred frowned as he entered the kitchen, heading over to press a kiss to your lips before continuing, “Our baby girl is going on a date with some pathetic thirteen year old boy. I was a thirteen year old boy once! I know how they think!”

“He sounds really nice! And Evie seems to really like him,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed another kiss to his lips, one he returned immediately, “Besides, you asked me on a date when we were thirteen, look how we’ve ended up!”

“That’s different.”

“How is that any different?” You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to stir the food again.

Fred pouted, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and leaning his chin on your shoulder, “Because that’s my baby girl.”

“Your baby girl who is going on her first date. It’s exciting!” You insisted, “And anyway, I may or may not have already written back to her saying you approve...��

Fred’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping comically, “You did what?!”

Fred was always going to be apprehensive about any boy Evie mentioned she was dating - you assumed that much - and the day she came home for Christmas, completely upset, did not help this matter.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Fred growled, his first clenching as he thought about the no-good boyfriend - well, ex boyfriend - of his little girl, who had thought it was a good idea to break up with her just before Christmas.

“Fred, no-“

“I’m gonna kill him with my bare hands.”

“Fred-“ You tried to calm him down, knowing that though his anger was justified, it wouldn’t make Evie feel any better.

“Look at our little girl! Look what he did to her!” His face softened as he glanced into the living room at his daughter, who was curled up in the corner of the sofa, eyes closed, tears staining her cheeks.

“Look, I’m angry too. But what she needs right now is a lot of chocolate, cuddles, and her parents’ support. She doesn’t need you yelling about the boy, okay?” You looked at him pointedly, waiting for him to nod at you. When he does, you smile at him and gesture towards the teen girl, “Go see if you can cheer her up, eh?”

“It’s what I’m best at.”

Eventually, much to yours and Fred’s delight, Evie found a man she ended up falling for completely after she graduated from Hogwarts.

He was kind, smart, definitely charming, and you took a liking to him immediately. Fred took a little while longer, however he eventually admitted he really liked the guy, and loved how happy he made Evie.

The day he came to you both asking for Evie’s hand in marriage, you agreed without hesitation, and when your daughter came to you to show you her ring, you’d screamed in happiness and starting talking weddings immediately, bringing out catalogues and deciding on a dress together.

“You’ll do my hair and makeup, right Mum?” She had asked.

“Of course I will baby!”

You sat her on your bed on the morning of the wedding, humming as you twirled her hair into an intricate style and applied her last minute makeup touches.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” you whispered, pressing your lips together as a few tears escaped your eyes.

She leaned over and wiped the tears away, pulling you into a hug, “Thank you, Mum.”

She stayed with you whilst you got yourself ready, laughing about old memories, and talking about the future, about memories you were yet to make.

You’d just finished getting dressed when Fred knocked on the door, bringing in your daughter’s wedding dress that Molly had been so kind as to alter for her.

He placed the dress down on the bed carefully, turning to look you up and down and whistling as you shook your head at him, before he turned to Evie, who was smiling up at him.

“When did my baby girl get so gorgeous, huh?” He grinned, leaning down to hug her.

She returned the hug with a laugh, “Dad, come on, stop it! You’re gonna make me cry, and Mum just finished helping me do my makeup.”

“I can’t help it. I look at you and I still see my little girl. But you’re all grown up now, I guess you’re not so little, huh?”

Evie smiled, pulling away from the hug to look at him, “I’ll always be your little girl, Dad.”

You finally ushered Fred out as you helped your daughter into her dress, adding last minute touches where needed.

“Where did the time go, eh?” You asked her, looking at her in the mirror, “I feel like you were a baby just yesterday.”

She smiled at your reflection, “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

When Fred saw his daughter in her wedding dress, he swallowed, feeling how he did when he had to say goodbye to her on Platform 9 3/4 every year - it was bittersweet, knowing she was leaving, but also just knowing she was going off to live her life, and make her own happy memories, made it all worth it.

“Ready to give me away?”

And as he looked down at his daughter, her excitement evident and barely fighting the grin that spread from ear to ear, he swallowed and couldn’t help but smile back at her.

He nodded, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He felt her cling onto his arm and smiled to himself softly.

No matter what, no matter where life took her, she would always be his little girl.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines

640 notes · View notes