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pas-de-duex · 5 months ago

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Prinxiety Week Day 4: Fairytales

Trigger warnings: none. However, if I’m wrong and there is one, please feel free to DM me!

Read it on ao3 here!

@prinxietyweek

“Hi Mr. Sanders!” Patton waved to the librarian as he entered. He set down his backpack behind the counter, and took a seat at his computer.

“Patton, I’ve told you many times, when school’s over you can call me Janus.”

“I know Mr. Sanders. It just, it feels wrong.”

Janus nodded and returned to re-shelving the books.

“Looks like we have only one overdue book today! It’s called The Legends of Sleepy Hollow. Hey! That’s our town!” Patton turned to face the librarian.

Janus chuckled. “Yes, yes it is. You can go ahead and renew that one. Mr. Van Tassel has it for his AP American Literature Class.”

“Oh! I’m in that class! Do you know what he’s going to use it for?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Of course. Re has had it for two weeks and still hasn’t used it yet.” He let out a sigh as he headed back to his desk. “Come help me re-shelves these, Patton. And I’ll tell you the story he’s going to share.”

Patton nodded and grabbed a cart full of books. He followed the school librarian to the shelves, and gladly handed him books as they went along.

“Long ago, Sleepy Hollow was a farming town. Farms, farms, farms. That’s all you could see for miles and miles. The only person who wasn’t a farmer was the schoolmaster, Logan Crane.

Mr. Crane was a lanky, lean, rational man. He spent most of his time with the schoolchildren, either teaching them at the school or tutoring them at their homes. But his favorite part of his day was the walk home from the schoolhouse. That was the time when Roman Van Tassel would be riding his horse into the market.”

“Wait, Roman Van Tassel? Isn’t Mr. Van Tassel’s first name Remus?”

“Well, yes Patton. Roman Van Tassel is one of Mr. Van Tassel’s antecedents. That’s why he’s including this specific book in this lesson.”

Patton nodded, then handed the librarian some more books.

“Anyways, Mr. Crane was desperately in love with Roman. He visited Roman at the market every day. Logan was a frugal man, but he always ended up spending more than he needed at Roman’s stand.

‘Have a wonderful evening Mr. Crane!’ Roman would always wave to Logan as he walked away.

One day, Roman was ill, so his father, Abram Van Tassel, had to run the stand at the market. He was talking to one of the elders of the village, a Mr. Irving.

‘Well, my boy Roman is finally old enough to marry. Now I simply need to find someone who can afford his dowry.’

‘What’s his dowry? I’m sure the Van Brunt boy would gladly pay it. I’ve seen the way he and your Roman get on.’

‘Heh, I doubt he could afford it! I suppose I wouldn’t mind setting up a payment plan, five golden coins over several years? That adds up!’

‘I’ll pay you ten to marry him by the end of the year.’

The two elders looked at him in shock. However, Logan had a vast amount of wealth saved from his years of saving. After Abram Van Tassel, Logan was likely the most wealthy man in all of Sleepy Hollow.

‘You have a deal, Mr. Crane.’

They shook on it, and Logan rushed home to prepare for his bride.

The next morning, there was a small knock at Logan’s door. He answered, and found a sobbing Roman kneeling on his porch.

‘Oh please, Mr. Crane. Please don’t pay my dowry. You’re a kind man, Mr. Crane,’

Roman explained to Logan that he was in love. He had been planning on eloping with Virgil Van Brunt the next weekend. The two had been meeting secretly for years, and now that they were both of age, they wanted to get married.

Logan heard him out. He hated seeing Roman this way. He helped the poor boy to his feet and wiped away his tears.

‘I’m sorry, Roman. I had no intention of upsetting you this way.’

‘So…you won’t pay my dowry?’

Logan shook his head. ‘While I had no intention of upsetting you in this way, I also have no intention of letting you run away with that… that rowdy man.’

Logan stepped inside and went to his room. He pulled ten gold coins out of a small chest and wrapped them in a cloth. He tied it with a rope and placed it in Roman’s hands.

‘Please give this to your father for me. Tell him I’ll set a date at the courthouse tomorrow.’

Roman nodded, and turned away from Logan.

Logan resumed his day as normal. He went to work, tutored a few kids, then made his way to the market.

‘Good evening, Love.’

Roman wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

‘I think you should leave, Mr. Crane.’

Virgil Van Brunt approached him from behind.

‘You’re upsetting my fiancé.’

Logan chuckled. ‘I think you misspoke, sir. Roman is my fiancé. I paid his dowry just this morning.’

Logan kissed Roman’s hand. Virgil growled at him, and narrowed his eyes like a charging bull.

‘Virgil, Virgil please don’t.’ Roman said. ‘Father is holding a harvest party at the end of the week. I would love it if you would both attend. For me.’

Virgil huffed and walked away.

‘I would love to attend, my dear. I’ll see you there.’

Logan spent the rest of the week preparing for the party. He wore his best suit and picked Roman a red rose from a garden outside the local cemetery.

When he arrived, the local school children were all gathered around Virgil, listening to him tell some sort of ghost story.

‘It was said he was a soldier in the Revolutionary War. He was captured by the British, and was immediately beheaded. He was buried without being given his last rights, which led his ghost to haunt our cemetery to this very day! It’s said anyone who walks through his hallowed ground, will forever be haunted by, The Headless Horseman!’

The children all screamed, and one even ran to Logan for comfort.

‘Now, now, everyone. This is nothing more than a ghost story. Mr. Van Brunt should not be sharing such things with children your age. Come along now,’

Despite his own reassurances, Logan couldn’t help but think of the tale over and over again in his mind. He walked through that very cemetery every day! Could The Headless Horseman come after him? Logan shook his head. Of course not! This was simply a legend.

He had intended to spend most of the night with his fiancé. However Roman continued to find ways to elude him, leaving Logan alone.

Logan walked home, through the same cemetery from the story.

‘Damn Van Brunt. I’ll keep him away from my love if it’s the last thing I do.’

He heard a clip-clopping noise behind him. Logan started to walk faster.

He heard an evil, demonic laugh. He started to run.

‘Halt! You hath trespassed on my hallowed ground! Now you must face the wrath of The Headless Horseman!’

A large, circular object was thrown at Logan, who screamed and ran far, far away before the chasing Horseman could follow him.

No sign of Logan Crane was ever found inside or outside of Sleepy Hollow. The only evidence he ever even left was the fact that Roman’s horse had been stolen that evening. Virgil Van Brunt brought it back the next morning, and he and Roman eloped that weekend.”

“Wow! That’s a pretty creepy ghost story Mr. Sanders. It’s crazy that Mr. Van Tassel comes from a family like that.” Patton says.

“Oh it’s no Ghost story.”

Patton turns and faces Mr. Van Tassel, and almost screams.

“The Headless Horseman really exists, and cursed my family long ago.”

Remus was, quite literally, holding his head in his hands.

“Re, darling, quit scaring the poor boy. He's actually a reliable library helper.”

“Oh alright; alright. Meh, I never get to have any fun.”

Remus hit some sort of switch and his head returned to where it should be.

“Well, I should, I should probably go. Thanks for letting me stay a while, Mr. Sanders.”

Patton made a graceful exit, and Remus put his arm around his husband.

“When are you going to change your name, J? Janus Van Tassel would be a much sexier name for you.”

Janus leaned over and kissed his husband on the lips.

“Hm, whenever you finally return your library books, darling.”

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blackestnight · 2 years ago

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pro re nata

latin phrase: for the present matter; under present circumstances; as needed. abbreviation prn. used in medical prescriptions.

for fluffuary day 4, “making them laugh/being silly.” yes i know it’s the 5th, deadlines aren’t real anyway.

set post-6.0 but no spoilers, just generic schmoop.

Hanami’s morning routine had taken on a slowly evolving shape since coming home from Sharlayan. It started out familiar: waking before the sun, crawling gently out of bed (this morning required extra care, because Aymeric had draped an arm over her waist in sleep and he made a discontented noise when she moved, but he settled when she pressed a kiss to the mess of his hair). Then, her new deviation: hunching over the washroom sink with her army of bottles and packets, squinting at the labels.

One of the sages had informed her, while she was still in a haze of exhaustion and magic, that the combined effort exerted by the city-states to drag her back from the brink of death had resulted in half a dozen groundbreaking innovations in medicine, which she supposed was meant to cheer her up (it hadn’t, because she had still felt like death warmed over at the time). Some of those bottled miracles were probably spread out before her now: first a salve to rub over the fresh scarring on her right arm (from Ul’dah; it didn’t actually do anything except glow blue in spots where it came into contact with high concentrations of aether, which might be a sign that she had relapsed back into what Y’shtola had coined aetherbleed, but today it continued to do nothing except feel uncomfortably oily and smell like a hot sewer). Then three potions and a chalky tablet to ingest: the labels said the tablet was to be taken with water, and not within a half-bell of any sort of acidic drink; the potion that was shimmery blue was to be taken first thing in the morning and before bed, and the smoky gray and creamy orange ones three times daily and not on an empty stomach. Hanami compromised by pouring all three liquid doses into a cup, pressing the tablet onto her tongue, and swallowing the entire foul mess in one go.

She actually convulsed at the heinous combination of tastes and textures, but the little act of rebellion made her feel better. She busied herself with washing her face and cleaning the goop off her arm, so that by the time she brushed her teeth the taste of mint was only bearably awful on top of the lingering flavors from the medicines. Then she snarled at her own reflection, making sure that her ill-advised regimen had not discolored her teeth or caused them to smoke or melt or gods-knew-what. Satisfied, she made her way back to the bedroom to deal with cosmetics and clothes.

Aymeric was in the same spot she had left him—curled on his side, bundled under the covers—but he was awake, and glaring absently at the window. Hanami would almost go so far as to call it a pout.

“What is that face for?” she asked, nudging the vanity chair with her foot so she could kneel in the seat. Her left hand still felt clumsy with her hairbrush, but at least keeping her hair short meant she didn’t have to spend much time on it.

“Hm?” Aymeric blinked. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought he might still be half-asleep; his obviously half-hearted attempt to sit upright was not as graceful as it would have been otherwise. “Nothing. I simply had the strangest dream.”

She had lotion to rub onto her face every morning in an effort to combat the highland wind, which meant she could only manage a close-mouthed “Mm?” in response without risking even more tragedies on her tongue. She knew Aymeric had vivid dreams—there were nights when they set him tossing and turning and gasping in his sleep, nights when he woke up wincing from remembered dragonfire or magefire or worse—but this morning his voice was rough with tired annoyance, not with fear or sorrow.

Upright was too generous, she decided. He was still listing against the headboard, mostly kept from being completely horizontal by a pile of pillows, but to be fair it was earlier than he usually got up. He scrubbed one hand over his face, and his own palm muffled his voice: “There were two men from some sort of—maintenance crew, I suppose, the sort who do upkeep in the Temple Knight barracks, and at some point they had broken in and taken the bed and exchanged it for another.”

She managed not to laugh at him, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “In the house?”

“It was a dream,” he said, not even trying to excuse his subconscious. His voice came clearer, at least, when he lowered his hand, and he met her with a grin of his own that she could see clearly even without the light. “And not only that, but the replacement was facing a different way than the old bed. So now here I am, irrationally upset at a figmentary work crew from my own dream for committing a crime that never actually happened.”

Not that he sounded upset anymore. He mostly seemed rumpled and relaxed, eyes half-lidded while he watched her. She wiped her hands clean and grabbed her pants from the day before to begin the process of re-layering herself against the cold.

“Kill them,” she advised.

He did laugh, warm and low in the dark, and sat up straighter: when he spoke his voice was closer to the clipped tone he used when he was working, which sort of lost its effect considering the blankets falling down around his waist and his impressive bedhead. “I doubt one could kill a dream, and I would not condemn a man to death for what ultimately amounted to a minor inconvenience.”

“I could probably kill a dream if I tried,” she mused, pulling her sweater over her head. She’d done stranger things. “And you wouldn’t. I would kill a man for a hot breakfast.”

She wasn’t fully dressed, wasn’t fully ready, but the draw of a handsome, sleepy man was more tempting than warm socks: she padded across to his side of the bed and gave herself a half-step running start so she could hop up on the tall mattress without needing to put weight on her hands. Even tired, his reflexes were sharp, and he cupped one broad hand around her waist to help her balance on the edge of the bed.

“Was that a hint?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over her ribs.

She huffed, because it wasn’t, but with her foot planted on the bed rail and his arm holding her in place she felt secure enough to lean forward and press a kiss to his sleep-flushed cheek.

“Maybe it was a threat,” she said, letting her teeth scrape his skin when she spoke, just to feel him shudder and then laugh again. When she sat back he urged her gently to curl closer to his knee.

“In the interest of self-preservation,” Aymeric said, “what would you like?”

Hanami felt her mouth quirk up at the corner. Hot breakfast for her usually consisted of reheated soup tossed in a thermos, but—well. It was early. She had nowhere to be, and Aymeric probably had time before he needed to meet with the House of Lords.

“Sandwich,” she decided. There were some Ishgardian muffins leftover, she was sure, and cuts of bacon in the icebox. Even one-handed she could fumble through cooking eggs on her own, if she had to, so if he ran out of time they could eat while they walked, him to his session with the Lords and her down to the Proving Grounds, or wherever she wound up to stave off the restlessness of recovery.

Rather than answer, he picked up her hand from where she had rested it on his duvet-covered leg—gentle, so cautious of hurting her, so even though the skin contact made her nerves erupt in needle-pricks she didn’t make a face—and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The little bit of pre-dawn glow that had started to creep into the room lit him up like a statue.

He really was handsome, which wasn’t something she forgot so much as didn’t think about, not with familiarity to turn the wonder into something more comfortable, but in moments like that with the light catching his jaw and his eyelashes and the whole general perfectly-proportioned line of him she felt a little bit ridiculous all over again. Maybe infatuated was a good word. She hadn’t been that, at first, she’d just been a bitter asshole, but at least he’d been a perfect balance of patient and determined to prove her wrong.

Better late than never, anyway. She leaned forward again to pull him into a kiss.

He made a noise of contentment against her mouth, followed by a grunt, and pulled back enough to whisper a reproach: “You are going to give yourself an ulcer,” punctuated with another soft kiss.

Must have tasted the residue of the medicine on her mouth. She bit his lower lip, gently, and said, “I will give you an ulcer,” another tiny rebellion with no purpose other than happiness.

It worked: he laughed and released her hand. “Undoubtedly,” he murmured, too fond for her to take him seriously, and she huffed again and slid off the bed to finish getting ready for the day.

#writing - mine #oc: hanami hagane #final fantasy xiv #s: a minor justice #fluffuary 2023 #aymeric de borel

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archivumesoterica · 2 years ago

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Twin Moons, pt. 1

The campfire flared as fresh logs were tossed in, sending shadows dancing wildly across the forest floor. The tanned wildwood returned to his seat, staring down the twin midlanders that sat down across from him. "Right, so the one whose left eye is gray is Bellina and the one whose left eye is blue is Avaline right?"

"No, no, the one whose right eye is blue is Avaline, and the one whose right eye is gray is Bell," barked back an older highlander, tightening his belt as he returned from relieving himself behind a tree.

"No, I think you're addled. Avaline was on the captain's left when he introduced them, and I distinctly remember her right eye being gray."

"That can't be, I'd remember that. In fact I'd bet a whole night's drinks on it."

"I'm afraid Geauque is right, Egill. Either way, perhaps you should directly ask our new compatriots directly rather than consider their existence in front of them, do you two not agree?" The reply came from a tent, where shortly after which another midlander, likely nearing his forties, came out from. The twins nodded at him, though remained silent.

"Sorry captain, just got a bit excited. Haven't seen a pair of twins before, let alone a strange pair like these two. Where did you manage to find them anyways?" The wildwood turned to his captain, meanwhile catching a coin purse tossed at him by the now grumbling highlander.

"I did not. After we lost A'yu the sergeant said he had someone special in mind, and when I gave him our report today he presented me them. Said they have some special circumstances that are best not asked about," he answered with a tired sigh.

Geauque gave a defeated shrug. "Well they've been in camp all day and not said a word. I highly doubt we'd even get an answer if we asked them."

"Be that as it may they are our new squadmates, and I expect the two of you to treat them as such. I know damn well I haven't heard either of you two address them directly. That said, I will remind you that we have an assignment tomorrow, so make sure your gear is in order and try not to spend the whole night drinking." With that the captain returned to his tent, closing the flap. The other two gave each other small shrugs before Egill turned back to the twins.

"We are sorry for talking around you two but like Geauque said, you ain't said a single word since you got here. We're not going to press you or anything, but it'd be easier on Oleander if you would say something every now and then. Best for our teamwork if we know how you think and all. Obviously we'll pick it up eventually, but it'd help it along and all."

Geauque nodded in agreement. "Aye. We certainly don't mean ill, but we're all squadmates now and we'll be putting our lives in each other's hands."

The twins nodded simultaneously at the two. Avaline was the first to break the two's silence, speaking with an even, quiet tone. "We cannot disclose how we came to be here. But if you have other important questions we will answer them.”

“Well then we should begin with the most immediately important bit, since we’ll be on our first assignment together tomorrow: how do you two fight?”

“I am an archer."

"And I have been trained in the lance," came Bellina's reply, not only sharing the same manner of speech, but also the same pitch.

Geauque and Egill stared at each other wide eyed for a moment before breaking out in laughter that echoed through the trees. As they began to wheeze and cough, the twins sat in placid silence. "By the gods, I don't think either of us were actually expecting that," Egill finally replied after catching his breath.

"I certainly didn't," came Geaque's confirmation. "Similar as you two seemed on the outside, I would have bet my next pay on your voices being different at the least. I'm glad I had second thoughts about that. Well, since you were nice enough to answer, I’ll let you know that me and the captain are also lancers, and this brute over here is inexplicably our conjurer and hearer."

The twins closed their eyes, giving a few slow nods. "Is there anything else you would like to know?" They asked simultaneously.

“Hmm, well then,” started Egill, “What do you two prefer to eat? I tend to cook most of the time and will eat anything, but pointy over there is a bit picky and complains anytime I put anything spicier than milk in. That said, I do try to make something everyone can eat. Saves a pot and my ear,” he ends with a laugh and a soft elbow to the elezen, who merely scowles at the highlander.

The twins stare at each other for a few, somewhat uncomfortable, moments before Avaline turns back to the others. “We have not had much of a varied diet, so we are unsure how to answer that. We haven’t experienced many foods that we ‘like’ or ‘dislike.’ If we discover any preference, we will be sure to let you know.”

The highlander hummed uncomfortably while scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose that’s a decent answer at least. I’ll change it up a bit more than usual for a while and see if that sparks anything.”

"I think," started Geauque, "that that is enough of a start for tonight. Most of our assignments are quiet anyways, so I'm not betting we'll see combat anytime soon."

"Aye, and as the captain said we should be checking our gear just in case anyways. Plus even if we ain't staying up all night, I'd like to get a few quiet drinks in before turning in for the night. We can pick this up another night," came the highlander.

The twins gave one more nod before Bellina replied. "Very well then. Goodnight mister Geauque, mister Egill."

#Twin Moons #Kahyy #ffxiv oc #wol #ffxiv #I was going to just do the whole story as a single post but I'm taking an eternity to finish it oops

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danydragons21 · 3 years ago

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The Shadows That Sing: Ch. 19

Read it on ao3 here.

This is the 3rd chapter I'm posting in 2 weeks and I am in AWE of myself but also do NOT get used to it because I make no promises for future updates to be this quick...But I also make no promises that they won’t be quick. lol. Anyway, enjoy ;)

Chapter 19: The House of Truth

Elain had been in Velaris for less than 24 hours, but she was already ready to leave.

Too incensed from her outburst, it had taken her hours to fall asleep, and she still woke up at dawn. Anger truly was the best alarm clock. And now, hours after waking, she found herself pacing around her room in the River House, absorbed in her resentment.

Elain was neither foolish nor cruel enough to pretend she was innocent of any blame. She had made plenty of mistakes, had done harm to people she cared about, and would spend the rest of her life trying to rectify and never repeat those mistakes. But so much of her anger — the anger she held in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart — was directed at her elder sister.

Nesta’s cruelty was not malicious or filled with ill-intent. She knew her sister had demons that haunted her every hour, and only this past year had she truly learned to confront and tame them. But that didn’t mean the decades of words and actions Nesta had imparted on Elain didn’t leave a raw and searing mark on her soul. And after all these years, she had finally had enough of her sister assuming what was best for her. Enough of everyone, Rhys and Feyre and all the rest, making important decisions for her. It was nothing short of blatant disrespect. And she was done with it.

She kept waiting for the shame to hit her, for the regret to creep in about how emotionally vulnerable she’d been the night before. But instead of regret, all she felt was clean. Like some grimy, contaminated piece of her soul had been scrubbed raw.

Her Fae ears pricked up as she heard someone walking up the stairs, heading for her room. A groan bubbled up in her throat; she swallowed it down. Thus far, she’d successfully avoided all contact with the others in the house, a feat she’d accomplished by refusing to leave her room. She still wasn’t ready to face anyone, but it seemed that once again, she did not have a choice. Summoning all her goodwill, she tried to paste a neutral smile on her face; one glance in the mirror told her the effort was hopeless. She may as well not try at all.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Elain whipped around to find a beautiful, golden-haired female leaning against the doorframe, her bright brown eyes sparkling.

“Mor,” she smiled, genuinely this time. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d planned to arrive last night in time for the Inner Circle meeting, but unfortunately I was delayed,” Mor said. “A meeting which, after hearing about what I’ve decided to coin ‘Elain’s Great Eruption,’ I’m quite sorry to have missed.”

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t regret saying any of it,” she said stiffly.

“And you shouldn’t,” Mor replied. “You’ve been expected to say nothing for far too long. I am glad you gave them all a piece of your mind.”

Elain blinked. “Thank you,” she murmured, unsure what else to say.

Mor shrugged and then sat in the middle of the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress. “It’s just the truth.”

“Well, you would know,” Elain gave her a crooked grin. Mor returned it with a smirk of her own.

“I would,” she agreed. “You don’t have to tell me, but…what in the gods’ names did Rhys do to you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so ashamed in his life.”

Elain sniffed. She sure hoped he felt shame. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No. Nor would Feyre, though from the way she was glaring at him, I’m certain she knows.”

Well, it was only a matter of time before everyone else knew, too. It’s not like she had tried to hide her problem with Rhys, even if she didn’t explicitly state what it was. She may as well tell Mor, even if her history with Azriel was complicated, to say the least.

“This past Solstice, Azriel and I… shared a moment,” she said carefully. Mor’s expression did not change, so she continued. “We were drunk and it was late, and I suppose we were both lonely…and we almost kissed.” Well, that was close enough to the truth. No need to elaborate on her incredibly confusing feelings for the Spymaster.

“Almost?” Mor raised an eyebrow.

“Almost. Rhys happened upon us before we could, and spoke to Azriel via his Daemati powers. Told him that he had to stop immediately, and then later ordered him to stay away from me. I just found out recently.”

Mor’s mouth dropped open. “He did not,” she said in a hushed voice. “That rat bastard!”

Unable to help it, Elain let out a dry laugh. “My thoughts exactly.”

“So…you and Azriel…has anything else, you know…happened?”

“Oh, no,” she said. Her voice was slightly higher-pitched than usual, but she didn’t think Mor noticed. “Nothing has happened. And nothing will happen. We are just friends. But it’s the principle of the thing. Rhys has no right to control what does or doesn’t happen in either of our personal lives, certainly not for such ridiculous political reasons.” In truth, Elain knew that the reasons weren’t entirely ridiculous, even if they were unfair…but she was still too upset to let rationality rule.

“He doesn’t. And I’m glad you stuck up for yourself. Rhys is a stubborn old male sometimes, and has to be reminded every once in a while that being High Lord doesn’t mean he always knows what is best.”

“Well, I’m happy to be of service in the telling-Rhys-off department.”

Mor laughed. “ So when are you going back to the Mortal Manor?”

“As soon as possible. I was hoping to leave before noon, but I think Azriel is still on a mission right now, and…” She glanced through the window, to where the sun was shining brightly. It might already be noon.

“And you don’t want to ask any of the others to take you?” Mor finished.

Elain sent her a guilty look. “Not particularly, no,” she admitted.

“I can take you, if you’d like,” Mor said brightly. “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye to everyone first?”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “And that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Mor smiled, squeezing her arm. Then she cocked her head to the side slightly, a curious look on her face.

“What?” Elain asked, rather defensively.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else wrong?”

Elain didn't even hesitate. “Of course I’m sure.”

“I see,” Mor said, still staring at her intently. Elain looked away. That was the problem. She was worried her friend did see.

***

She was in Pentalos again, walking along the cobbled streets of the trading market. Salty air tickled her nose. The large golden wheel glittered in the sun. As she passed it, she took a sharp left turn, heading down an alleyway she had not visited before. A few minutes later she stopped in front of a curiously cylindrical building, made entirely of rock, seashells embedded throughout. A bright red door was built into the stone.

Elain woke up with a start, panting. A shaky hand passed over her forehead, wiping away the thin layer of sweat coated there. She was in her room at the Mortal Manor; it was dark outside. She vaguely recalled laying down shortly after Mor had dropped her off at the Manor, since all the members of the Band of Exiles were occupied; apparently, her exhaustion had finally caught up to her. As she steadied her breathing, and as she recounted the vision that had awoken her, clarity rose like the tide.

Minutes later, she was outside of Azriel’s bedroom door. She knocked quietly, unsure if he was even inside; she didn’t know if he was back from his mission, after all; didn’t know if he would return here or go to Velaris, especially given the way things had been left the last time they’d spoken. But the vision she’d just had took precedence over any residual animosity she felt about the situation. And Azriel was the only one she could speak to about it.

The door opened. Azriel stood there, wearing nothing but tight black undershorts, rubbing his sleepy, puffy eyes. His shadows were moving slower than usual, as if they too had been resting.

“Elain,” he said. “Good morning. I mean, good night? I mean—”

“I had a vision,” she interrupted.

He blinked. “Of what?”

“Pentalos. We need to go back there.”

Running a hand over his jaw, he said, “I just returned from there, Elain. I checked all the islands and still could not find a sign of the Autumn Court soldiers.”

“No. My vision wasn’t about the Autumn Court soldiers.”

His shadows stopped their lazy circles as Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “Then what was it about?”

Lifting her chin, she did her best to look authoritative to someone who was nearly a foot taller than her. “Take me there now, and I’ll show you.”

He frowned. “Now? It’s the middle of the night, Elain. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m feeling rather energized, actually.”

“We can’t just show up there, we need to plan ahead—”

“Why? It won’t take long. I know exactly where to go. You shadow-travel us there. We go where my vision told me to go, learn whatever it is I’m supposed to learn. Then we leave. Easy as pie.”

“You have clearly not been on enough spy missions if you think things will go that smoothly.”

“Please, Azriel. I need to go. Now.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, she knew she had won. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Come in while I get dressed.”

She shut the door softly behind her. Azriel was halfway across the room, pulling out his Illyrian leathers from a dresser. Her mouth watered slightly at the sight of his broad, toned back, the shoulder muscles jutting out like mountain peaks. She shook her head and cast her gaze on the ceiling instead.

“I’m surprised you’re talking to me.” His voice was flat, level, but Elain could detect the slightest trace of trepidation. Like he truly had not expected her to want to speak to him. Whatever iciness she still felt toward him melted away in an instant.

“I’ve decided that you are not the one who deserves my anger, after all,” she said as lightly as possible.

He turned around, fully dressed now. His face was just as detached as his voice, but there was a curious glint in his hazel eyes.

“So you are not angry with me?”

“No. Are you angry with me?”

He frowned. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I sort of…let Rhys have it last night. He knows that I know about Solstice, and even though I didn’t explicitly say you were the one who told me, he’ll probably figure it out. He might be angry at you.”

Azriel just shrugged. “I truly don’t care if he’s angry with me.”

“But you care if I’m angry with you?” She asked.

He stared at her with those unreadable eyes. “Yes.”

Her throat bobbed again, and her stupid, once-mortal heart started racing unreasonably fast as he approached her.

“Ready?”

Before she finished nodding, they were twisting away into the familiar, all-encompassing darkness.

***

With the golden wheel as a marking point, it was quite easy to find the seashell-coated building she’d seen in her vision. Up close, she could see now that it was some sort of shop. It looked even shabbier than it did in her vision. Ramshackle shutters framed dirty windows, creaking eerily in the sea breeze. A hand painted, wooden sign hung over the door, bearing the words “The House of Truth.” And underneath, in smaller font: “Fortune-Telling by the Esteemed Lady Margota.”

Azriel snorted. “A fortune-teller.” He shook his head. “This is a waste of time, Elain. Fortune-tellers are nothing more than frauds, wheedling money out of those desperate for answers they cannot provide. Besides, what more could this ‘Lady Margota’ tell you that you don’t already know? You are an actual seer, after all.”

“I’m not sure. Let’s find out, shall we?” And Elain led the way into the shop.

It looked less like a business and more like a storage unit for discarded items. There was barely any space to walk; she and Azriel were uncomfortably close as they wove around the countless knick-knacks littered throughout the room: threadbare poufs and sofas missing legs; chests made of decaying wood; a dusty old glass tank, taller than Azriel, filled with murky water. Elain shuddered, deciding she did not care to ever learn what kind of creature dwelled in that tank. Shelves lined the walls, candles of every shape, size and color upon them. The smell of sickly-sweet perfume hung in the air, stagnant and overwhelming.

A stooped, short male appeared behind the counter. “How can I help you?” He asked promptly.

“We’d like an audience with Lady Margota, if she is available,” Elain said, ignoring the glare Azriel sent her.

The male nodded. “Wait here a moment.” He turned to leave before spinning back around. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned, and then walked out the door he’d entered through.

“You think they’d consider a little organization if these objects are so valuable,” Azriel muttered. Elain bit her lip to hide her grin.

The male returned. “Lady Margota will see you now.” They followed him into a long hallway. At the end stood a doorway, framed by crimson, velvet curtains. The male pointed. “She’s just through there.” And without further ado, he returned to the storefront, leaving Azriel and Elain alone once again. They began to walk toward the curtains. They were almost there when Azriel’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said quietly, just in case someone was listening.

She wrenched her wrist away. “This place appeared to me for a reason.” Her voice was equally as hushed. “You can either come with me and find out what that reason is, or wait outside while I find out for myself,” she said, her teeth bared. Then she whipped around and pushed back the heavy curtains.

They entered a wide and circular room. Mismatched rugs, tattered and worn, covered nearly every surface of the floor. The heavily-perfumed air was marred slightly by the musty scent of mildew and mothballs.The only light came from the candles littering the circular table in the very center of the room and the triangular skylight directly overhead; the moon peered dimly through the dusty glass.

At the head of the table sat a female Fae. From her position, Elain could barely make out the female’s features, save for her eyes. They were green and cat-like in shape, curiously luminous. Something about them reminded her of Amren’s eyes, or the way they used to be, and Elain was suddenly sure that this was no ordinary Fae.

“Hello, my dears,” the female said. Her voice was low and silky. “Sit with me, please.” A pale hand gestured to two open chairs. After exchanging a sideway glance, she and Azriel hesitantly sat down at the opposite end of the table. From this closer angle, Elain could now clearly see the female’s face. She was older for a Fae—at least twice Azriel’s age, if not more—but still classically, immortally beautiful. Raven-black hair hung in elaborate curls around sharp cheekbones, and those green eyes were even more fascinating up close.

“Hello,” Elain said. Her voice seemed to echo throughout the chamber, even though she’d spoken barely above a whisper.

“Welcome to the House of Truth. My name is Lady Margota.”

“My name is Sonia,” Elain said. No way in hell was she giving this female her real name. “And this is Roach.” Azriel did not even twitch a muscle at the ugly name, but a shadow surreptitiously poked her in the ribs.

“Sonia and Roach,” Lady Margota repeated. “Tell me, what brings you both here today?”

“I’m wondering if you could help me answer some questions I have. Questions about my magic.”

“Ah, on a quest to discover the truth of your abilities? I can certainly help with that,” she said sagely. “I’ve told many visitors all they want to know about themselves. Such is the gift of truth, which I possess limitlessly.” A long yellow nail pointed at them. “I will, of course, require payment.”

“Of course, how much do you—” Elain started, but Azriel interrupted her.

“You can cut the act,” he said angrily. “We don’t believe in fortune-telling.” Elain sent him an annoyed look. “You are not a true seer. Your trade consists of lucky guesswork and spooky ambiance. Why should we pay you for that?”

Lady Margota’s serene expression did not change, but the candles flickered ominously, as if a cold wind had blown through the room. “I am not a true seer, no. Nor do I pretend to be,” she said coldly. “My gift is something else entirely, but arguably just as valuable.”

“And what might that be?” He asked skeptically.

The Lady of the House of Truth rolled back her shoulders. Those strange green eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. “I am a Blood Oracle.”

Elain had no idea what a Blood Oracle was, but from the way Azriel immediately straightened up, one hand shooting to the hilt of Truth-Teller and the other spanning protectively across her waist, she knew it couldn’t be good.

“A Blood Oracle,” he snarled.

“You should take your hands off your weapon. It would do no good to start a fight when your friend is so close to the answers she craves.”

“We’re leaving, Sonia. Come on.” He stood up but Lady Margota spoke again. “I am not like the other Blood Oracle you have met. Or at least, I have not been that way in a long time. But you should know that, seeing as we are a nearly extinct breed. One that you helped eradicate. You are an Illyrian warrior, no?”

Azriel stared at her with dark, unreadable eyes. “The Blood Oracles went on a rampage. They ravaged villages, looted and plundered and killed,” he said finally. “We did what we had to do.”

“You’re right,” the Lady said. “We were out of control. But seeing as I am one of the few who survived, it must be because I stood down in the end, no? Turned against my own kind and was allowed to live because of it?”

Slowly, Azriel sat back down, but his eyes remained fully trained on the female.

“Will someone please tell me what a Blood Oracle is?” Elain asked.

“A Blood Oracle is a Fae whose powers allow him or her to read a person. To know the truths and secrets that make up their very essence.”

“What do you mean, read them? Like read their minds?”

“No. Blood Oracles are not Daemati, and vice versa. Our powers enable us to discover certain…attributes a person possesses. Attributes that they themselves might not even know.”

“How?” Elain’s eyes were wide.

The Oracle raised an eyebrow. “By tasting the blood of the person in question.”

Elain blinked in shock. Um. What ?

“You drink blood?” Her question was little more than a whisper.

“On occasion,” Lady Margota answered, waving her hand casually. “It is not a staple in my diet, if that’s what you are wondering. More like a dessert I get to indulge myself with every once in a while, especially these last few centuries. And don’t worry—I never drink much blood when I am reading someone.”

Deciding to move past the fact that the Fae who sat in front of her was a veritable vampire, she asked, “If you were to read me…what could you tell me? What information could you give me?”

“Oh, a plethora of things. I could tell you the color of your great-grandfather’s eyes. Recount the precise date of your very first moon blood. Discover what diseases you are particularly susceptible to. Discern how many sexual partners you’ve had, and which one brought you the most pleasure.” Elain went bright red, suddenly very grateful for the dimness of the room. “I can even tell you exactly what kind of magic lives inside of you. You see, our blood carries memories. It is our past and our present and our future written in one genetic code, flowing in our very veins. All it would take is one taste, and I could give you the answers about your powers that you so desperately seek.”

Lady Margota reached behind her and slowly pulled out a small silver knife. Azriel growled in warning. “Calm yourself, Roach,” the Oracle said dryly. She offered the hilt to Elain. “All you need to do is cut your palm—a nice, shallow cut, all the way across. Just enough so you bleed. And then… then you let me have a taste.” She smiled, and it made her stunning face look rather wicked.

“Sonia,” Azriel hissed. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

She ignored him. Her heart was beating fast. I could give you the answers about your powers you so desperately seek. Oh, gods above, she wanted those answers. Wanted the truth. Then another voice rang in her head, joining the Oracle’s. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Her sister’s cruel words still stung. But this was not about being interesting, not about impressing anyone. This was about discovering what she could do. Discovering what exactly she was capable of. As a Seer, as a Healer…as maybe something more.

A reckless abandon rushed through her. “Yes,” she whispered, and before Azriel could move, she grabbed the knife and ran it across her palm. The cut burned, but she ignored the stinging pain and held out her hand to the Oracle, watching in equal parts fear and fascination as a few drops of her crimson blood drizzled on the table.

She could feel Azriel’s gaze, fierce and scorching, burning a hole in the side of her head, but she didn’t care. No. All she cared about was finally getting the truth.

Lady Margota bent down, inhaling deeply through her nose. She closed her eyes and groaned slightly. “Your blood smells delicious.” Elain didn't even have time to process how weird that was when the Oracle latched her lips onto the cut. A gasp escaped her at the sudden burn, but a moment later it abated into a pulsing, rather pleasant pressure.

“That’s enough,” Azriel growled after a moment. Apparently Lady Margota agreed, for she lifted her head and opened her eyes. They were nearly as bright as the candles now. Like Elain’s blood had invigorated them.

“You taste as good as you smell,” the Lady told her, leaning back in her chair. A sated grin lazily crossed her face, her lips ruby-red. Elain was not sure what the hell she was supposed to say to that.

“So…what did you learn?” She asked.

“Your blood…it tastes powerful. Bright and citrusy and powerful . I’ve never tasted anything like it. Not in my thousand years of life. It is completely new to me.”

Elain frowned. “So you can’t tell me what my magic means?”

“I didn’t say that. Only that your blood is a unique sort of cocktail.” She tilted her head. “You taste like a healer, but you are…not a healer.”

"What do you mean I am not a healer? I’ve healed things before.”

“I’m sure you have. Your powers are similar to healing, but different, too. More ancient. Like finely-aged wine.” Those green eyes widened as some realization occurred. “Gods above,” she whispered. “You have…you have the gift of life,” she whispered.

Beside her, Azriel inhaled sharply. Elain blinked. “I don’t understand.”

The Oracle shook her head. “It is not for you to understand. It is for you to acknowledge. You will understand when it is time.” She glanced down at the table, where Elain’s bleeding hand still lay outstretched. Quick as a snake, the Lady of the House bent and tongued the cut. Elain snatched her hand back in alarm. Lady Margota licked her lips thoughtfully afterward, apparently ruminating on the taste. Suddenly, she froze. “You have another gift,” she whispered. Something dark and twisted slithered in the depths of her eyes. That same sinister smile blossomed on her face. Under the table, Azriel squeezed Elain’s knee in warning. A shadow whispered in her ear: We need to leave. Now.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Elain said. Her lips were dry.

The Oracle’s sneer grew more pronounced. “Don’t act like you don’t know, Kingslayer.”

A heartbeat later, a massive blast of green magic shot out of Lady Margota’s hands. Elain’s chair flew backwards; she was airborne for a terrifying moment. Then she hit the ground hard, headfirst. It was so loud, suddenly, a cacophony of sounds. Before she could even sit up, Azriel was in front of her, a swirling shield of sapphire power surrounding them. Lady Margota’s own emerald sorcery pushed against the shield, and over the powerful rush of magic echoing throughout the room, Elain could hear the female laughing, cruelly and chaotically.

“You’re too late! They will be here soon!”

“Are you okay?” Azriel yelled to Elain, his voice panicked. His siphons, all seven of them, were glowing. She nodded, even though her head was pounding, her vision going in and out. She stood on shaky legs, blinking furiously, pushing away the darkness that threatened to overtake her vision through sheer will. A stream of blood trickled down from her forehead. Her eyes met his. “Grab on to my—”

But he was cut off by a sudden blast of scarlet flames. The cobalt shield around them disappeared. Elain watched in horror as Azriel was thrown backwards, hitting the opposite wall hard. He slumped against the floor, knocked out. Or worse. Terror gripped her like she had never known, and she started to race toward him when someone grabbed her from behind.

“I’ve got her!” An unfamiliar male voice yelled. She was in a full-fledged panic now, screaming and kicking and praying to any gods that might be listening for Azriel to be okay, he had to be okay, he had to be. Another male stepped in front of her, wearing the signature armor of the Autumn Court. He was flanked by even more soldiers, all laden with weapons.

“We need to leave,” a soldier said. The Blood Oracle was still cackling. “Someone kill the Shadowsinger and let’s get out of here.”

Kill the Shadowsinger. No. No, they could not. They could not take him away from her. She would simply not allow it.

And then a voice spoke to her. It was different from any other inner voice she had listened to before. Not the sad and sorrowful one that worried she was not enough. Not the angry, resentful one that lived in the void of her heart. No, this voice was something entirely else, soft and soothing and full of something vital, something ancient. Like moonlight reflecting off the waves that lapped against the shore. This voice…it was as much a part of her as it was a part of everything else. The essence of eternity.

She closed her eyes, letting that voice fill her with courage. And when the voice told her what to do, she listened.

And opened her eyes.

The room filled with brilliant white light, blindingly bright. Waves of raw magic, as powerful as they were pure, exploded out of Elain, encompassing everyone and everything in the room. The table and chairs flew apart; the glass skylight shattered overhead. One moment the soldiers were standing; the next, they fell to the floor. They did not scream. They did not bleed.

The light faded seconds later. Seconds. That is all it took.

It was incredibly silent for a moment; then a low groan sounded from across the room. Elain sobbed in relief as Azriel sat up. Did not hesitate as she ran to him, as she cupped his face in her hands.

“Elain,” he rasped out. “What happened?” His dazed eyes widened in shock as he looked behind her and beheld the soldiers scattered on the floor. Dead.

“My gods,” he whispered. “You…you did this? You stopped them all?”

She nodded numbly.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Her hands were shaking.

They both jumped when a grating voice spoke from the other side of the room. “You know,” Lady Margota said.

Azriel and Elain walked over to the Oracle. She was in a curled position on the floor, breathing heavily, one hand clutching her stomach. Her silk shirt was soaked through with blood, her own knife shoved deep into her side. It appears she had landed on it when the force of Elain’s magic threw her backwards.

“You almost got me, little witch,” the Lady said savagely. “My shield was strong enough to stop the death blow…but apparently my intestines weren’t so lucky,” she gestured ruefully to the wound. “Not quite powerful enough yet, but when you master that power…you will bring down mountains, girl. You will destroy and remake thrones.”

Elain just stared at the female, her expression unmoved. Next to her, Azriel slowly withdrew Truth-Teller. “You called those soldiers here,” he said flatly.

The Oracle grinned wide. Blood coated her teeth. “I did not have a choice. They wanted the Seer. It was nothing personal.” She coughed. More blood.

Elain clenched her fists. “We always have a choice.” Held Lady’s Margota’s gaze, sure and steady, as she said to Azriel, “Do it.” Did not look away, even when Azriel ran the knife across the Oracle’s throat, even as the light in those wicked emerald eyes faded away into nothing. When it was done, she took a few steps back, letting out a ragged breath. He joined her moments later, Truth-Teller still in his hand. Blood dripped off the tip of the dagger.

They looked at each other, alone among the dead. Pearly moonlight shone through the gap in the ceiling that used to be the window. The thrill of nearly falling into death’s velvety grip lent a surrealness to the moment, and it was that thrill, surely, it must be, that had her walking toward him.

His shadows floated a little further away with each step she took. Like they trusted her. Like they knew if anyone could take care of their master, it was her. She stopped about a foot away from him. Her heart thundered in her chest. His face, his very being ,was brighter than she’d ever seen it. He was beautiful in the darkness, but he was utterly stunning in the light.

The intensity of his gaze made her blood sing. He took a step forward, dropping Truth-Teller to the ground like it was nothing of importance. Their chests touched, leather against satin, rough against soft. Scarred fingers gripped her chin, tilting her head just so. His other hand wound itself in her long hair. It was almost exactly as it was that night. She could taste her pulse in the back of her throat. The scent of anticipation and desire was thick in the air, and she did not care about what she was or what magic she possessed. Did not care about the bodies, still warm, that littered the floor. All she cared about was the hungry, hooded eyes locked on hers. The lush lips that were so close to her own she could feel his hot breath.

It was all of it—the thrill of living when death had seemed inevitable, the dreamlike backdrop of the ruined room cloaked in moonlight, the carnal ache pulsing through her veins—that had her at long last, finally, closing the space between them and pressing her lips to his.

#elriel #elrielfic #Elain #elain archeron #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #pro elain #Azriel #pro elriel #elriel forever #elriel fanfic #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #post acosf #tsts #theshadowsthatsing

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keilemlucent · 3 years ago

Text

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧ (minors do not interact)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating,

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside.

It is easier this way.

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe.

Acid stings your throat for hours.

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.)

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

(You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward!

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips.

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks.

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting.

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom.

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

#salem writes #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw dark content #tw yandere #tw vomit #it's vomit from illness btw #tw self injury #please lemme know if i miss a tag #hawks x reader #yandere hawks #i might delete this or repost to my side blog sdklfjla #we will see #for now it is here

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years ago

Text

Fever Dream

(Written for @sicktember prompt #1 - Fever! I finished it in time for the first but didn't have the energy to edit.)

Angels didn’t get sick, precisely

They didn’t have bodies that were, strictly speaking, physical, and therefore couldn’t harbor any of the illnesses that plagued mankind and other earthly creatures.

An angel could, however, burn through enough of his own grace that his corporation began to malfunction.

He would then, as it were, fall ill.

This happened to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels.

A weak constitution was the general explanation; too much time mucking about on the strange old planet, not enough time bathing in the glorious healing light of the celestial sphere.

When he was down on Earth, he was always prying, poking, trying new things, many of which had never been approved, could have any manner of ill effects. He knew he should show some proper restraint, withdraw a bit more from the world, but he couldn’t help himself.

And when he did return to huddle miserably in a recovery ward, waiting for the chills to pass and his temperature to stabilize, Gabriel would always visit, dropping broad hints about the pressures of fieldwork and the under appreciated glory of a solid administrative career. Offering all kinds of advice as to what, exactly, a proper angel would cut out of his life if he wished to better focus on his ordained duties.

And so, when the symptoms next came upon him—muscle aches, irritability, sweat and chills until he didn’t know if he was hot or cold—Aziraphale decided to wait it out on Earth. It would only take a few days to recover and, anyway, he had business to attend to. Important business that could not wait.

“Angel, are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley demanded, a glint of gold just visible between black lenses and furrowed brow.

“Yes, I’m perf—” he turned his head to cough lightly, but an odd spasm came over his throat, transforming it into something deep and hacking that left his ribs aching and his brow dripping with sweat. “…tickety-boo,” he muttered, turning back to his mug.

“Keep it down,” hissed the demon, glancing around the common room of the inn. Perhaps one or two people had glanced over, but nothing out of the ordinary. “People will think you have the plague.” The last two words he barely mouthed.

“My dear fellow, do be serious. I have hardly any symptoms of the plague.” Only the last part sounded more like sybtobs otha blayyyg.

He cleared his throat and tried to sniff, which started a complicated chain reaction that ended with a mouthful of what he hoped was spit.

As Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with alarm, Crowley quickly pulled out a deep red handkerchief, which the angel gratefully spat into. Unsure what to do next, Aziraphale folded it over and offered it back, but Crowley leaned away, face contorted in horror.

“Oh, ah… thank you, then?” He took a quick glance inside and immediately wished he hadn’t, grimacing at the color of what his body had produced.

“Just… just eat your soup,” Crowley muttered, waving a hand at the bowl he’d been toying with until it was hardly above room temperature.

Aziraphale had ordered it thinking a bit of warmth would be lovely, as he’d been shivering fit for midwinter morning. But after one mouthful, he’d found himself sweating, tugging at his collar to relieve some of the heat. Now he could feel the shivers coming on again, but he couldn’t warm it back up. Until the illness passed, any miracles would just make it worse.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale poked at something that might have been a parsnip. “I’m going to be out of town for the next few weeks. Temptations all up and down the continent. Might take the rest of the season. Unless…” Using that lilting voice that suggested a coin flip might be imminent.

“Mmmh.” Aziraphale looked mournfully into his beer, finally hazarding another sip. The taste of hops struck him at the back of the throat and he quickly expelled the rest back into the mug. “Sorry, m’dear. Not this time. I got…” he waved his hand, waiting for the rest of the words. They didn’t appear to be forthcoming. “Things,” he finally said. “In the city. Until at least…” He rubbed his forehead, but it was hard to think when it was so cold. He pulled his heavy coat back on, bundling up.

“Oh, well. Things. Obviously can’t take you away from things.” Aziraphale nodded miserably, trying to focus on his bowl. “Angel, look,” and as Crowley leaned close, there was something new in his voice, something that sounded rather like concern. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, there’s nothing… nobody…”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes feeling… sticky. What was Crowley getting at? He should really be more direct, clever Serpent, it was hard enough to think in all this heat. He struggled out of his coat, dabbing uselessly at the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Satan’s—are you cursed?” He hissed the last word even softer than he’d said plague.

“No,” the angel said, resting his head on his hand until his neck recovered enough strength to hold it up again. “M’not. S’just… things!”

In his attempt to gesture with both hands, Aziraphale forgot one was already occupied and very nearly wound up face-first in the soup.

“Azir—!” Crowley rounded the table in an instant, tugging him upright again. “What has come over you?”

“S’rry. People staring? S’not… not… proper.”

“Angel, you’re—you’re burning up!”

“Not. S’cold.” Then an icy hand touched his forehead and cheek, and Aziraphale groaned, trying to pull away.

“What the Heaven is going on?”

“Toldya. Things. Illness. From… from…” he tried to gesture with one arm, but it weighed too much to lift. “Being a… bad angel…”

A heavy sigh. “C’mere, you.” Crowley hauled him to his feet.

Aziraphale was pleased to find he could stand, just that his spinning head and aching limbs made it unpleasant. He couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go, but there was something solid nearby to lean on and a hand on his waist, guiding him forward.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he realized something wasn’t right. “Crowley! This is—we—we can’t—where—what are you—”

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aziraphale squinted dimly towards the upper floor. “Yes…?”

“Yes. And you, Angel, are in need of a bed.”

But.

But it was improper! Scandalous, even, talking of rooms, and beds, or rooms andbeds, or any combination thereof, particularly in the singular form. What if someone saw? An angel and a demon, bad enough, but two allegedly respectable gentlemen?

Or, wait, was one of them currently presenting as a woman? Likely not Aziraphale, though he sometimes lost track, but Crowley, well, that could also be hard to tell, but he seemed to have a good amount of jewelry and no facial hair, so there was a chance.

Still, male or female, angel or human, there would be rumor, gossip, talk about the town! It would get back to Heaven! This was worse than being thought weak and improper, Gabriel would think him some sort of reprobate!

Crowley paused, one hand on a door. “This is me. Um. I’ll go back down if it makes you feel better.”

What? And have all the rumor with none of the satisfaction? The shame of spending a night in a demon’s bed without the pleasures—oh, he knew what Crowley got up to. One of the Seven Sins that was, and Aziraphale would not be tempted into joining. No, not he!

“Right. Nh. Going to help you out of some of these layers, then I’ll go.”

Go? Go?After Aziraphale had come all this way, come so very close? No, he’d spent centuries imagining how it would be, and he’d never be truly satisfied until he had a reality to compare it to. Aziraphale very much wanted to know what Crowley looked like while he slept.

Yes, Crowley, Sloth is one of the Seven Sins, a demon should know these things.

And while Aziraphale had the general idea clear enough, he still had questions. Did Crowley snore, or did he breathe softly? He certainly would sleep on his side, curled up, but how heavy would his head be, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest? If they talked, would his words become slurred as he drifted off, or would he listen quietly while Aziraphale spoke, running his fingers through bright red hair?

Come to that, how did his hair feel, or his cheek, or his lips? Aziraphale hadn’t thought much about lips, generally, but now that Crowley was always hiding his eyes, well, they had become the focus of his face, and that presented fascinating possibilities, ones that Gabriel certainly wouldn’t approve of, but he’d always been too curious for his own good. And really, what was a harmless little experiment between—

Oh, good Lord, was Aziraphale talking out loud?

He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.

But Crowley chuckled, resting a hand on his shoulder; in only his undershirt, he could feel it so clearly—ice cold, but not unpleasantly so. “Your secrets are safe, Angel. Lay down.”

Too embarrassed to object, Aziraphale crawled into the bed and let Crowley pull a blanket over him. “Keep that on, yeah?”

“S’hot,” the angel whined. His voice sounded very odd, slurred, weak. Perhaps that meant Crowley hadn’t understood his rambling before.

“I know. Just try.” Something cool and damp wiped his face and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Has this happened before?”

“Mmmh. Over an’over an’over.” In Heaven, they would assign him a recovery room, to sit alone and reflect on what he’d done to earn himself the illness, on what he could do to better serve in the future. Gabriel always had good suggestions.

The being alone. That was the worst part. Hated that.

Crowley was talking. Something would be right there, beside the bed. That was probably important, but the angel was already asleep.

In Aziraphale’s dream, Gabriel told him over and over that he’d failed again, that this was his own fault, that he was a terrible angel who didn’t deserve… something.

Possibly anything.Again and again, the Archangel took everything he valued—his books, his sweets, his day at the theater, the beauty of the sunrise, the way humans smiled at each other after many days apart, and something else, something far more important, but the name was forbidden—

Again, something cool pressed to his forehead, his chest. Fingers raked through his hair, helping the sweat to evaporate. “See?” A voice murmured. “Better already.” But everything was getting grey and distant again.

Now Aziraphale was in a room, an enormous room, empty but somehow still cluttered. All the things he loved were here, hidden, and Gabriel ordered him to find them all or they’d be destroyed. He searched frantically, among endless piles of brown packages, and found most of them—books and smiles and sunrises—mixed in with kettles, mittens and (for some reason) cat whiskers. But the last thing, the final thing, the important thing was still missing, and the room grew hotter and hotter—

“Try this now.” Something supported Aziraphale’s back as he sat up, leaning against… a thing… a thing that meant warmth and safety. A mug pressed to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he drank, but it felt good. “Now let’s get you settled again.”

He didn’t go down easily, though, reaching and writhing, somehow grasping the safe thing, pulling it close. If he let it get away, Gabriel would destroy it.

“I see. Alright. You stay there.” Fingers through his hair again, more resting lightly on his shoulder. “I got you. Nothing’s going to—”

Reality tumbled away and he was falling, possibly Falling, the voices of Gabriel and Michael and Uriel all around him, insulting him, taunting him, asking him why he hadn’t filed form HX-3 in triplicate. He clung desperately to the thing he needed as the temperature rose, more voices joining in, every voice. The Hellfire licked at him, even as he trembled and shook uncontrollably. This was the end, he would die here, he’d never said—

“Crowley!” He called, desperate. “Crowley don’t—don’t leave me!”

The thing he held shifted, and now there were arms wrapped around him, protecting him. “There we are. Not going to leave.”

It was too hot to bear, but still he burrowed closer. “Crowley, please. I can’t—I—I need you!”

“Not going anywhere, Angel. Not ever.”

“Crowley!” The Hellfire burst within him, a flash of heat up and down his body, his limbs, his soul—

And then he was… exhausted.

The shaking faded, the heat and cold gone, though he still found himself covered in sweat. Nothing remained but a strange sense of calm.

Still clinging to his lifeline, Aziraphale drifted off into a proper restful sleep.

He opened his eyes to find the late evening sun slanting through an open window. The blanket was largely twisted around his legs and the bed below him was oddly hard and lumpy, even if it was nice—

“You’re looking better.”

Aziraphale scrambled up in horror to find that the thing he’d been laying on—clinging to for dear life—was six feet of rumpled, uncomfortable-looking demon. A demon he vaguely recalled saying some very revealing things to…

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale’s face burned again, but not from fever. He covered, his eyes turning away. “Crowley—you—you—how—”

“Gah! M’sorry!” He heard Crowley push himself upright, sliding away. “I—I—I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean—”

No of course not. It wasn’t as though Crowley shared his strange desires, his secret obsessions, his awful curiosity. Crowley was a—a perfectly normal demon who would have no interest in prolonged contact, particularly with a most clingy, damaged angel…

“What must you think of me?” he moaned.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Crowley grumbled. “I saw you panicking but I didn’t know—shouldn’t have assumed—”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Crossed a line, and—and now look—”

“I’m a terrible, foolish, needy…”

“Didn’t want to take advantage—I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry! Wait…” That wasn’t right. Aziraphale cautiously lowered his hands to see Crowley sitting frozen with the glasses halfway to his face. “You’re sorry?”

“Mnh. Yeah. Cuz… cuz I’m the one who…” his eyes dropped. “You seemed upset. Scared. I just… I made it worse, didn’t I? Shoulda known you wouldn’t want…”

“But…” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to recall anything clearly. “I… I seem to remember… propositioning you. Repeatedly.”

Crowley’s face turned red, but he smiled. Not his confident swaggering smirk, but something awkward and genuine that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden. “Not… repeatedly. N’I’d hardly call it… besides it was… you know. But!” His fingers twisted on the metal frames of his glasses. “But, look—I don’t—you aren’t responsible for—for the things you say when you’re sick, ‘specially things you don’t mean—and I—s’my responsibility not to—” He ducked his head even further. “Just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have assumed… that you meant… what I wanted…”

“What…” Aziraphale reached out but couldn’t quite touch him. “What you want?”

“Um.” Golden eyes flicked up. “You’re… not the only one who wondered about… the sleeping stuff. Who doesn’t like to be… alone.” He cleared his throat. “Or, at least, I thought—”

“I believe I told you I needed you.” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant that. Precisely the way you took it. I—I meant most of it.”

Crowley’s eyes blinked, very slowly.

And the next moment, they were swept into each other’s arms, Aziraphale once again clinging to his friend like a lifeline. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he managed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale pressed closer. “Thank you for staying.”

When they broke apart, Crowley was as bright red as Aziraphale had felt at the height of his fever, glasses back in place, staring fixedly at his own legs. “So. Mmmmh. Now what?”

Aziraphale considered that question more carefully than he’d ever considered anything.

“I think… I’m recovering…”

“S’good.” Crowley shifted as if to stand.

“…but still very tired. I should probably rest another night?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Do you—I can go?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His heart started to fall, until Crowley shrugged.

“I do, but… not urgently.”

“If you have the time there’s… there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Well. Big fan of knowledge, me.”

Aziraphale carefully lay down again, keeping his arms wide. A moment later, Crowley took a deep breath, set aside his glasses and joined him.

It turned out that Crowley’s head on his chest was the perfect weight. That he did indeed curl up, though in the most convoluted ways. That in his sleep, Crowley’s breaths were gentle and soft, much like his hair, and he tried very much to keep talking on the edge of consciousness even when he didn’t have much to say.

As for the kissing, well—certain observations did not need to be made public.

(AO3 link later today...)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #sicktember #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #sick aziraphale #cuddles #fever #protective crowley #soft crowley #there was only one bed #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #my writing #prompt challenge

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vivianweasley · 4 years ago

Text

Reason Why I Hate You (Fred Weasley X Reader)

Summary: You hated Fred Weasley, but you just didn’t know why. Maybe it was because there was some unfinished business between you two from a past life? past life au and a bit of enemies to lovers.

Prompt: this is for @slytherinsunrise‘s writing challenge and the prompt is Historical AU! Hope you guys would like it:)

Pairing: Fred Weasley X Fem!Reader

Warnings: murder, major character death, arranged marriage, terrible husband, reader’s family in past life is pureblood supremacist, sound of explosion (firework), angst in the past life, fluff in this life

Word Count: 2.2k

Special thanks to @valwritesx for giving me wonderful advices<3

Disclaimer: all the pictures in the moodboard are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

It all began on an early autumn afternoon.

1815, an afternoon in September, Frederick Weasley just threw a water ball on his potions professor, and he was now hiding in a broom closet, waiting for his angry professor to go away.

But he heard footsteps approaching the door. Just when Fred was sure that detention is waiting for him, he saw a girl at the door.

“What are you doing-” before you could even finish your question, Fred pulled you into the broom closet, closed the door, and covered your mouth with his hand.

The space inside the broom closet was so limited that your bodies were pressed together now. You felt your face heating up, and your heart was racing. You should be furious. You should scold the man in front of you for being rude or even slap him for that, but you were just standing there stiffly, with your eyes wide opened.

There was another series of footsteps approaching the broom closet now, and you heard the potion professor yelling, “You’re dead if I catch you! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

After the sound of footsteps faded, Fred finally let go of you. You finally got the chance to step on his foot, causing him to jump in pain.

“I probably deserved that.” His hands were still rubbing his foot, but he didn’t forget to joke, “So, tell me, what brings you to the broom closet?”

You glared at him, “I was looking for my cat.”

He nodded, “I’m guessing that you are curious about what brings me here, to this broom closet, to meet with you.”

“Oh, I already know. You just threw a water ball on the potions professor, and now you are on the run.”

His face suddenly lit up, “So you just saw my work?”

“Who doesn’t know about Frederick Weas-”

“It’s Fred.”

You glared at him and continued, “Who doesn’t know about Frederick Weasley’s shenanigans.”

“So you already know my name!” He smiled, couldn’t hide the pride on his face, “May I have the honor to know yours?”

You rolled your eyes, “Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

He bowed a little and pretended to tip his imaginary hat, “Y/F/N Y/L/N, my pleasure.”

This man was frivolous, reckless, and didn’t respect any rules. You had all the reasons to hate him, but why was your heart beating so fast? You sighed, as you could already foresee a future that’s out of your control, “My displeasure.”

Like many romance novels from that period, the girl with a strict upbringing fell in love with the infamous troublemaker. You and Fred were very different people. You were like different sides of a coin, but this couldn’t affect the attraction between you two. Once the spark between you was ignited, there was no turning back. It was as if fate was pulling you together.

You decided to get married after graduating from Hogwarts, but your family forbade this marriage.

They said the Weasleys were blood traitors, and Frederick Weasley was nothing but an ignorant boy of ill-breeding. Your pureblood supremacist family could never give you their blessings. In fact, they already betrothed you to the youngest son of the Burkes, Ralph Burke.

You’ve met Ralph a few times. Not only did he believe in pureblood supremacy, but he also believed that women should do nothing but stay home and be a good wife.

Fred’s situation wasn’t too good as well. His family hated your family, and they wanted their son to marry the Johnson girl.

You and Fred met under a sycamore tree. He sounded desperate, “Let’s run away! Let’s run to a place where no one knows us. France, America, anywhere but here!”

You nodded. You didn’t want to care about how eloping would ruin your and your family’s reputation. These ridiculous rules controlled you all your life; it was time for you to finally do something reckless, something for yourself.

He let out a sigh of relief and held you tightly, “Three days later, I’ll wait for you under this sycamore tree at night. We will get married the next morning!”

After the longest three days in your life, you tiptoed around the house to make sure that everyone was asleep, and you started running as soon as you left the house. You only brought a small bag of galleons to help you survive the first few days and left everything else behind.

You wanted nothing from your past. All you wanted was to start a new life that is carefree and full of choices you could make on your own. A life that you could spend with someone you love.

But when you reached the sycamore tree, the person waiting for you wasn’t Fred, but Ralph.

Ralph’s face was emotionless when he told you that Fred already left the town two days ago because he was afraid. He was afraid of being tied down by you and being forced into another marriage by his family, so he ran away on his own.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew Fred loved freedom, but he was never someone who would break a promise.

Ralph took you to the Weasleys, and Mrs. Weasley’s reaction confirmed everything as she yelled, “Where is my sweet Frederick? What did you do to him??”

So it was true. He ran away, without you.

You felt lifeless as you collapsed. You couldn’t understand it. If he was so afraid of the restrictions that marriage brings, why would he even suggest eloping with you?

You felt deceived and betrayed. Anger and sorrow were clouding your reasons. You were willing to sacrifice everything for him. Your reputation, your family, the life you had, everything. But he still ran away without you. He left you behind.

You felt like a joke.

You felt hopeless.

Three months later, after still not hearing anything from Fred, you gave in to your family’s expectations and agreed to Ralph’s proposal.

You were locked up in the Burke Manor after becoming Ralph’s bride. Misery and resentment were the only things that kept you company in this cold cage that was shaped like a luxurious manor.

Finally, after two years of living in this agony, you closed your eyes forever.

You left this world still resenting Fred. You left without knowing that two years ago under that sycamore tree, he closed his eyes before you.

That night when you and Fred met at the tree for the last time, Ralph was there, too. After hearing that his fiancee was planning to run away with another man, a blood traitor, he couldn’t stand the humiliation. He confronted Fred, but Fred didn’t seem to care at all. Merlin, Ralph hated that smug smile of Fred.

Rage took over him, and he raised his wand at Fred. It was a simple death curse. Ralph took care of the crime scene calmly and returned home, pretending like nothing ever happened.

And just like that, Fred disappeared. No one knew the truth. No one knew that until his last breath, he was still holding a wedding ring. The world only knew a coward called Frederick Weasley, who ran away on his own after promising forever to a poor girl.

~~~

September 1991, you were admitted to Hogwarts along with the famous Harry Potter. You soon became friends with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. And naturally, you also became friends with the other Weasley kids, except for one, Fred Weasley.

You were even great friends with George, but there was something about him that warned you to stay away from him.

Fred was hurt, but he wasn’t too worried because he knew for sure that he could find a way to make you like him.

1995. You were having lunch with your friends at the Great Hall. It was a perfectly normal day until you saw a spark floating in front of you. And before you realized what it was, something exploded on top of your head. For a moment, you thought your heart was jumping out of your chest.

You looked up and saw fireworks exploding across the Great Hall and spelling out “Y/N Happy Birthday.” You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly who would come up with something dramatic like this.

You also heard some people gasping and saying that they were jealous. But you weren’t happy with it at all. It not only almost scared your soul out of your body, but also made you feel embarrassed.

You stood up and tried to run away, but you heard Snape’s voice, “Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Weasley, this is not a carnival. Detention.”

“Professor, it was all me. She has nothing to do with it!” Great, at least he’s not only a stupid git, but a chivalrous stupid git.

“Good. Ten more points from Gryffindor.”

The Gryffindor table soon started groaning, and you sighed. What kind of birthday gift is this?

After class, you and Fred were sent to the divination classroom to wipe all the crystal balls. You were sent here because Snape didn’t want to risk having Fred breaking all of his precious potion bottles. As of Trelawney’s crystal balls? Snape couldn’t care less.

Looking at the classroom that was filled with crystal balls, you sighed. What did you do to deserve this bloody simpleton in your life?

“Y/N, I’m sorry...” You could hear the guilt in his voice.

But you still replied bitterly, “Forget it. It was nothing. Who cares about spending birthday at Hogsmeade anyway, right?” You knew you shouldn’t be so passive-aggressive, but you just couldn’t put away the hostility towards him.

But Fred couldn’t take it anymore, “Why do you hate me so much? If it was something I did, I apologize. But you hated me from the very beginning. What the bloody hell did I do?”

“I-” You rolled your eyes. Isn’t it clear enough? You hated him because...Then it struck you. You didn’t know how to answer his question. Yes, you could say you hated him because he was reckless and pompous, but was this the real reason why you hated him?

“I-I don’t know.” You lowered your head, feeling both defeated and confused.

“Then could you at least try not to hate me that much?”

Guilt started rising in your stomach, but you didn’t want to admit your defeat, “Why do you care? There are so many others who love you.”

“I care because I fancy you!”

You were still dumbfounded and not sure how to react, but you heard a cough behind you. You and Fred turned together and saw Trelawney.

Except now, her eyes were rolled back, and she started speaking in a hoarse, guttural voice, “180 years later, the star-crossed lovers meet again...One with regret... and one with resentment...On this fateful day...destiny ties them back together once again...”

And then she coughed again and returned to her usual self, “Oh, that was embarrassing. What was I doing here again..Oh right! You two can leave now. I don’t need cleaning here.”

“But Professor Trelawney, Professor Snape said...”

“Oh don’t worry dear, I already told him. You two are good to go!” Trelawney thought back on how scared she was when Snape told her that Fred Weasley was cleaning her classroom. She came here as fast as she could and was relieved when she saw all the crystal balls were still intact.

“Do you think Trelawney was talking about us?” Fred asked after you two left the classroom.

“When did you start to believe in that?” You sounded nonchalant, but deep down, you always believed that Trelawney was actually excellent at divination, so you started panicking after hearing that oracle.

Fred ignored your question, “What did she say? One with resentment? That sounds like you.”

“And you’re the one with regret? Do you even know what regret feels like?”

“Yea! I regret that I did make a great impression. I regret that...I didn’t make you fancy me like I fancy you!”

“You are hopeless, Frederick Weasley. Stop saying that if you don’t mean it!” You were angry. Does he even know that he shouldn’t say something like that? What if people took it seriously? But knowing how frivolous he was, he probably said that to everyone. So why were you still blushing? The more you thought about it, the angrier you got, so you decided to walk faster to get rid of him.

But Fred kept up and stopped you, “But I’m serious. I mean it.”

He looked so sincere when his warm brown eyes met yours, making your heart skip a beat. You stuttered, “F-fine...then I guess I...don’t hate you either...”

“Great! That’s some progress!” He grinned, “You know, if we start running now, we might still have time to go to Hogsmeade.”

You raised your eyebrows and he continued, “If I could make up for your birthday, would you go on a date with me?”

“I... could consider that.” Your face was heating up, but you started walking faster again so he won’t see how flustered you were.

But of course, he kept up again. “Why are you always calling me Frederick?”

“I don’t know. It just appeared in my head. Plus, I feel like you hate it.”

“I do. It sounds sad.”

“Who knows, maybe it’s your name in your past life,” you joked.

“Then I’m pretty sure I hated it in my past life, too,” he shrugged, “Whatever, this life is all that matters now.”

You didn’t reply as you looked at him. He was smiling at you, and at this moment, you knew your future was going to change, in a good way this time.

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tastyykpop · 4 years ago

Text

𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛-ρ† 2

Pairings: enemy, student, barista!jaemin x student, barista!reader, (very small) taemin x reader

Suggestive, slight angst (you have to squint), fluff

<previous- next>

Warnings: dom!jaemin, brat!reader, brat taming kinda, possessiveness, degradation, praise, thigh riding, choking a lot, pet names, jealousy

a/n : here we go again👨‍🦯

"Is it true? Her and jaemin?" Students whispered amongst themselves and thats all you heard today, wondering why they were even talking about you and him. It was strange really, jaemin was nicer and there were very little pranks and even then, they weren't as bad as what they used to be.

"Y/n! Oh my god I can't believe it!" Yeri jumped with a smile plastered on her face, "Are you and jaemin together?"

You twisted your face in confusion. Is that what people think? "What!? No! Where did you even get that from?" You questioned.

Yeri smirked and leaned closer, "I heard from jeno that you both fucked." She leaned back, "is that true?"

"I- well thats not entirely wrong but what does that have to do with him and I dating?"

"Jaemins been nicer with you and there's rarely ever pranks. I mean, anyone with a brain could tell that something is up." Yeri pointed out. She raised an eyebrow as you glanced around, making sure no one can hear you.

"Okay yes me and jaemin did have sex, but seriously we aren't dating. And I'm just as shocked as you about the way he's acting." You whisper-yelled at your friend. She mouth fell into an 'o' shape as she nodded, then attempted to walk away until you grabbed and brought her back, "wait im missing something." You squinted, "please dont tell me everyone in the school knows."

"Okay I wont." She shrugged and tried to walk away again but your hand gripped her arm tighter, "Ow, did you get stronger?"

"Yeri I'm serious! No one was supposed to know and now everyone knows!" You slowly let go of her and stared at the ground, "i swear Im gonna kill that boy!"

Yeri snickered and patted your shoulder, "Dont you mean fuck him?"

"YERI!!"

Order after order, customer after customer, you began to wear down after a hard days work. Irene stayed for a bit at yours and jaemins station to help since it was so busy. And it still wasn't fast enough for all the orders that just kept coming. It felt like you weren't going to finish and the shop closed at 8:30, it was currently 8:17.

"Ugh why is there so many orders at this time?" Irene groaned from exhaustion, jaemin snickered.

"Just be happy we get payed after this." He said and you all agreed.

Everything seemed to suddenly slow down at the cafe as it was beginning to close. Only a few orders were actually left and after that, you could close.

Irene and jaemin cleaned up the stations. Of course Irene left first afterwards, and you counted the money at the register. And since youve been working here for almost 2 years, counting money was just as easy as walking. But since its been super busy today, it took you a while to count some of the coins. Only once while you counted did you mess up, but you brushed it away and started again.

"Can you be any slower?" Jaemin commented, having just finished his part.

Putting the money away after counting, you put your hands on your hips like a mom scolding her child, "Whats the hurry all of a sudden?"

He only giggled and ruffled your already messy hair, "I wanna spend time with my baby."

You tried your hardest not to blush.

"No way." You swatted his hand off your head.

"And why not?" He quirked an eyebrow as you and him walked to an empty table in the cafe.

"Cuz you told jeno what we did last night and now the whole school knows. I'm kinda mad at you right now." Groaning, you hid your head in your arms trying to avoid his gaze.

You couldnt see him, but you heard the sigh and knew he was pouting at you, buy you didn't bother looking up.

"Why can't I brag about how good you were?" Jaemin questions, leaving you to groan louder.

"This isnt what I wanted..."

The boy shifted in his seat and pulled your head out your arms, his hands holding the side of your cheeks, "then what did you want?"

Your cheeks puffed as you tried to find the right words, "...to not have done what we did last night."

"So you regret it?"

You shrugged.

Jaemin leaned back and stared at you with a cold face. He has a hint as to why youre now suddenly saying this, not only because of him telling his friends, but also because of his past with you. If he wasnt pranking you, he was making fun of you, if it wasn't that, he'd make you flustered with his words or actions. Jaemin was annoying, yes, but your reactions were priceless to him. You got annoyed by jaemin and you hated him. He didnt blame you even after all this.

"I guess im not really mad at you telling him, just more confused on why you had sex with me." You started playing with a strand of fallen hair and waited for his answer.

"I did what I wanted to do from the beginning; fucking you dumb. If you think there's another reason, there isn't." Jaemin crossed his arms with a half smile.

You stopped playing with your hair and glared at him, "No no there has to be more! You're way to nice to me now for that to be it!"

"Do you think I like you?" He suddenly leaned forward. You didnt bother saying anything and sat back in the chair, "Why would I like you?"

Its been a week since your last interaction with jaemin. Literally. Theres been no pranking or anything. It was odd, but you couldn't stop thinking back to what he said when you both were alone in the cafe. Something about that kind of stung. You dont know why but, you thought maybe, just maybe, he'd actually like you. And maybe, jimin was right about about you liking him.

"Hey how was work?" Jimin asked getting up from the couch. You noticed taemin was here too and it wasn't surprising anymore as he's been coming over recently this past week.

"It was a bit busy actually." You smiled, nodding your head in taemins direction to acknowledge him and he smiled in return. Cute.

Jimin came back to his seat on the couch and handed you and taemin a clas of iced tea, "Jaemin didnt do anything again huh?"

You shook your head, "You don't understand how weird this is. Like he completely stopped interacting with me." You sighed taking a sip and seat next to taemin before ranting again, "Wait...oh my god! Did I get played? Was he really just trying to fuck me this whole time?"

"Fu- what?" Taemin zipped his head at you.

"Its a long story-"

"No its not," jimin cut you off, "basically hes kind of a bully to her and hes always doing pranks and saying some provocative things, but magically," he started flailing his hands, "jaemin started being nice, said he wanted to 'fuck her dumb' and then she was in his bed."

"....so you just...let your bully fuck you??" Taemin squinted his eyes at you and you nodded slowly. "Interesting. "

"I dont even know why. Like it just happened." You stuck out your bottom lip and laid you head on taemins shoulder, "I can't believe I did that..."

"It was bound to happen." Jimin sipped his tea.

You lifted your head slightly off of taemins shoulder and stuck your tongue out, "You know what fuck you!"

"You both are like kids." Taemin said, moving to get up.

"Hm?" Jimin looked up from his iced tea, completely obvious to what taemin said and taemin shook his head.

"I need to get back home. Jimin don't stay up too late." Jimin whined at his friend as taemin got up, "y/n, be good." You gave him a thumbs up and watched as the black haired man left.

"Jimin hes cute." You frowned.

Jimin rolled his eyes, "tell him that next time then."

You rolled over so now you were laying on jimins lap and he gave you a look of disgust, but you ignored it, "Mans is too cute for someone like me to say something."

"Dude he literally called you cute the first day he met you." Jimin said a matter of factly.

"How do you know he wasnt lying?"

Jimin scoffed, "Taemin lying? Thats like me and you dating. It just doesn't go together."

"I dont know if i should be offended or happy." You glared.

"The latter." He averted his eyes from yours and continued watching the show on t.v.

2 classes in and your were already tired. If you hadn't had stayed up so late with jimin, crying over some k-drama, maybe you wouldve gotten a good night sleep. But because of that you looked dead. You didn't even try to look your best this morning, only throwing on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and brushing your hair back. You thought you looked okay to some extent at least. Maybe not your normal self but at least you were presentable.

There's was only so much you could handle in your class right now too. Trigonometry was definitely not your strong suit and you wondered how you even got in this class.

People were hunched over doing their work and you were struggling with question one. It was a bit embarrassing. You looked to your right for answers but they were just as lost as you, so your left was your next move.

"I dont appreciate you cheating off my paper y/n." Jaemin whispered, making sure the professor didn't hear him.

"Sorry I'm just confused.." you grumbled, placing your pencil down, jaemin gave you a look.

"Maybe if you used your head you'd get it."

"Im not dumb jaemin."

He exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands, "Come over later ill help you."

You looked at jaemins partially completed paper then back at your blank one. You needed this if you wanted to pass but you also didn't want to be with jaemin at the moment and you weren't too sure what tricks the boy had up his sleeve.

"I dont think-"

"It wasnt a question." Jaemin then went back to his work, ignoring whatever protest you had as you were about to open your mouth.

It was at this point you even planned on not going later. The only thing is he really didn't like being disobeyed and you found him a bit scary when mad. It wouldnt be right to miss out on him tutoring you anyway because jaemin was a smart guy. With his help you should be able to pass easily given a few months.

The professor ended class a few minutes early. Jaemin and you both headed to your next class when someone tapped on your shoulder, making you curiously turn around.

"TAEMIN!" you leaped up and hugged the guy around his neck as he giggled with full cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I changed colleges since it was closer to where I was living, but I didnt realize you were here too!" He beamed.

Jaemin stood watching you both converse and giggle over small things. He wanted so badly to drag you away from taemin but he knew you weren't going to like him very much after that. But something about the two of you laughing and subtly flirting didnt sit right with him and he didnt know why. It wasnt jealousy because why would he be jealous with you? He didn't care about you in that way. So why was this making him angry?

"Y/n lets go to class." Jaemin interrupted the two of you.

"You can go ill be in shortly." You brushed him off as if he was nothing and began talking with taemin again. Jaemin despised it but listened to you and walked away.

You were happy taemin came to this school because now it gave you a chance to get closer with him. It was definitely the small crush that grew over the week that made you feel like a 14 year old girl whenever he said something remotely sweet.

Taemin and you stood just outside of the classroom door and you gave him a quick hug and good bye before heading into the room with a big smile.

Jaemin stared at you as you walked up the steps to your seat that was a few feet away from him. The smile plastered on your face made jaemin see how much of an impact taemin really had on you.

Seulgi and sana kept glancing back at you, snickering here and there. Something your not fazed by it anymore. Probably them planning another prank or something. You also felt another set of eyes behind you and looked back to see jaemin glaring at the back of your head. Wondering why he was doing that, you crooked your head to the side then faced the front again after not receiving any response from him.

Ten minutes passed and the professor never came. Students were still all around the room talking to each other and the room was noisy. You decided to just ignore everyone and focus on any work you could, everything other than trig. You were saving that for jaemin.

"Hey nana," jaemin looked away from you and gazed up at seulgi who was now standing in front of him, "theres a party later at Wendy's and joys house. You coming?"

You put the pencil down and started biting your nails, wondering what he would actually say, not that he would ditch on you, but still.

"Im working later." He simply said, seulgi rolled her eyes playfully.

"Ill come pick you up after just bring clothes."

Jaemin raised a brow, "ill be too tired to go."

He was starting to get on seulgis nerves as she grit her teeth, "Then ill come over after school."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes wondering why she was trying so hard. Clearly the boy didn't want to go, or at least go with her. You didnt understand how she couldn't see that.

"Can't im helping someone with trig after."

She leaned over his desk, jaemin not really fazed by anything as she kept coming closer, "I have a feeling you're lying nana."

"Why would I lie?" He replied stoic. "Y/n is coming over for help."

Its the way that literally everyone in the room looked back at jaemin and you. Such a weird pair. Now they really would be questioning the two of you.

You anxiously looked back at him, seulgi was up in his face, nose flared, jaemin remained still and not intimidated by her or the class. But you were ready for someone to say something.

"Whats with you and y/n all of a sudden?" Seulgi asked. You could tell she didn't want you to go over his house, that was pretty obvious, but its not like she could stop you.

"Nothing, she just needs help in trig."

The class was still silent, even after a good 30 seconds. Now you just wanted the professor come in and talk about some WW2 stuff so people would ignore this. But your were pretty sure your professor just didn't want to teach and stayed home for the day.

"You dont need to help her." She faked a smile when she glanced back at you. "Shes a smart girl."

Jaemin was just about ready to get up and walk away, "I want to help her pass, now I do believe your seat is over there." he pointed over to the middle row of seats, just a few before yours. Seulgi actually took the hint and walked away. Her eyes were trained on yours and she looked as if ready to say something but decided against it.

God, now you just wanted to leave.

Jaemin placed a notebook and an open textbook on trig in front of you. His eyes watched as you hesitated to do your homework. You would get ready to write then lean back in confusion. For you, something was just not clicking with the whole trigonometry thing. You even started to wonder why you were taking it.

"Look this is what you have to do." Jaemin sat up and took the pencil out of your hand and went through the steps. Despite him being shockingly good at explaining and teaching, you found yourself lost at his words and just started staring at his side profile. Admittedly, you had to say he was pretty. And his lips as he was talking made you hypnotized. They looked soft and you wondered if you'll ever be able to feel them again.

"Repeat what I had just said."

You snapped out of your thoughts and hesitated, looking back at the paper then slowly began going over what you remembered until you started stumbling over your words and then stopped when he placed his hand on your thigh.

Jaemin exhaled loudly, sounding very disappointed in you and the only thing you could do was wait for whatever he had to say, "Why aren't you paying attention to nana?" His voice remained the same, but his nickname was a complete contrast.

"Im sorry I was distracted..."

"Distracted." Jaemin raised an eyebrow, "Theres nothing here to distract you."

Although you wanted to say he's been distracting you, you most certainly didn't and spared yourself the embarrassment.

"Y/n whats distracting you?" Jaemin set aside the pencil and gave you his full attention. Yet you remained silent and let him figure it out himself. But he knew, you were pretty easy to read. This is why he tapped your thigh, trying to get an answer out of you.

"You already know. Why do I have to say it?"

"I wanna hear it come out of your mouth." Jaemin shrugged.

"Jaemin..." you mumbled staring at your blank notebook, "Can we just move on?"

"Say it first." Consequently jaemin only made things worse by moving his hand up and down on your thigh in a taunting manner. One way or another he'll make you flustered.

"Youre clearly the distraction now can we please move on. We only have an hour and a half until work." You blushed.

A playful smirk found its way to his lips as he hummed in agreement. His hand still rested on your thigh and he once again tried explaining the problem in front of you. Granted, your phone went off in the middle of his second attempt of explaining.

"Taemin texted me hold on." You reached to grab your phone but jaemin was faster. He took your phone and threw it on the bed behind him.

"Pay attention." Jaemin had said. But you decided to be a bit stubborn and decided to get up and grab your phone, but jaemin had other plans. Hence why now you were stuck in a death grip on his lap with a hand to your neck. You couldn't see his face, but you knew it was cold. Jaemin didn't like to be disobeyed even for a second. "You only listen to me when I make a move, so do I have to keep you in this position for you to do your work?" You quickly shook your head and tried to wiggle out of his strong grip, but jaemin wouldn't let you go. Particularly because he figured you'd try and grab your phone again, which in that case, wasn't going to happen. If you so desperately wanted to pass, hes going to make you pass. Jaemin doesn't care even if he has to go as far as disciplining you either. As long as you pass, he'll be fine.

"You dont want to disappoint nana right?" You shook your head again. "You have a voice, use it."

"N-no.."

Jaemin hummed and let go of your neck, still keeping you on his lap. "Now be a good girl and listen. This is the last time I'll repeat myself."

So then you listened. Certainly because jaemin would not hesitate in making you regret any decisions you had.

After his third explanation, you understood the whole process a bit more and began doing your work. Jaemin was happy to see you do the problems, only pointing out a few mistakes, but praising you after for getting them right. You'd try your best not to smile or blush by putting your head down or looking away. Jaemin found it cute and couldn't help but smile himself.

"Lets get ready for work." Jaemin tapped your thigh for you to get up then he made his way to the closet to find clothes.

"Do you have a white t-shirt I can use?" You asked and jaemin threw you a shirt. Luckily for you the dress code was white on top, black on bottom so you didn't need to worry about the pants.

The both of you changed swiftly, not really caring about each others presence as you've already seen each other naked.

Without warning, jaemin dragged you out the his car, not bothering to give you a chance to say you wanted to drive yours. And you both were off.

It was a silent car ride besides the soft music playing on the radio. Jaemin kept you occupied with a hand resting on your thigh. He had a nice hand, you weren't gonna lie, but besides you gawking at his hand, it really did keep your mind focused. Not even the streets filled with so much activity could make you stop staring. It came to the point where you ended up grabbing his hand and played with his fingers.

"If you like my hands so much maybe I should use them on you again." Jaemin said, your breathing stopped for a second and you faced him.

"I just... find your hands nice thats all. Nothing sexual nana." You emphasized his nickname with a mocking tone. But in reality it was a very lowkey sexual desire to have him feel you up again, or even finger you. Whatever it was, you didn't want to admit it.

Parking the car, you and jaemin went inside the cafe to find it was again very busy. Irene was at the register helping a customer with their order and when she glanced up, you could've sworn she saw a ghost.

She finished the order and looked between you two, "Am I missing something?" She asked, pointing a finger at you guys as if accusing you, "you never come in together nor even walk inches next to each other."

"Y/n was at my house because I was tutoring her for school, so I drove her here too." Jaemin responded and you nodded in agreement. Still, irene found this crazy.

"Okay...just get to work then..." she squinted her eyes. Jaemin was the first to get to the stations, followed by you who made sure to look at the orders on screen.

After a while of making coffees, teas, and such you decided it was time for a break, so you asked irene if you can just take a seat for a bit to which she said yes.

Only a few tables remained empty, you took one near a window so you could see what was happening outside. Nothing different. Some teenagers fooling around on the sidewalk, couples passing by, and people rushing to get to their jobs. Meanwhile you never noticed someone sitting in front of you until they blew into your ear.

"Ahhh, what the fuck taemin!" Frowning at the sudden intusion, taemin laughed at your shocked face and sputtered many apologies. Many of which you knew he didnt mean.

"How long have you been sitting there?" You leaned over the table asking.

Taemin naturally leaned over too, getting closer to your face, "Just got here." He smiled, "I texted you that I was coming but you never replied."

You pouted in realization that that was when jaemin decided to discard your phone on his bed and not allow you to get it back. "Sorry I was being tutored for trig."

"Its fine." He pinched your cheeks, the smile never left his face once he finally saw a shade of red on your cheeks. Moreover, the two of you kept conversing for about 5 more minutes. Taemin talked about how jimin was bored all day from not seeing you at home so he went over to comfort him. You chuckled at the thought of jimin sadly laying against his friend and playing video games, trying not to feel bored. It made you happy that you had that kind of impact on him, knowing damn well no matter how much he said he said you weren't fun, that was a lie.

"I have to go. I'll make sure to come by later." With that taemin and you stood up and gave each other a hug. What surprised you was the lips on your cheek, giving you a bunch of butterflies in your stomach. "Bye y/n." Taemin winked and walked out the cafe.

Alarmed and flustered by what happened, you steadily walked back to the counter and just stopped there.

One might consider that to be a cute thing to see in a cute little cafe but jaemin thought otherwise and he was quite literally done with this.

"Come here." Jaemin made a finger motion to you and took you to the back of the cafe, away from the bustling people. "Whats with you and that taemin dude?"

"Why do you care?" You tilted your head up at him with a smirk. If you can manage to successfully push jaemins buttons and walk away with it, this would be the best day ever.

Jaemin took your chin in his index and thumb, bringing your face closer, "I asked you a question. I expect an answer."

"I dont have to answer if I dont want to." You tried swatting his hand away from your chin but he only moved down to your neck, causing you to gasp at the sudden squeeze. Basically, jaemin was choking you out of jealousy. "H-hes just m-my friend." You stuttered as you told the truth expecting jaemin to now let go, but he only softened his grip.

"I hate him."

"You dont know him." You mocked back and jaemin lazily rolled his eyes.

"I dont care if I dont know him I hate the fact that hes with you." Jaemin growled, letting your neck go.

You took the chance to let out a laugh at his frustrated face. This was entertaining to you and for once you had the upper hand, "so youre saying you're jealous?"

Roughly, jaemin slammed your back against the building with his face only mere centimeters from yours. You could smell the scent of mint in his breath too. "Maybe I am." Jaemin pushed a knee between your legs. "Shouldnt mess with my girl. And you shouldn't have let him kiss your cheek." Jaemins lips hovered over your lips. His hands harshly gripped your hips, moving you them over his thigh. Hearing the sound of you moaning out in shock, jaemin captured your lips in a kiss, a rough one at that.

His anger was through the roof and he showed that. "Youre mine and only mine. I'm the only one who can touch you like this, kiss you like this." Jaemin kissed down your jaw, still grinding your core on his thigh. You tried silencing your whimpers by biting your hand, but jaemin was quick to stick his fingers in your mouth, causing you to gag and choke.

Without a moments hesitation, jaemin pulled away from your neck to watch you suck around his fingers and he laughed through an angry aura, "If only taemin could see how much of a slut you are for me, maybe he would back off." You whined around his fingers and he pushed deeper down your throat. Your hips stuttered a bit, but kept moving forward, trying to get more friction.

"Such a stupid little girl for nana." Jaemin ruthlessly began fucking your throat with his fingers, "Are you gonna cum out here? What if somebody walks out and sees?" Your eyes rolled back and jaemin hummed still keeping the pace with his fingers and helping you move your hips. "Aww but I bet you wouldn't care. Since your so eager to cum and all." You gripped his wrist becoming more and more desperate to reach your high. Indeed you were so close that you started seeing stars, but jaemin pulled his thigh and fingers away.

"Were you about to cum?" He laughed in your face sadisticly. Your face heated up in embarrassment. "Stupid girl."

Cooing at your red face, jaemin brought you into another kiss, much softer than before but enough to know who's in charge.

"Lets get back to work, yeah?" Jaemin tapped your cheek with his two fingers and walked away leaving you hot and bothered.

Naturally you wouldve followed but you literally almost came in your pants just outside of your work. What were you thinking letting jaemin do that to you? And why did he have such an affect on you to the point that you forgot about what happened with taemin. You couldn't stand out here any longer and went inside. Jaemin was calm as if you didn't almost just get off on his thigh and sucked his fingers off. God this boy was doing something to you and you couldn't take it!

Working next to him seemed even more difficult. You were a hot mess, plus you were horny and honestly jaemins existence wasn't helping. And now, especially now, you realized that lasting until 8:30 was going to be a train wreck.

The school day was normal, yeri was hyper as always and cracking jokes making you spit out your banana milk. And her constant teasing about jaemin was nothing different. Of course you told her what happened the other day, she's your best friend, and she was blown away. Yeri wasn't expecting such news to be dropped on her like that and you couldnt blame her, only shrugging your shoulders and sipping your banana milk.

Stopping mid sip, you saw the boy you were subtly looking for; jaemin. Your reason? Well even you didn't know but your for sure were going to come up with something.

For the past few days jaemin never left your mind. Even when you saw him he always lingered. You could say you missed him. Besides that, taemin was never on your mind anymore. Just jaemin. It was like your mind needed him.

So you got up from your seat, yeri looked up confused and watched as your legs took you to your destination. Your heart was beating rapidly and you weren't even sure how this would go. Either you'll die from embarrassment or be the happiest girl alive. It was the anticipation.

You sucked in a deep breath once you got to him, jaemin peered up at you with curiosity, some other students even found your boldness interesting, until you spoke, "Wanna go out with me?"

#nct smut #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #wayv #nct 2020 #na jaemin smut #na jaemin #jaemin #jaemin nct dream #na jaemin nct #kpop smut #kpop

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years ago

Text

In All that I Have Done

Sad. I recommend listening to Arvo P ärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel while reading. Very, very sad, cannot stress this enough. Non-explicit major character death. (Happens of old age but still)

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More than forty years after the fall of Cintra one Professor Pankratz put down his pen. In the last ten years his hands had lost some of their surety, but his quill didn’t shake when he put it down.

He ran one hand down his face. His beard had started going silver just after he’d adopted the style, but both it and his hair were now fully steel grey, with not even a hint of their former color. He adjusted his spectacles, tweaked the fashionable, but less than flamboyant hem of his doublet, and began to read what he’d written.

The last will and testament of Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

I am writing this, sure and sound of mind, if not of body, in the event of my death. For many years I had a living, de facto will, that is, who ever found me dead by the roadside could loot my body for what they wished. As I got older and my body forced my errant heart to settle down I realized that this could no longer be the case. I fear I have put this off much too long, but happily, it seems I was not too late.

To my remaining family, my baby brother Alfons and his wife Iwona, I leave the rights to my songs and other works, and the royalties to them. Have fun. Alfons, Iwona is a beautiful woman and I would have wooed her, but that you were so in love I couldn’t bring myself to steal her away. I write this with a chuckle, Iwona my dear, because if you’ll remember we met first, and I introduced you to my brother only after you’d hit me in the head with a frying pan for flirting.

I have also set up a trust, a portion of the royalties will be funneled into it for your son, Mikolaj, although he is a strapping young man who may never need it because he is a fine craftsman, as these spectacles he made me can attest. With luck he may spend it on marriage, should he ever woo that baker lad who made those charming blackberry tarts.

To the grandson of my friend Priscilla, Gaj. You have just been born and are a wonder beyond belief. Your parents are lovely people and you are lucky to have them. They should feel lucky to read this since I fear I shall be long dead before you learn your letters. However; there are times I wish I had fathered children. There are also times I remember what those who do go through and am thankful I did not, but you are a miracle. In the hope that you are given the very best of education, I have put in a word with the university. Should you choose, you will have the best schooling the Continent can offer, free of charge, with the compliments of Oxenfurt. Just, when you are someday a raging young student, sloppy drunk on a night out, think of me, if you can think at all.

As I have of late stayed in quarters provided for me by the university and their gracious staff, I shall relinquish it all in return, as well as whatever items are held within not listed here. There shall be money in the vase by the fireplace for my funeral, as well as a generous tip for the maids, who have been wonderful and kind to an often forgetful and frail old man who is too much in his feelings.

My wardrobe I leave to whoever wants it, apart from my best blue doublet. (The sky blue one, which brings out my eyes) I should hope to be buried in it.

And finally, to my dearest and truest friend, Geralt of Rivia I leave a note, a song, and a gift.

Jaskier once again scrubbed his hand over his face. His study held a chill, despite the fine summer day, or perhaps it was just him. He got cold so easily these days. His breath rattled a little as he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his comfortable chair. Melitele’s great gorgeous thighs, but his knees ached today. Jaskier paused at the mirror to tease his hair into place, advancing years never having divested him of his style. He flashed a wink into the mirror and shoveled a little coal into the small fireplace.

He settled again at his desk, a different paper in hand, separate from the will, and began to look it over. This letter held none of the fine penmanship of the other, instead the letters were blocky and easy to read, better for the eyes that may have gained much in a mutation but skipped lightly over letters and switched them about.

My dear Geralt, it read. In all that I have done, I have had but one masterpiece. Critics may disagree on my greatest work, but I know it exactly, and have since the day of it’s birth. My opus was not Toss a Coin, or even the rehabilitation of yours- and all witchers- reputations. My masterpiece was my relationship with you, a wonderful and awful secret masterpiece of the heart, mind, and soul.

I know you do not dally about with words, but lest you misunderstand this last, most important of missives, we must discuss them. The word awful is now so said as to mean the same as terrible, but this cannot be true at all. Terrible is that which inspires terror or creates fear. Awful, or aweful, if you will, is to inspire awe. To be full of it. Sometimes that awe is fearful, sometimes reverential, perhaps a condemnation and sometimes a blessing. You, my friend, inspire awe. And in me you inspired something much greater than that. In all my years, which are so few compared to yours, nothing has so inspired love in me, as you. It has been my life’s greatest blessing.

When this letter comes to you, regardless of how it comes, it means I am gone from this world. I fear it shall indeed be soon, but I do not fear death. Weep not for me, my friend, instead let me bury in this parchment what there is left for me to say.

More than forty years ago I asked you to come away with me. All these decades later I still dream that you would, yet, I understand why you did not, and why you pushed me away. I offered you my heart that day, but it was the heart of a being you would watch wither away, as I’ll admit I have done. You could not be my forever, knowing that I cannot also be yours. There is no apology, no tears, no explanation needed there.

Indeed, even for casting me away I need no words, and you have always had few to give, my friend. You didn’t keep me away for long, after all. I am like a magnet, drawn to you. Even now I feel your pull, like the tide to the gentle lady moon, but I cannot follow.

After the mountain we met up again and again, our lives orbiting eachvother like planets, but we never clung so close as those first twenty years. That is the fault of Dame Time, a tricky mistress, as she collected her dues for twenty years of hard travel and ill care on my body.

I wish I could have given you more of my years. I find I am angry, and yet not so. At once, I could have had more time beside you, had somehow things been otherwise, but I know I had more time with you than might have been, perhaps more than I could reasonably expect. Someone, some goddess, or Life, Time, Destiny, or Fate, gave me enough time to finish the masterpiece that is my love for you, and that is enough.

You read here the ramblings of an old man, but I shall burden you with a few more sentences.

You may recognize the case to which this letter is attached. Inside is my lute, as given to me by Filavandrel. I wish you to have it. I know you have never been musically inclined, but to me this instrument means so much more than music. This is the physical being of us, and all that may entail. I hope that you keep it, and treasure it how you will. If ever there comes such a person that you wish to play it, for whatever reason, gift it to them, but I beg you, tell them to whom it belonged, and how it came to belong to you.

And finally, I leave you with a few unsung verses that I feel someone ought to read.

To the edge of the world May this letter be born That it comfort and heals you Although it brings you to mourn

I wrote every song And traveled along For my faith in a witcher and my friend before all

I hope you be blessed and continue your quest To be a friend of humanity As I go to rest

That's our epic tale My champion prevailed Defeated every villain And continues the tale

Toss a coin to my witcher, O valley of plenty...

love, Jaskier.

Professor Pankratz carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped inside a waterproofed tube, tying it with a blue ribbon that would likely only be lost in the parcel’s travels. He did it anyway, then he trailed his fingers over the finest instrument he’d ever played. Hand tremors meant it had sat silent for many months, but he plucked a few, slightly out of tune strings in a familiar tune. Then he put Filavandrel’s lute away, slipping the note in it’s packaging into the outer pocket of the case.

There was a funny feeling, he felt as he sat back in his large desk chair, to completing your greatest work, but he knew at least one being would remember it forever. He took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the fire in the grate convincing him to doze. His eyes slid shut, and Jaskier greeted eternity with open arms.

#hurt no comfort #some closure though #tw major character death #post mountain #geraskier #you can read it as platonic #but he says the word love #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #angst #sad #really really sad #i cried #why did I write this

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writingwhimsey · 3 years ago

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Lady Azuchi Ch. 2

Chapter 2

Nobunaga and the others returned to Azuchi by mid-morning. Hideyoshi was waiting at the gate to greet him, but his wife was not. "Where is Ava?" Nobunaga asked as soon as he reached him.

"She is still in bed." He answered.

"What is wrong?" Nobunaga asked concern evident in his tone.

"Apparently Ava has been sick this last week. She was hiding it from everyone well, except for her maid, Kinu. I wouldn't have known if not for yesterday when she passed out." Hideyoshi explained. "I apologize for not finding out sooner and making her see the castle doctor."

"What did the castle doctor say?" Nobunaga asked.

"That she has some stomach ailment and he gave her some medicine for it and it should help her within a couple of days. That she also needs plenty of rest."

"I see." Nobunaga said, he then recalled how she had been acting the day he left. She was clearly hiding it then, too. He dismounted his horse and handed the reins over to Hideyoshi, knowing that he would put the horse up for him so he could check on Ava.

"Where is he headed to in such a hurry?" Mitsuhide asked, as he ride up with Ieyasu and Masamune.

"To see Ava." Hideyoshi answered.

"She wasn't here to greet him with her tail wagging?" Mitsuhide asked.

"Perhaps she decided to cut out the meeting here and just skip straight to their reunion in their room." Masamune joked.

"She's ill." Hideyoshi interrupted.

"What symptoms has she had?" Ieyasu asked. "She overwork herself again?"

"I'm thinking that may have contributed to it." Hideyoshi answered. He then explained the illness and what the castle doctor had said.

"I'll have to see what he gave her and make sure there's not something better."

Ava...

I woke up to the feeling of someone running their fingers through my hair. "Huh?" I mumbled in my sleepy haze. I couldn't quite get my eyes to open completely. They were still quite heavy with sleep.

"I come home to find my wife ill. And to learn that she has been hiding this illness the entire time I've been gone. Possibly even before that."

My eyes popped open at the sound of that familiar deep voice. "Nobunaga."

He gave me a warm smile, though I could see the concern still in his eyes. "Why did you not tell anyone you were ill?"

"I didn't want to worry anyone." I answered. I was then pushing myself up into a sitting position. "How long have you been back?"

"I just returned. Hideyoshi greeted me at the gate and told me of your illness."

"I bet he ordered Kinu not to wake me either." I muttered. "He promised that if I felt okay this morning there was no reason I couldn't be there to greet you."

"That is likely what happened. Though I heard you fainted yesterday. Clearly your body needed the rest." He was then lifting his hand and placing it on my forehead in a gesture I had done to him once before. "You do not feel feverish. How are you feeling today?"

"I am feeling okay at the moment." I answered. "A bit of a headache and slight unease in my stomach, but other than that I am alright."

"Kinu brought some rice porridge up for you. She said she mixed in the herbs the doctor gave you already. You should probably eat it." Nobunaga told me. "Having something should help settle your stomach."

I nodded. I was still going through my mental list of how I wanted to tell Nobunaga the news. He was then setting the tray in front of me and picking up the soup spoon for me. "Are you...feeding me?" I asked.

"I have to make sure you actually eat." Nobunaga answered.

"And here I thought I was going to be punished for calling you an ogre." I replied.

"That only comes if you are feeling well enough, later." Nobunaga answered. "Now eat."

"Alright." I agreed opening my lips. He then put the spoon in my mouth.

Nobunaga continued to feed me. Once the porridge was gone, I could feel my stomach settling down. "You seem to be alright after that." He observed.

"Yes, I think the herbs are helping." I answered.

Nobunaga leaned his forehead against mine and brought his hand to cup my cheek. His thumb gently stroked my cheek. "I am glad you are feeling a bit better...though I wish I could stay with you, but I have matters I have to attend to before the banquet tonight."

"You mean you came straight here to see me?" I asked.

"When I learned my wife was ill, I had to come. There is no greater treasure to me than you."

"I'll be alright." I told him. "I have Kinu to help me should I need anything."

Nobunaga kissed my forehead. "I will be back to get ready for the banquet with you, though if you are not feeling up to it, we can stay here tonight."

"Do you really think you can get out of going to your own banquet?" I teased. "And I am feeling much better. I will be there. I am feeling much better."

Nobunaga smiled and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. "Just rest and take care of yourself until I get back."

"Alright." I agreed. I wanted to stop him and tell him that I wasn't sick. Tell him the good news, but I knew I couldn't right now. Not when he had other things he had to attend to. Maybe I could tell him when he came back to get ready for the banquet.

We shared another tender kiss before he left. Kinu was soon attending to me and helping me get ready for the day. Though I was still under orders to rest and take it easy. I decided to go through my sewing basket. I found the perfect fabric and found the perfect color combinations and got to work.

When it got closer to sunset, I put my sewing notions away and got up to head to the dresser. I pulled out the kimono and obi I would wear for the banquet tonight and started to remove my night robes.

Nobunaga returned just as I was finishing getting dressed. "I take it you are feeling well enough to come to the banquet?" He asked me, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around me.

"Yes, the herbs have settled my stomach and I don't have a headache anymore." I answered. Do I tell him now? How do I tell him? I thought as I looked at our reflection in the mirror. His arms were at my waist, just hovering over the child growing there, the one our created.

"You look exceptionally happy at the moment." He said, kissing my cheek.

"I'm always happy when I'm in your arms." I replied, not sure I was ready to tell him, still unable to find the words. I could always just blurt it out, but that's not what I want to do. I want to find some special way to tell him.

"I am always happy to have you in my arms as well." He told me. "Perhaps we should skip the banquet and we'll spend the evening with you here...minus your clothes."

I giggled. "You and I both know if we don't go Hideyoshi will come here looking for you." I replied. "Besides you're always talking about how these banquets are good for morale."

"True...I will just have to boost my own morale after the banquet." He said, running his hands down my stomach and over my thighs before coming back to my rear and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Nothing says we can't leave early...just make an appearance." I replied, feeling a bit breathless. How is it your touch always does that to me? I thought. You can make me into a puddle so easily...well that would be how I ended up pregnant.

We parted, Nobunaga taking my hand and then we headed to the main hall for the banquet. We arrived and found everyone waiting for us.

"Well, it looks like I lost the bet." Mitsuhide greeted us.

"I knew the lass would show up. Nothing can keep her down for long." Masamune replied. "Now pay up."

"You were betting on my health?" I asked, looking at the pair of them.

"Well, when you weren't waiting at the gate for Lord Nobunaga with your tail wagging, I thought you must be quite ill." Mitsuhide teased, as he reached into his robes and passed some coins to Masamune.

"I am not a puppy."

"I think that's enough Mitsuhide. Ava has only just recovered. It was just yesterday she fainted." Hideyoshi said.

"You know, you don't have to tell him that." I replied, my face reddening further.

"And here you just added to it." Mitsuhide said looking at Hideyoshi. "Look at at how red she grows."

"Enough from all of you." Nobunaga spoke up. He then put an arm around me, almost possessively. "If anyone will be making my wife's cheeks turn red, it will be me."

You're so cute when you get jealous. I thought as I looked at my handsome husband. I felt him pulling me towards the dais where we took our seats.

Soon the food was brought out and the sake began flowing. I noticed that the food set before me was much simpler and lighter than what everyone else was eating. I felt grateful and so did my stomach. While the herbs were helping, the idea of eating the heavier foods just made my stomach churn.

I turned to Nobunaga and looked at him a question in my eyes. "Did you make sure that I had some lighter food?" I asked.

"I spoke to Masamune and asked him to make you something different." He replied.

I smiled. "Thank you." He was always so thoughtful of me and caring for me. We didn't start out this way, but I loved it and was grateful for how he was with me.

"Hey, I am the one who cooked you that food. Don't I get some thanks?" Masamune spoke up having been listening.

"Yes, thank you Masamune." I replied with a smile.

"That's more like it." Masamune replied. "Though it wasn't easy making sure to get the flavors right, what with the medicinal herbs Ieyasu was giving me to put in them."

I looked over at Ieyasu surprised. "You contributed, too?"

"Well, I spoke with the doctor to know what he gave you and while it will help, it will take longer to help you fully recover." He said. "And it's not like I did it to help you. I just know that everyone else will be too worried about you if you're ill."

I smiled happy to have so many people who cared about me. Just wait till they all find out I'm pregnant. I thought. Oh and then when the baby gets here, they will all be like the best most overprotective uncles.

"Thank you anyways." I said to Ieyasu. I knew despite what he said that he actually cared.

There was plenty of talking and laughing through the rest of the party. It got even stronger as the sake flowed. Naturally I did not partake of any. I kept with water and tea, knowing that the sake wouldn't be good for the baby.

Part way through the party Nobunaga, stood up and took my hand. "Come, walk with me." He said, pulling me up.

"Okay." I said, wondering what he had on his mind. He led me out of the hall but not towards our room in the tenshu. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Somewhere we can be alone." He answered. "And get some fresh air."

He led me out to the garden. "I noticed you were not drinking any sake, tonight." He told me, looking up at the moon and stars in the sky. "Are you still trying to hide how ill you feel?" He then turned to me his eyes showing nothing but concern.

I shook my head. I guess now is as good a time as any to tell him. "No, I am feeling fine. Really."

"Then what is it?" Nobunaga asked.

"Sake isn't good for the baby." I answered.

His eyes widened in surprise. "What did you just say?"

"It's not good for the baby." I repeated. Then I took his hand and placed it over my stomach and looked meaningfully into his eyes. "Our baby."

Nobunaga's gaze gentled and a tender smile came to his face. "You are with child?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"You are full of surprises." He said and then placed his fingers beneath my chin and pulled my lips to his for a sweet kiss.

I smiled up at him when we broke the kiss. "Is it really that much of a surprise?" I asked my tone teasing. "I mean it is the natural occurrence of what happens when a couple spends so much time in bed together."

Nobunaga chuckled and leaned his forehead against mine, his hand still resting on my belly. "You do have a point...so this is why you have been feeling ill?"

"Yes." I answered.

"I should have put the symptoms together and guessed as much." Nobunaga replied. "That and you are radiating warmth even more than usual."

I smiled. "So...you are happy with the news?"

"Of course." He replied. "What could be a happier occasion than finding out the woman I love carries my child?"

I smiled. "Good."

A devilish grin flashed across his face then and he scooped me up in his arms. I let out a squeal of delight. "What are you up to?" I asked.

"Just thinking we should go have a private celebration, in our room." Nobunaga answered. He then kissed me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer. When we broke the kiss, I smiled. "I like the sound of that."

Just as Nobunaga was turning towards to tenshu, Hideyoshi and the other war lords were coming out. "Where are you going?"

"Ava was feeling faint, so we are heading back to our room where I will be tending to her for the rest of the evening." Nobunaga answered Hideyoshi. His tone was one that left no room for questioning. He was then taking me to the tenshu, leaving the other war lords with a questioning look on their faces.

"I didn't think Ava looked like she was feeling ill at all." Hideyoshi said. "Other than not touching her sake, she seemed like she was much herself."

"Oh, I think she was feeling quite well and that's exactly why they were heading to their room." Mitsuhide said. "It's quite obvious."

"What do you mean?" Mitsunari asked, clueless.

"It's nothing you need to worry about." Hideyoshi said with a sigh. "And Mitsuhide, you need to not say things like that."

"You know I speak the truth. No need for you to protect their modesty or anything. Especially when our lord isn't afraid to show how he really feels for his wife."

"Still just shut it, will you."

In the tenshu...

Nobunaga had carried me all the way to our room and hadn't put me down until we were at the futon. His hands made quick work of removing my obi and my robes. My hands sought him just as hungrily as his sought me.

We were a tangle of limbs as we explored each other. Nobunaga was gentle as he touched me and placed kisses over my body. His fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue stimulated me until my body was alight with need and just when I couldn't stand it anymore, he entered me, filling me and bringing me over the edge.

When we finished, Nobunaga fell back into the futon and pulled me to him, holding me close. "Now this is how a man likes being welcomed home." He said, his voice teasing.

I smiled. "Speaking of...welcome home."

"Coming home to you...and then getting the news that you are carrying my child...coming home has never been sweeter." He then placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and then he leaned down and placed a kiss on my stomach. "I love both of you."

There was no way to stop the smile that came to my face nor the surge of happiness I felt. While I imagined that he might want to share our good news with everyone else tonight, I was glad that we had the night to celebrate just the two of us.

The next day after waking up, we ate breakfast and got dressed for the day. We headed to the main hall and Nobunaga called a meeting of his war lords. We sat waiting as they all piled in, curious looks on their faces, wondering what this meeting was about.

Once they were all assembled, Hideyoshi, Masamune, Mitsuhide, Ieyasu, and Mitsunari, they all looked at us expectantly. "Thank you all for coming so quickly." Nobunaga greeted. "We have a matter of utmost importance to discuss."

"What is it, my lord?" Hideyoshi asked. "Is it Kenshin and Shingen? Or another enemy? We will strike them down immediately."

"I have no such reports from my sources of any of our enemies moving." Mitsuhide spoke up. "I believe our recent victories have scared several of them off."

"Calm yourselves, it is nothing to do with our enemies." Nobunaga spoke up. "No this is a more personal matter, but still quite important."

Everyone was quiet then. Giving Nobunaga their full attention. I was having a hard time not bursting out laughing. He knew how to play them all, giving such a serious and commanding look. Oh, I just can't wait till they find out. I thought, trying my best to keep from smiling.

"Last night, Ava gave me some important news. I believe I shall let her deliver it." He said.

"Important news?" Hideyoshi asked.

"And what could our little seamstress have found out that none of the rest of us are aware of?" Mitsuhide asked, amusement evident on his face.

"You involved in some plot we don't know about, lass? Our lord give you a secret mission?" Masamune teased.

"Because such a weakling could be trusted with something." Ieyasu said in an annoyed tone.

"I think Ava is much more capable than we all think. She has proven quite useful in tending to the wounded during battle as well as a skilled seamstress. Her joining the castle seamstresses has only added to the orders and helping the economy of Azuchi continue to grow." Mitsunari spoke up.

"Awe, thank you Mitsunari." I said. "But if the rest of you would shut up, I might actually be able to tell you. Tell you all about something none of you can do and only I can."

The room fell silent at my words then. I smiled pleased that I had managed to shut them up. "As you are all aware, I have been ill these last few days, but...that is not really the case."

Their eyes looked at me with questions. Hideyoshi couldn't help but to speak up. "But I saw you faint."

"What I mean is that I'm not really ill." I said. "I am...with child."

I am certain I heard their jaws hitting the floor. Mitsunari was the only one whose jaw wasn't on the ground, he wore a warm and happy smile. "Congratulations! That is wonderful news." He said.

"That is not what I was expecting." Mitsuhide said, seeming to recover from his surprise. "Though I am not sure what I was expecting."

Masamune smiled and then let out a laugh. "Should have known that this news would be coming soon, with as much time as you two spend alone in the evenings...and your late mornings."

I felt my face getting red just then. Nobunaga laughed beside me. He then wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close to him. "Now, that you all know, I expect your cooperation in keeping my wife and unborn child safe." He said. "Now, Hideyoshi, Ieyasu, I want you two to assist in finding the best midwife to care for Ava during her pregnancy."

"Of course, my lord." Hideyoshi said with a bow.

"It's a pain, but alright." Ieyasu agreed.

"Just as long as they aren't picking one without me. I am the one who is pregnant after all. I think I should find someone I am comfortable with." I said, looking at Nobunaga.

Nobunaga looked at me and smiled. "I should have known you would say something like that. Of course, you will pick whomever you see fit...but with their assistance. They can help you get the word out for what you need and Ieyasu's medical training should help make sure we find someone who knows what they are doing."

"And don't worry, I'll make sure the lass gets plenty to eat." Masamune spoke up, already having a guess as to what his orders could be. "I'll help fatten you up in no time, Ava." He then winked at me.

"Oh that will be interesting to see." Mitsuhide said. "I imagine you'll look quite adorable as your belly swells...waddling about the castle."

I let out a groan. "I am not your entertainment you know."

"Oh, but you're so amusing and so easy...I think you're about to be even more fun. I hear pregnant women get worked up quite easily."

Without thinking about it, I stood up and walked over to Mitsuhide and smacked him upside the head. "I said I'm not your entertainment."

Everyone looked at me stunned, even Nobunaga was surprised, but then he began to laugh as Mitsuhide looked up at me stunned. "My, my." He mused, then looked at Nobunaga. "It appears having your child in her belly has made her even feistier than usual."

"My fireball." Nobunaga said, looking at me with a fond yet amused smile.

I let out another groan. though Nobunaga calling me his fireball did make me smile.

"Would you really expect anything less from the woman who shoved me away her first night here?" Nobunaga said.

"A good point." Mitsuhide agreed.

"You really should watch your silver tongue, Mitsuhide." Hideyoshi said. "Ava is our Lord's wife, making her our lady...and we shouldn't aggravate her in her condition."

"I am pregnant not an invalid...and besides why would you all start treating me any differently now?" I asked. I was then taking my seat by Nobunaga back.

"That is not all I have to ask you." Nobunaga said. "As I mentioned, I want your help protecting Ava and our child. See to it she always has a guard with her when she is outside the castle. Whether that is one of you or one of your vassals."

The room rang out with all of them saying, "Yes my lord."

"Is that really necessary?" I asked, looking at Nobunaga.

"Once word gets out that you are pregnant, my enemies will see your value as a hostage increasing. It is just a precaution." He told me.

His words made perfect sense given the times we were in. Though I was already hating the idea of not being able to go anywhere outside the castle alone. But I know he just wanted to keep me and our baby safe.

Nobunaga placed a hand on my cheek. "I only want to keep you both safe. If anything were to happen to you..."

"I know." I replied, leaning into his touch.

I heard Hideyoshi let out an awkward cough. Masamune let out a whistle and Mitsuhide let out an amused laugh. Ieyasu let out a disgruntled sigh and Mitsunari just wore a happy smile. Though there was the shock and the teasing, I could tell they were all happy for us and that they would be happy to help keep the baby and I safe.

You're going to have some very protective and powerful uncles. I thought as I looked down at my stomach, my hand resting there. Nobunaga brought his hand to rest there as well. I couldn't believe how happy I felt. I was married to the love of my life and now I was having his baby and we had our friends sharing in that happiness.

Read Chapter 3 below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/659725379771252736/lady-of-azuchi-ch-3

#ikesen nobunaga #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #fanfic #fanfiction #romance #love #chapter 2

26 notes · View notes

heyitsyn · 4 years ago

Text

Complicated

Shirabu x Reader

a/n: im not very familiar with shirabu on a spiritual level like i am w the other characters but ill try my best!!

request: okok haikyuu hcs: shirabu is reader’s childhood best friend and messed up their last game in middle school because he changed his setting style to accommodate ushijima,,, and reader, as the manager is very very pissed and they get into a huge fight,,, so once they get to stz they’re academic rivals, reader became the vbc manager just to spite him (oh yea they definitely still have crushes on each other but it’s hard with the current situation) only if it’s ok!! not a lot of ppl write for him :

this is kinda the best friends-to-rivals-to-friends again-to-lovers

requests open!!

lets get our inhalers bc this finna be a wild one luvs

so, basically,

you and him were actually childhood friends since he lived next door to you

lets say you met when you were 5 and you just stuck on to this slightly cold and dismissive boy who was the shy type

idk bout you but i actually like that type

ppl dont really understand how yall got along bc you were the extrovert and the laughing type of girl

he only stuck around bc you were actually a smart person who helped him occassionally w your organized notes

but he still appreciates your time and efforts to be his friend despite his personality

plus, you also liked volleyball and together you both would watch volleyball matches in his house where you would see him with a smile that he unconsciously wears

like when yall were 8, you gave him a volleyball for his birthday since he lost his old one when he was playing by the river

at first, he was like, ‘oh, thanks, i needed this’

but then as he started tossing it up and down, you could see that bashful smile starting to surface

you shrieked,

bc you rarely see it and you think its super cute,

and just wrap him up in a hug and he turns all shy again but with a soft smile and a soft blush

‘thanks, n/n-chan’

uh oh, feelings

stinky

since he mainly focused on doing homework or studying, not a whole lot of kids really approached him to hang out since they thought he only lived to study and play volleyball

but you didnt care bc youve been friends w this bun for a long time and you know hes not really like that

he has fun moments too

since you were the manager of the volleyball team, you always try to showcase how fun he was by trying to take the team to bonding places

the team does think that shirabu has fun but only if its w you

anyways

one afternoon, you naturally just go to his house w him since your mothers know youre practically best friends and so you basically live in each others houses

yall were about halfway through middle school so shirabu has been studying more to get scholarships for schools

he was studying on the little table while leaning against his bed while you were just lounging on his bed after studying

‘ken-channnnn’

oikawa 2.0

‘hm’

you pouted at the distracted reply before sitting up and wrapping your arms around his shoulder from behind him and placing your chin on his shoulder

‘lets do something fun!!!! im boredddd’

he wasnt really fazed by the skinship bc youve been like that to him since day 1

but thats going to change soon

‘i have a new sudoku book over there that you could do’

omg what

‘ken-chan!’

you shrieked in betrayal before leaping off the bed and grabbing his arm to stand him up

shirabu was actually annoyed that you were distracting his studying but seeing a wide grin on your face made him double stop

am i,,,, catching feelings?

nah, he just going through puberty

‘lets go to the fall market! yuki-chan told me theres a new food place that opened and theyre handing out free samples!’

you excitedly told him and continued shaking his arm to persuade him in going

‘n/n-chan, this is my only free day from volleyball to study. i need to pass the test on friday’

you rolled your eyes at that lame excuse

‘i know. i set up the schedule differently bc you have a big test on friday! but you would still have time to study!’

‘but im still unfamilair with the topic-’

‘cmon, ken-chan! youre so smart you could rival buddha!’

‘i dont think,,,,, thats a right comparison’

‘either way, we’re going to hang out and have fun!’

he honestly didnt know why he was at this crowded market w you

shirabu is a whole simp

‘omg ken-chan! look! takoyaki!’

you dragged him to the stall and the nice old lady smiled before taking your order

‘1 box please. ken-chan, you want?’

he shook his head no and started taking out his wallet to pay

but you stopped him

‘no, you dont have to pay since youre not eating’

‘but i want to’

‘ken-chan! you need to save up for college!’

‘no its fine im pay-’

‘here ya go, dear. free of charge’

you both stopped at the nice lady’s sentence

‘b-but’

‘no it’s okay. its cute to find a boy who’s willing to pay for his girl since that doesnt really happen nowadays. i hope you have a great rest of your date!’

‘it’s not a da-’

‘thank you, maam’

shirabu takes the box and leads you out of there

you smirk and poke his tummy

‘you want to go on a date with me, ken-chan~?’

he turns red and looks away

‘no. it wouldve taken longer to fully explain the situation so just go along with it to make it faster’

you giggled

‘hm sounds fake but okay’

you both continue to walk around the market and even buy a few things like a mini buddha statue or a pair of cat ears for both of you

with everything you bought, shirabu payed with it all

you were pouting as you walked and he noticed so he nudged you with his elbow

‘oi, what’s wrong?’

you crossed your arms

‘hm.. i dont like that ken-chan is buying and spending money for me on things that symbolize our fun. i want to give ken-chan something to remember this day too!’

shirabu grows flustered but hes really confused

youve always been a thoughtful person who tries to be independent but unconsciously ends up depending on others like him

but your thoughts of wanting to do something in return for him just sounds like heaven right now

lmao what a simp

he looks around for a place that could have something that sparked his interest but nothing caught his eye

until he caught a photo booth by the corner

‘oi, n/n-chan, let’s go there’

you followed his finger and you gasped

‘thats perfect, ken-chan! let’s go!’

you drag him to the booth and you giddily enter the coins for the machine to start

but he was starting to think this wasnt a good idea

he was in a cramp space with you pressed against him

but youve always been glomped to his side since yall were kids so what was the difference now?

bc you catching feelings, fool!

‘ken-chan! its starting!’

he finally snaps out of his flustered state and he raises a peace sign with a smile

with all the pictures, there were funny pictures of you and him,

well mainly you

but he was happy to have them w you

‘ken-chan, you know i love you, but when will you fix your hair?’

he glared at you

‘i like it so its staying that way’

you giggled at his attitude

‘okay, ken-chan. at least it would make you stand out in the crowd so i dont have to look for you!’

you hugged his waist and he froze up, suddenly feeling awkward with this familiar position

its okay, shes naturally like this so calm down

dontcrydontcrydontcrydontcry

after your hang out, he didnt even bother going back to studying

he just laid on his bed, looking at the strip of pictures with a fond smile

he was happy that you only showed that true, bright, happy grin to him

it was only for him

and he only showed his to you

bc you were you and you were the greatest thing, next to his parents, that he has in his life

omg that thought

he freezes and the picture falls on his face at that realization

omg, does he like you?

youre a great friend and his best friend and he wants to be your friend forever

but then, he realizes

youd separate one day and youd have a boyfriend and get married and have a family without him

no, he wasnt going to let that happen

he didnt like that thought

and thus, began his crush for you

and you were the same thing too but you noticed it later than him

oof, when this one girl confessed to him at the back of the school, you cried to him when yall got home

‘when ken-chan has a girlfriend, he wont hang out with me anymore! hes not going to be my friend anymore!’

it took some reassurance from him and more from your mom, when you got home, to realize that you liked your best friend

and thus began the skinny love stage

the whole volley team knew of your pining and tbh, they thought yall were dating but you were just like, nah, we friends

if anyone were to look at you, they would think the same thing

but ofc, yall are insecure hormonal teenagers who think that the other doesnt like them and if they confess, they would be rejected and that would ruin their friendship and they would not be friends anymore and they dont think they could handle that so its better to keep the feelings hidden and remain friends bc if theyre happy, theyre happy

oml my entire love life

this continued on until the last year of middle school

bc not only do you suddenly stop being friends, you became rivals

so as volleyball manager, you helped the team with whatever they needed in return of them doing their absolute best and winning the game

the last game of the year, you were slightly confused at the way shirabu was playing bc it wasnt the normal way he sets

before, his sets were so good that he could give it to any player and they would spike perfectly

but now, it was so different due to the simple, almost lazy, and very high tosses

the team was slightly irritated bc they couldnt keep up with the high tosses so they couldnt hit it

in between the sets, during break, you pulled him aside as you wiped off his sweat

‘ken-chan, youre not setting properly to the others. theyre getting angry because it doesnt allow them to spike right.’

he glares at you, with almost manic eyes

‘its their fault for not being able to jump high enough. in order to get a point, the ace must get a high toss to aim a quick spike’

‘but theyre not able to jump that high, ken-chan!’

you whispered, worried that he was going too intense and they would lose the game

all the hard-work the others put in, all to waste

‘i dont care. i must start early and change early so ushijima could hit my sets in the future’

‘but they’re not ushijima, kenjiro!’

you whisper-yelled

‘right now, theres no ushijima, no oikawa, its just you and the team. your team’

he was shook that you used his first name and the way you were actually telling him off

youve never been like that before

but he was blinded by his goal in the future

‘why is he our ace if he couldnt even hit tosses meant for an ace?’

‘because hes not the ace you’re hoping him to be!’

‘kenjiro, listen to me, these boys have worked their asses off for years to even come close to playing against seijoh or shiratorizawa. im going to do everything i can to make that happen and im not going to let them lose just bc you are too busy focusing on the future rather than the present’

with the way he looked at you, you really thought he would listen to you and play the way his team needs him to play

but no, he played the way he thought ushijima needed him to play

in the end, due to the foreign and unfamiliar tosses, they were unable to hit as much points causing them to lose

you could never forget the looks on your fellow classmates, who were also going to graduate this year, as they watched the ball that shirabu tossed, hit the floor right next to them

to say you were pissed was an understatement

you were F U R I O U S ™

you held the hands of the first years as they were devastated at their first loss

but you caught the eye of your ‘friend’ and he was biting his lip in irritation and anger

as your team was walking to their locker room to get changed, you pulled shirabu aside

‘what the hell’

he stared at you

‘we lost. we lost bc they couldnt keep up’

‘kenjiro! are you not listening to yourself?! you lost because you couldnt accept the fact that your teammates arent ushijima wakatoshi! you couldnt accept the fact that they’re not tall enough! strong enough! ace-like enough! and for what?! for the future?! the future where you’re going to set for someone like ushijima?!’

‘i vowed to set for a player like him, y/n! i want to toss a ball to someone as powerful and as talented as him! thats a promise i intend to keep’

you were dumbfounded

he was acting on his own reasons and selfish intent, even costing them a game, for his preparation in the future

‘i cannot believe you right now. i didnt know you were so selfish, shirabu. of all the years i knew you, you were never like this. so what changed?’

at the almost betrayed look on your face hurt him bc weren’t you always there to help him? to support him? wasnt that the reason you became a manager in the first place?

‘you dont understand, y/n. i need to change the way i play now because it will greatly benefit me in the future’

honestly, you didnt even know why you were so angry about this

sure, it was volleyball and it was just a game

you had high school to win it again

but maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t being the shirabu you knew

the ken-chan you grew up with and harbored feelings for for years

he was turning to someone that worked not for himself, but for some guy he has never even spoken to

you blinked away the tears and looked off the side, away from his face

‘right. the future. yanno, if youre already like this, i dread to think about how you would act once you get that goal of yours. but i know one thing. im not going to be there to see it happen’

god that last sentence

he felt a piece of his world crumble bc were you saying goodbye? were you leaving him?

‘i cant see you torture yourself into changing into a new person, kenjiro. so good luck finding someone who can’

‘oh yea? well, i dont need you! i’ll be perfectly fine on my own and find someone better than you! youre easily replacable!’

that was a big booboo love

that fight costed him more than a decade of friendship and a few years of love

despite living so closely together, you refused to even acknowledge him and when your parents got together, you’d find some way to be out ofthe house or you’d lock yourself in your room

he tried many times to get to you and even cried to you, begging to not leave him

but you willed strong and you left him alone

omg she handled this so bad and i cant w puberting teenagers

eventually, he got tired of chasing you and was now angry at you for picking a team of people youve only met for a few years over him who’s been there for you since you were 5

he was betrayed, cold, and sad

however,

without each other to be there, you both studied even harder and eventually, you were both able to get into shiratorizawa

initially, you wanted nothing to do w that school since you knew kenjiro was going to be in it and that bastard ushijima wakatoshi was too

um,,, babygurl ushi did nothing to you

but your mother really wanted you to go to a nice school since she wanted you to go to a nice college

since yall werent friends anymore, he didnt know you wouldn’t be in shiratorizawa

so imagine his surprise when he saw you entering his class with the girls uniform on and a completely new hairstyle and hair color and were you wearing makeup?!

lmao she acting like they broke up

anyways, all he knows, is that boys were already looking at you and vying for attention and dear god, he didnt know how to handle that

for the first month of school, youd think you would just be ignoring each other like you did back in middle school

but nope!

somehow, yall were now talking again!

except it was a mean type of talking

you see, shirabu studied as much as he breathed and you were just a naturally smart sister who didnt study as much

but you still were able to make it to the top and currently, you were the 1st in your entire class

‘ara ara? 1st again? better luck next time, shirabu-kun~’

he glared at you from his seat as you passed by with a smug grin

this fueding is giving me vertigo

‘shut up. at least some of us work for our grades’

that was so weak lmao

but you turned around to blink your eyelashes, slightly mocking him

‘eh? are you saying that i’m naturally gifted? yanno, shirabu-kun, naturally gifted people are much better than those who have to work for it. you play with ushijima-senpai, right? so you’d know the difference between you two.’

bringing up ushijima always pained him but he kept repeating it to himself that he was doing it so that he could go to nationals

sensing his silence as defeat, you waved your hand and went back to conversing w your other friends

this continued on again for a while and he was already sick and tired of it

not only was it beginning to get annoying, it was beginning to hurt

he cornered you at your locker

aaaaa kabedon!!!!!!!

‘listen to me and listen well, y/n’

yessir im listening

‘whatever the hell youre doing, cut it out. youre not going to rile me up anymore and im not going to give you the reactions you want. i dont understand why youre doing this to me but you need to stop before i make you’

ohgodyessir

ngl, that tone of his voice was the lowest youve heard and it made you so red bc that was just hot

but you gulped before grinning wolfishly, hand pressed against his chest and the other snaking around his neck

you pulled him down to your level so you could lean close to his ear

‘now you listen to me and listen well, ken-chan, youre not my best friend anymore so you can no longer tell me what to do, kay?’

shirabu was just flustered at the close proximity between your lips and his ears that he completely missed your warning

he only snapped out of it when you walked away, heading towards your next class

you sat in class that day, wondering how to tease him more

clearly, just words wouldnt make him irritated

gurl why you doing this

and you were stumped until you saw a red-haired looking guy accompanied by a gray-haired looking guy coming up to you

ofc you recognized them from the volley team since you’ve,,,,,,maybe seen a few practices

you thought theyd just pass by but they stopped in front of you and you looked up w wide eyes

‘can,,,, i help you?’

‘wow shes cute!’

the red head shouted and you shrunk under the gazes of these tall men

‘sorry about him. im semi eita, second year’

you shook his hand and you introduced yourself before soon finding out this other guy was tendo satori

‘so what do you need me for?’

‘you see, we’re kinda in need of a manager. and i think its better to have a manager who is close to a player in the team. i apologize to say this but i saw you and shirabu-san by the lockers the other day and i think its best to have his girlfriend as our manager’

‘g-girlfriend?!’

you shrieked, shocked that they thought you were

at this mention, you got a flashback from the festival and you soon turned bright red at the label of you being kenjiro’s girlfriend

‘and youre so cute y/n-chan! i can see what our darling kouhai sees in you!’

‘no, you got it all wrong its-’

then you stopped

omg this was the perfect opportunity

no gurl stop jesus take the wheel

shirabu would hate it if you were a manager bc that would give you more room to tease him

holy

then you smiled

‘i accept, senpais. i want to see my baby in action after all’

they were ecstatic since it was a hassle to find a manager who wasnt infatuated w ushijima

you exchanged contacts and soon, you were brought to meet the team

oh boy when kenjiro saw you at the door, he dropped the ball on his head

what in the hell were you doing here

‘guys, this is our new manager!’

you peeked out from tendo and waved at them

‘hello, my name is l/n y/n, first year. and im glad to be your manager’

noticing shirabu’s shocked form, tendo and semi shared a look and interpreted as, hes so happy that his senpais chose his girlfriend for him so now he could show off and play better and that could hopefully turn his attitude to be more grateful and respectful rather than this dismissive and disrespectful behavior

but shirabu was dying inside

oh god, youre totally going to tease him during practice and hes not going to be at his best and hes not going to be able to prove himself to ushijima

‘oi! shirabu-kun! come be grateful to your senpais for letting your darling girlfriend as our manager!’

‘hey baby!’

omg, what

again, you have a loud and expressive personality so you were kinda shameless so you just ran up and hugged him

aaaaa this is so embarassing wth

‘didnt you miss me? oh, youre so cute!’

god, he knows youre only here to spite him

right on point, good sir

ugh you were practically teasing him as the manager and you were having so much fun making him all flustered

but he was also spiteful

sometimes, he would stick his foot out whenever youd run towards a player and hed laugh at you embarassing yourself in front of them

youd return the favor by accidentally throwing his water bottle at his face

‘oh, gomen, ken-chan’

the entire time, the team was baffled to see the usual stoic and dismissive shirabu so freely laughing and actually teasing you

they think its just for good fun and not the aim of hurting each other since yall are dating and youre just flirting

combined w being academic rivals and now rivals during the team, you both were unintentionally becoming close again

the brutality was slowly simmering to a low heat

and turn the over on at 350 degrees

now, it was just to make each other flustered

the crush that you thought was gone, was slowly digging itself out like the zombies in plants vs zombies

and my god you were annoyed

from now on, you were nothing but rivals and a parasite on his side

him feeling the same

dating would cause too much and the hurtful words would eventually come back up and you concluded that you were just too different

you didnt conclude shit

one time, the team was walking from practice to a nearby convenience store to pick up food

ofc you were picking out a billion foods and you just shoved them all to his arms

‘my darling boyfriend would pay for it because he loves me. ya know what they say, make his pockets hurt’

he glared at you

‘as far as i remember, i wasnt dating a pig’

ngl, that hurt a little bc hes calling you a fattie

but he still went up to pay for it and you intentionally bumped him with your hips to annoy him but it caused him to drop his wallet to fall

and out came his money and that picture

the picture from nearly 3 years ago

you bent down to pick it up before he could even move

god, yall were so happy and young back then

it was awkward silent since you didnt give it back and yall walked out of the store and the team was sensing the weird vibe around you two

‘oi, what happened? its so tense!’

‘did you fight?’

‘did you get caught making out by the aisles?’

‘ong shut up, kai!’

yall kai is a third year senpai that i completely made up since we dont get insight on the senpais before ushijima

but the team noticed the weird aura around you two and decided to walk away to give yall some space

‘can-will you hand it over now?’

shirabu mumbled

you nodded and pushed it in his hands

‘why,,,, why do you still have it?’

‘you gave it to me. of course id still have it’

you were silent before coughing

‘can we talk?’

‘its about time we do’

yall walked away from the team towards your home but were taking weird turns and corners to prolong the walk

you looked up to see him and you laughed

‘this is ridiculous. its not fair’

‘what are you talking about?’

he whispered

‘i was so angry at you for saying that you dont need me and that you could easily find someone better because i knew that and i didnt like it. but i was so hurt that it came from your mouth. out of everyone, i would rather die than hear you say that to me. i think thats why ive been like this. i dont know, im being stupid. i was being stupid.’

he stopped walking and clenched his fist while glaring at the ground

‘you told me you were going to leave me. you were telling me that you wouldnt be friends with me anymore. i had to choose between you or volleyball and i wasnt at the right state of mind at that time so i chose incorrectly’

you noticed him not beside you anymore so you went behind him to rest your forehead on his back so he would see you since he preferred to be honest while not looking at you

‘ken-chan, we messed up big time, didnt we?’

his body shook as he laughed

‘i guess we did’

‘it was only over a game. i was so mean and dramatic and ive called you names and said bad stuff about you and im sorry’

‘im not innocent either. i said those words to you and im sorry’

despite slightly making up now, you both knew those feelings would have to wait because you were only getting each other back

‘can we start over, ken-chan?’

‘you want to?’

‘yes’

‘then we will’

omg the whiplash this is giving me

so yall are finally becoming friends and your families are relieved yall made up again bc wowza those dinners were torturous

‘now that they made up, we can go back to planning their wedding’

‘MOM NO!’

slowly but surely, everything has been going steady and your friendship was getting better

but you didnt admit to the club about everything bc again, shirabu was like, ‘i dont feel like explaining everything’

you both still kept a rivalry but it was friendly this time with cute wagers like treat me to milk bread or banana milk

tOOrU oIKaWA’s fAvoRiTE fOod iS MiLK bREaD

he came over often and studied w you and yall would end up actually just watching a movie or watching brain games, unconsciously cuddled up on the couch

however,

this new closeness was doing damage to your heart bc you were again reminded of how much you liked this boy

initially, you thought it would just go away and never be seen again but it said

sIKe biH!

every time you saw him, youd unconsciously sweep away a stray hair and fix it to his weird crooked style

but whenever you do that, shirabu would get a close view of your face and omg you were freaking beautiful

and thats saying something from a guy who saw you through your awkward phase

hes unconsciously touching you more and showing more affection, even more than when yall were young

just being w you was emotionally exhausting as he holds himself back from doing drastic things but he was over it

he was done with all the years of pining for you so finally found the balls to do something about it

you were over at his place to study for exams and he was coming back up with juice

you were slumped over your calculus textbook with your hair in a bun and glasses on wearing his clothes

god theyre practically dating already

‘ken-chan, come help me with this’

he nods and goes to sit behind you

with his tall height, he was able to look over your shoulder and place his chin on it and tbh, you were so frustrated w the problem you didnt care about the closeness

‘you misplaced a decimal so everything got all wrong’

he mumbled

you gasped and made a noise of agreement before changing your answer

he didnt move though, instead wrapping his arms around yourwaist

‘oi, n/n’

‘hm’

this is a familiar scene

‘wanna go to the market tomorrow?’

at the mention of the market you stopped and leaned back

oh god your heart leapt at the feeling of his chest behind you but you composed quickly

‘should we?’

you turned to gauge his reaction at your closeness but he gently smiled

‘yea’

‘okay’

you havent been back to the market together since that day and it was so nostalgic as you both did the things you did back then

from the takoyaki to the stalls

it was so fun

but your heart was beating so fast

his smiling face and thoroughly enjoyed face was doing palpations in your heart

you looked away to stop staring at him and found the photo booth

‘look, ken-chan! the photo booth!’

he chuckled at the thought

‘should we go get another one?’

‘yes! come on!’

you quickly inserted the money and shirabu had flashbacks

but this time it was going to be different

‘okay lets start!’

the first picture, it was a peace sign

the second one was a wacky one

but the next one, was different

‘oi y/n’

‘what?’

the shutter went off just in time of him kissing you

the bright light caused you to close your eyes and you soon forgot what was happening

all you knew you were kissing ken-chan

your best friend

turned enemy

turned friend again

and now,,, were you lovers?

this rollercoaster is quite loopy

he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours

‘im sorry if-’

‘no balls, do it again’

and this time you lunged back for another

and again, this time, not only did you give him another photo, but you also gave him your heart

la fin.

yall what did i just write

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #shirabu #shirabu fluff #shirabu kenjiro x reader #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjirou #shirabu kenjiro fluff #shirabu imagines #shirabu kenjiro imagines #shiratorizawa x reader #shiratorizawa imagines

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

I Promise to Kiss You (Before You Die): 7/7

We're here! Finally! I'm sorry this last chapter took so long. It just came slowly for some reason. However, I am thrilled with how it turned out, and I hope you all enjoy it. And to make it up to you for the long wait, this beast of a final chapter is a massive 5,700 words and then some!

I have thoroughly enjoyed turning this iconic story into a Captain Swan fic. Thank you to every single one of you who left kudos and comments - it meant the world to me, even if I didn't respond to you. Thank you also to the mods of the @captainswanmoviemarathon and to my beta @hookedonapirate - it's been a fun ride!

Summary: Emma noticed him first, never forget that, and while all four of the Lucas sisters love Killian Jones, no one loves him the way Emma does, of that she is certain. Killian Jones also made her a promise. Sure, she was only twelve when he made it, but one day he’ll realize what it meant. One day, she hopes, he’ll get over her sister Ruby and finally notice Emma. A Little Women AU

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @xsajx @itsfabianadocarmo @spartanguard

Chapter Seven: Her Gallant Captain

Killian wrote to Emma every day, just as he had promised. He wished letters could fly as quickly as his thoughts, but alas, they had to make their way across the channel, then across Normandy, and into Paris. Emma wrote back to him that her pen was flying across paper just as quickly, but they both chafed at the slow exchange, wishing they could be in one another’s arms instead. Regina mentioned possibly heading back to London sooner than planned, but then the older woman’s health took a sudden turn for the worse. With her aunt suddenly bedridden, Emma was stuck in Paris, hundreds of miles away from the man she loved.

Letters traveled between London and Paris much, much faster than they did between London and Storybrooke, Maine. So it was that Killian didn’t learn of the tragedy that had befallen the Lucas family until autumn had begun to turn the leaves on the trees. The letter was written in Ruby’s blunt handwriting:

Dearest Killian,

Have you heard the sad news of our precious Belle? I always knew she was too good for this world. Our hearts are broken, especially since we can’t even all be together for the funeral. Mary Margaret has entered her confinement, and poor Emma is stuck in Paris as Aunt Regina is too ill to travel -

Killian dropped the letter upon his desk without reading it further and shouted for Smee to get him passage as soon as possible to France. He raced out of the office, jumped into the first cab he could procure, and headed to his flat to pack. Emma was grieving and alone, and he had to get to her as quickly as possible. Emma was all he could think of; even grief couldn’t penetrate the single minded need to rush to her side. That would come later, he knew, and it would cut him deep.

The letter was left behind in his office, the rush of air from the swiftly shutting door sending it fluttering to the floor. The maids disposed of it along with the rest of the trash, and Killian never read the rest of it.

I need you, Killy. Please come to me. I long to see you again.

With all my love,

Your Ruby

*****************************************

Rain fell from the sky, soaking Emma’s layers of clothing so that they stuck to her skin and weighed heavily upon her frame. She’d discarded her hat, seeing no point with the rain beating down. Her intricate updo was now a sodden mess with tendrils falling down and sticking to her cheeks. She sat in the little rowboat, the oars forgotten, letting herself drift aimlessly on the surface of the pond.

The man who rented the boats in the park had looked at her as if she had lost her mind. If he wondered why a woman of means clad in mourning black wished to rent a rowboat alone under a sky heavy with rain clouds, he didn’t ask. Who was he to turn away her coins? If a rich woman drowned in her eccentricity, that was her own problem.

Emma didn’t wish to drown; she just had to get out of that house. The air was thick with sickness, and the staff tiptoed around the place like it was already a tomb. Emma sat with her aunt as much as she could, reading to her, but the woman was spending more and more of the day sleeping.

Belle, her kind and gentle sister, was gone, and she hadn’t been able to say goodbye - not by her sickbed or even at her graveside. She was trapped in Paris, knowing her traveling companion would make the journey back to America in a coffin. The doctor had said as much on his last visit.

Emma shivered as the wind rocked her tiny boat. She wished Killian were here. If only he were by her side, to help carry this burden, maybe then she wouldn’t feel as if she were suffocating.

“Emma!”

The sound of her name was almost swallowed up by the pounding rain. She lifted her head and straightened her spine as her gaze swept the pond. There, on the same shore where they had so often picnicked, was Killian, her Killian. She shook her head and blinked, worried at first that she was hallucinating, but then he was running into the water and shouting her name again.

“Killian!” she shouted back, fumbling for the oars. “I’m coming!”

Yet he didn’t head back for the shore, the foolish man. He dove into the water and swam toward her, his strokes strong and sure, even in the pouring rain. She worked as hard as she could to maneuver the boat toward him, suddenly terrified that his head would slip beneath the green waters forever, but she simply couldn’t make much headway because of the wind and the rain.

Soon, Killian was clambering over the edge of the boat with her help, and they fell into one another’s arms. Emma grasped his sodden shirt collar and pressed delirious kisses to both his cheeks. Then she threw her arms around him again, grasping him tightly.

“I knew you’d come,” she wept against his neck.

He rubbed her back soothingly. “Of course I came. I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry . . .”

The words may have been inadequate, but his embrace and the tears that mingled with hers were what she really needed anyway. They rocked back and forth, the rain still pouring from the sky, and time no longer mattered. Then, suddenly, realization seemed to dawn on Emma, and she pulled away from him, smacking him in the chest with both palms.

“Are you insane? Jumping into the pond like that?”

He chuckled, taking both her hands in his and pressing kisses to her knuckles. “And what are you thinking, my darling? Rowing in this weather?”

“I just . . . “ she shook her head, “I don’t know what I was thinking. I had to get away, and I missed you, so I came to our spot here, but it still wasn’t enough, and -”

He broke off her words with a passionate kiss, and Emma kissed him back, burying her fingers in his thick, wet hair. It was good the rain had cleared out the park, for the picture they made would have been quite the scandal. A woman in mourning kissing a man so passionately in public without a chaperone.

“Emma,” he said breathlessly when they finally parted, “I can’t wait any longer. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she answered, her voice breaking on another sob. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her once more.

**********************************************

When Emma returned to her aunt’s, it was in a much different condition than when she had left. Servants were bustling here and there, scarcely noticing the two young people dripping wet in the foyer. At first Emma feared her aunt had slipped from this world in her absence, but then she heard Regina’s clipped voice coming from the parlor. Emma exchanged a worried glance with Killian, then rushed toward her aunt’s voice. She found the woman seated in a comfortable chair by the fire, her feet propped up on the ottoman before her. She was clad in a dressing gown, her gray-streaked dark hair tumbling free about her shoulders, and her lap draped with blankets. She still looked ill, but there was a new color to her cheeks.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emma shouted without thinking.

The parlor maid at her aunt’s elbow gasped, and the kitchen maid nearly dropped the tea she was pouring. Regina simply regarded her niece calmly with an arched brow.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m planning a wedding.”

Emma glanced at Killian in surprise, and he shrugged. She shook her head; how her aunt knew Killian was proposing wasn’t the issue right now.

“Aunt Regina, you aren’t well.”

“I haven’t been well since I was fourteen,” Regina replied sardonically, “I’m used to it. The two of you, on the other hand, might catch your death standing there in those wet clothes. Go change, for heaven’s sake, and then we’ll talk.”

“But -”

“Now.”

Emma and Killian were rushed out of the room by two more servants and shooed up the stairs. Emma’s chamber maid helped her dress, and when she exited her room and headed back downstairs, she heard Killian’s laughter coming from the parlor. She was surprised to find him having tea with Regina. He was wearing dry clothes - a brand new suit from the looks of it - though his hair was still wet. Regina chuckled at something he’d said before gesturing for Emma to join them. She hadn’t seen her aunt so animated in over a month.

“Swan,” Killian greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, then pulled out the chair for her.

Emma sat, regarding her aunt with complete confusion and shock.

“Take some tea, dear,” Regina practically ordered, extending the teapot.

Emma took the offered beverage automatically. “I don’t understand. When I left late this morning, you were abed.”

“Yes dear, but then the servants told me Killian had arrived, and I told myself, now Regina, stop this nonsense, there’s a wedding to plan. And, well, here we are.”

Killian attempted to hide a chuckle behind his hand as Regina cooly took a sip of tea. Emma shook her head in bewilderment.

“The wedding doesn’t need to be planned right away. We haven’t set a date yet. I’m in mourning!”

Regina’s casual air finally cracked, and she set her tea down with a shaking hand, the teacup rattling against the saucer. “Etiquette dictates you mourn your sister for six months,” Regina spoke quietly, “but I’m afraid I don’t have that long, my child.”

Emma exchanged a startled glance with Killian, then she hesitantly reached out and laid her hand upon her aunt’s wrist.

“You don’t know that. Like you said, you’ve battled this illness for many long years -”

“Which is precisely why I know the end is near!” Regina snapped.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, and Regina lifted a shaky hand to her brow. Killian reached out and grasped Emma’s hand for comfort. Finally, Regina smoothed her clothes and straightened her spine.

“I wish to see you wed and taken care of, Emma, before I’m gone. Please let me do this.”

Emma nodded slowly and reached out once again for her aunt. The older woman took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Emma wanted to give in to her wishes, but she had one more concern.

“Won’t society disapprove of a wedding during my time of mourning?”

Regina sniffed. “First of all, with death looming, I find I give little note to society. Aside from that, exceptions are often made in such situations.”

She and Killian exchanged a silent conversation, and then Emma smiled at her aunt tremulously. “Okay. Let’s plan a wedding then.”

*****************************************

The next two weeks were a flurry of activity as Regina threw together the small ceremony and celebration. The guest list was small - just Regina’s staff, a handful of her closest European friends, and Nemo. The latter just happened to be in France for business, and was thrilled at the news. (He may have also given his nephew a knowing wink that communicated I told you so.) The wedding would take place in the salon of Regina’s home, with the reception following in the dining room. The menu was one of only two things that weren’t simple. This is France, Emma, Regina had explained. Food is art here.

The other thing that wasn’t simple was Emma’s dress. She had fully expected to wed in her mourning clothes. It wasn’t unheard of for a woman to wed while still in mourning - as a matter of fact, sometimes situations made it a necessity - however, they never broke the rules of etiquette in their attire. Regina, however, almost threw a fit when Emma mentioned it.

“You must have a proper wedding gown,” Regina argued. “I promise you’ll regret it if you don’t. I’ll send for my favorite seamstress right away.”

At first, Emma felt guilty about the cream colored dress with lace at the cuffs and bodice and a train adorned with flounces and ribbon. Then Killian reminded her that the dress could be worn again for many happy occasions, including a celebration of their marriage when they got back to Maine and the period of mourning ended. That thought set Emma’s mind at ease and allowed her to enjoy the beautiful picture she made in her gown.

Emma contemplated writing to her family about the wedding, but she eventually decided against it. By the time the letter reached them, she and Killian would already be wed. A letter might do nothing but add to their sadness. She wasn’t sure when or how she would share the news, but it was something she would worry about later.

When her wedding day came, Aunt Regina came into Emma's chambers to admire her niece in her dress, carrying a large box in her arms. It warmed Emma’s heart to see her aunt getting around so easily. Planning the wedding had seemed to invigorate the older woman, and for that alone Emma was glad she had agreed to it.

“You look lovely, Emma,” Regina told her, a smile filling up her face. “I have a gift for you. The dress is your something new, the forget me nots in your bouquet the something blue, and this can be your something old and something borrowed.”

Regina lifted the lid on the box carefully. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was the most beautiful white lace veil Emma had ever seen. It was attached to a silver comb studded with the most exquisite pearls. Emma gasped as Regina lifted it and held it out to her.

“This was my mother’s,” she told Emma. “Unfortunately, my sister died before she could wear it, and well . . .” she shrugged, “obviously I never wore it either.”

Emma reached out reverently and touched the pearls with a feather light touch. “Could you pin it in my hair?” she whispered.

Regina nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Emma turned back to the mirror, and Regina stood behind her, inserted the comb carefully in Emma’s elaborate updo, then adjusted the veil behind her. Emma lifted her hand and gingerly touched first the veil, then the comb Killian had given her weeks ago that was tucked into the bottom of the twist in her hair.

“It matches Killian’s comb,” Regina marveled.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, “it does. It’s like it was meant to be.”

Regina laughed. “Yes, I think it was.”

There was a knock at the door and both women called for the person to come in. It was Admiral Nemo, tentatively peeking into the room.

“I don’t mean to rush you ladies, but we’re ready to begin.”

“Good,” Emma breathed with a chuckle, “I just want to be Killina’s wife already!”

The other two laughed and Nemo offered his left arm to Emma. She took it, smiling up at him. Regina brushed a kiss to Emma’s cheek, then rushed from the room so she could be seated before the ceremony began. Nemo guided Emma down the steps slowly and carefully, and as they rounded the hallway, Emma heard the strains of the string quartet her aunt had hired. Her heart pounded in her chest at the realization she was about to marry the boy she had loved since girlhood. A boy it had once seemed would never love her in the way she longed for.

He certainly loved her now, and passionately so. It was evident in the way he looked at her as she made her way toward him. His eyes widened, his chest expanded as he took in a sharp breath, and then he swallowed as tears welled in his eyes. Emma scarcely noticed when Nemo gave her away, pressing her hand into Killian’s. All she could see was him as they pledged themselves to one another.

***************************************************

The sight that greeted Killian when he woke the next morning was Emma’s bare back, her golden hair spread out on the pillow. She had stolen all the sheets and had them clenched in her fists beneath her chin, leaving her back on glorious display, the sheets barely covering her shapely derriere. Killian smiled lazily as he slid closer, pulling her flush against him and burying his nose in her hair. Emma groaned in weak protest.

“G’mornin, love.”

Emma grumbled again, and he chuckled.

“S’early,” she protested, voice slurred with sleep.

“I couldn’t resist you,” Killian told her huskily, running a hand over her bare shoulder and down her arm. “Besides, you’re hogging the covers.”

Emma turned in his arms, releasing her hold on the sheets and tossing them over his back to cover them both. “Better?”

He grinned as he pulled her close, her breasts pressing against his bare chest. “Definitely.”

He claimed her lips, and she kissed him back with the same intense passion she had revealed the night before. He rolled her onto her back, one hand roaming down the length of her body, and the other tangling in her hair.

“Killian,” she gasped feebly as he trailed kisses across her jaw and down the column of her neck, “this really isn’t proper.”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Whatever do you mean? We’re husband and wife.”

“Well,” Emma bit her lip, “that’s true, but I really shouldn’t have slept in the nude. What will the hotel staff think?”

“They’re not going to break in, darling.”

“But what if . . .” her voice trailed off as he resumed the path of his lips farther down to the hollow between her breasts. Her voice hitched and she dug her fingers into his hair. “What was I saying?”

“Hell if I know,” he teased, running his thumb across one of her nipples and chuckling when she gasped.

Suddenly there was a rapping at the door, and a voice called out in French, “Le service de chambre!”

“See!” Emma squealed as she sat up quickly and gathered the sheets to her chest.

Killian sighed. “Dans une minute!” he shouted to the maid.

“Petit dejeuner, monsieur.”

“Yes, yes, just a minute!”

Killian hopped into a pair of pants and started shrugging into his discarded dress shirt.

“You can’t go to the door now,” Emma hissed, her face flaming red.

“This is the honeymoon suite,” he told her, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. “They know what we’ve been doing. Besides, it's Paris!”

Emma huffed, but didn’t stop him as he headed for the door. They had paid for breakfast to be sent up to the room, and Killian planned on enjoying it. He also wanted to enjoy Emma in the nude a little longer, if he was being completely honest. They were in a cocoon of happiness right now, he knew this, and he wanted Emma to relax as long as she could.

He opened the door only a crack to find the maid on the other side with a full breakfast on a rolling tray. She didn’t seem surprised at his disheveled appearance or his request for her to leave the tray with him. Like he’d told Emma - the staff knew what this suite was for. When he turned around, he was a bit disappointed to see Emma seated at the small dining table in front of the fireplace, clothed in a satin dressing gown. Still, her hair tumbled about her shoulders, the satin outlined her curves deliciously, and her robe gaped open revealing the creamy skin between her breasts; all things only he, as her husband, had the honor to behold. He kissed her upon the lips before setting her breakfast before her.

“I’m starving!” Emma exclaimed as she spread her napkin upon her lap.

“You did work up quite an appetite last night,” he teased with a waggle of his brows.

“Killian!” she gasped, but he could tell from her smile that she wasn’t offended in the least. Their married life together would be fun, he was sure of it.

They had scarcely finished their morning repast when yet another knock sounded on the door of their suite. They shared a confused glance, knowing it was far too soon for the maid to return for the breakfast tray. Killian patted his mouth with his napkin, then hurried to the door. On the other side was the concierge with a folded note in his gloved hands.

“Message urgent, monsieur.”

Killian took the offered note with a hurried “merci,” then turned away, shutting the door behind him. He ripped open the missive, and as he scanned the brief words, his heart sank. He glanced up at Emma, who stood nervously, her arms wrapped around her middle. She knew before he even spoke that their honeymoon was already over.

*******************************************

The carriage rattled along familiar roads, and Emma could scarcely believe how little Storybrooke had changed while she, on the other hand, had left home a girl and was returning a woman - a married woman. Killian threaded his fingers with hers, and she turned away from the window to smile at him. Even through her gloves, his touch warmed her. She scooted closer and rested her head upon his shoulder. Despite her black satin bonnet getting in the way, Killian rested his cheek against her head.

Emma’s hands nervously picked at the black taffeta of her skirts, and her black reticule bounced with the rhythm of the carriage. She didn’t necessarily dislike the color black, but mourning clothes were a bit much, in her opinion. Her deep sadness from losing her sister, then her Aunt Regina less than twenty four hours after her and Killian’s wedding, was never far from her mind. She didn’t need the somber clothes to remind her.

“Do you really think surprising them is such a good idea?” Emma asked, lifting her head so she could see her husband’s face.

A mischievous grin curled his lips. “In times like these, pleasant surprises are always welcomed.”

“But how will they react when they discover they missed the wedding?” Emma also wondered how Ruby would react when she discovered her old flame had married her little sister, but she kept that to herself.

Killian gently caressed her chin with his thumb. “Your family aren’t the kind to be petty over social functions. Besides, we can throw the party of the ages - once the mourning period has passed.”

He bent and brushed a kiss to her lips to further punctuate his confidence, and Emma was suddenly taken back to another carriage ride many years ago. She smiled against his lips as she kissed him back.

“What are you grinning about, my Swan?”

With a sparkle in her eyes, she cupped his face, tracing his jaw with her gloved fingertips. “Oh, I’m just reminded of a promise.”

He chuckled. “That again?”

She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him again. When she pulled back, she dragged his bottom lip between her teeth, and the growl he made low in his throat sent warmth shooting down to her core.

“I think,” she told him breathlessly, “that we will be reminding one another of that promise frequently throughout the years.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “And I will gladly be fulfilling it over and over again.”

“Good.”

She snuggled up against his chest, wrapping her arms around his bicep, but just as she got settled, the carriage came to stop. She looked nervously at Orchard House, biting on her lower lip. Killian stepped out of the carriage, then turned and offered her his hand. Once her feet were on solid ground, she leaned into her husband for strength as tears pricked her eyes.

“It’s hard to believe Belle won’t be inside reading by the fire or playing the piano,” she whispered.

“I know, love,” Killian replied hoarsely.

They ascended the front steps, and Killian turned to her with a finger pressed to his lips. He winked at her, and had her step to his left, out of sight. Then he straightened, cleared his throat and knocked at the door. As was customary in the Lucas household, there was a shout within, followed by pounding footsteps, and then the door was flung open.

“Killy!” a familiar voice squealed, and Emma’s husband was jerked forward into a hug. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”

Killian stepped back, chuckling, and from Emma’s hiding place, her heart beat wildly in her chest. Ruby sounded so giddy with happiness, Emma was half afraid she would do more than hug Killian. He better hurry up and get to the surprise.

“Ruby, I’m so glad to see you!”

“Well, don’t just stand on the stoop, come in!”

“No, no, I’m glad it was you who answered.” Killian templed his fingers and pressed them to his lips as a deliriously happy grin filled his face. “I have a surprise for you all, and I want you to be the first to hear.”

“What?” Ruby squealed.

Oh God, Emma thought from her hiding place, does she think he’s going to propose a second time?

Killian, however, seemed oblivious to the breathlessness in Ruby’s voice. He practically vibrated with excitement as he said, “I’d like you to meet . . . my wife.”

At this, he gently pulled Emma into view, and she watched Ruby’s eyes grow comically large, her jaw drop, and the color drain from her face. It only lasted a brief moment, however, and then Ruby squealed with excitement again, pulling Emma into a crushing hug.

“Emma,” she choked out, “you’re home.”

Emma hugged her back, unable to stop the tears from falling. Ruby pulled back, but didn’t let go of Emma’s arms.

“Surprise?” Emma laughed.

Ruby looked over Emma’s shoulder with a twinkle in her eyes, then back at Emma. “Wife, huh, Mrs. Jones?”

Emma nodded her head enthusiastically, unable to keep the happiness from filling her face. Ruby hugged her again, then pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Ruby,” Granny’s voice called from the hallway, “who in the world was at the - Emma!”

What followed was complete and utter chaos as her family crowded the tiny foyer of the Lucas home. Emma was hugged first by Granny, then Marco, then Mary Margaret. Tears flowed as they pulled both Emma and Killian into the house and dragged them into the sitting room. Tea was fetched, and soon she and Killian were joyously sharing the story of their reunion, courtship, and hurried marriage.

“Aunt Regina knew she didn’t have long,” Emma mused quietly into her teacup, “and she wanted to see the wedding. I hope you aren’t angry with us.”

“Angry?” Granny exclaimed. “Why would we be angry? What a blessing during such a sad time.”

Granny lifted her apron to wipe at her sudden tears, but before the mood could grow too somber, a baby’s cry pierced the air.

“Oh dear,” sighed Mary Margaret, “that’s Ava, I hope she doesn’t -” her words were cut off by the cry of a second infant, “wake up her brother.”

“My niece and nephew!” Emma cried, jumping up from her seat. “Let me help you with them, please? I haven’t met them yet.”

Mary Margaret was more than happy for Emma’s help and gave her sister a crash course in changing the twins’ diapers. Then Emma distracted Leo while Mary Margaret nursed Ava, then they switched.

“How do you do it alone?” Emma mused as she swayed back and forth with a now content Ava in her arms.

“Oh I’m not alone,” Mary Margaret protested as she lifted Leo to her shoulder to burp him. “David is a wonderful father, and while he’s at work, I come over here so Granny can help. Our cottage is just over the hill, you know. Ruby helps too, although I don’t foresee that lasting much longer now that she has the inheritance.”

“So you think she’ll really move into Aunt Regina’s old house?”

Mary Margaret rose from the rocking chair, shifting Leo in her arms. “She wants to turn it into a school like the one Granny and Marco had all those years ago. Where any child - regardless of wealth or race or sex - can learn. David plans on leaving his clerk job to teach there. It’s risky, but he’s dying of boredom at that job.”

“It will be an interesting school with Ruby in charge, that’s for sure,” Emma chuckled.

Mary Margaret nodded her agreement, her eyes sparkling. “She’s reading up on all these new theories of education.”

Emma’s eldest sister tilted her head, studying her in a way that made a spark of excitement shoot up her spine.

“She plans to ask you to be an art teacher, Emma.”

For a moment, Emma’s heart thrilled at the prospect, but then quickly crashed back to earth. “You know married women aren’t supposed to teach.”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be teaching nature and gardening, Emma. Do you really think a school run by the Lucas clan is going to be traditional?”

“Precisely,” a voice spoke from the doorway, and Emma spun to see Ruby standing there with a smug smile on her face. She walked into the room and scooped her nephew out of Mary Margaret’s arms, planting kisses to his squishy cheeks. Then she turned back to her sister. “Please, Emma, be my art teacher. You’re so talented.”

Emma shook her head. “The art teachers in Europe would beg to differ.”

Ruby scoffed. “Please, they’re just a bunch of snobs. Besides, I know you would shrivel up inside without your art. Killian knows it, too.”

Emma glanced over Ruby’s shoulder to see Mary Margaret slip out of the room with a knowing nod. She then looked back at Ruby before taking a deep breath to steel herself.

“About Killian,” she said nervously, “I love him so much, and you know I always have. But please, Ruby, tell me honestly . . . do you . . . do you mind at all?”

A soft smile filled Ruby’s face. “Even though Killy once swore to me he’d never love another, I knew that couldn’t possibly be true. I also knew the love he had for me was more adolescent infatuation than true love. But you two? You’re meant to be, I can see it plainly.”

“Really?” Emma whispered.

Ruby nodded emphatically. “Besides, I had my share of lovers during my time in New York.”

“Ruby!”

Her sister gave her a sly look. “What can I say? I went there to expand my views of the world, after all.”

Ava gurgled and flung her arms about, causing both women to laugh. Emma offered the tiny lass her finger, and the baby rewarded her with a gummy smile.

“Careful,” Ruby warned, “that one bites.”

“At least she doesn’t have teeth.” Emma looked back up at her sister. “And this Peter you wrote me about?”

Ruby sighed. “Yes, I was rather fond of Peter, but Emma, I learned one thing beyond a shadow of doubt while I was in New York. Marriage isn’t for me. I want my freedom.”

Emma shook her head. “You can have both.”

“No, you can have both because you love a man who will let you have it. I didn’t love Killian, not like that. I did love Peter, but he would have hemmed me in.” She gave a wry laugh. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“You’re sure you’re okay with never marrying?”

“Absolutely. There were others besides Peter, anyway, Emma. Settling down, though? It’s just not for me.”

Emma nodded, trying to wrap her mind around what Ruby was saying. She loved Killian so much, she had a hard time understanding why everyone wouldn’t want what she had. On the other hand, maybe what she and Killian had was rare.

“Ouch!” Emma cried out, yanking her finger away from the baby’s mouth. Ava giggled delightedly.

“Told you.”

**************************************************

And so, dear reader, if you were to travel to Storybrooke, Maine, most likely you would hear gossip about the very unconventional Lucas girls: the scandalously single one who runs a “modern” school and lets her married sisters teach; the eldest sister who doesn’t seem to care that her husband is poor, actually encouraging him to quit a well paying job to be a teacher, of all things; and the youngest sister, who, while incredibly wealthy, is no more proper than her sisters.

The Storybrooke residents will regale you with shocking stories about Mrs. Emma Lucas Jones. How she lowers herself by teaching art to poor children in that odd school of her sister’s. How she scandalously bestows affection upon her husband in public. How she actually travels with him when he has business abroad, their entire brood in tow. Their brood, naturally, being the most scandalous thing of all since it’s evidence that they are entirely too amorous with one another. A proper lady may have two or three children, possibly four, but the Joneses have the improper number of six: Henry, Alice, Belle, Liam, Regina, and Hope. Henry, of course, is a scandal of a completely different sort, since Emma and Killian adopted the boy only a year into their marriage. An orphan of ten who may be afflicted with all types of evil vices. (Never mind that Henry Jones has the highest grades in his class at the Lucas school or that his manners are impeccable - he will always and forever be an orphan to many in the town, despite his parents treating him no differently than his siblings.)

Marco Lucas and his wife no longer suffer the bite of poverty. Between their second daughter’s inheritance, and the vast wealth of a certain son-in-law, they will never want for anything again. Yet that isn’t the reason their hearts are full as their large clan gathers for another Christmas in their modest parlor. It’s the love that binds them together, a love that runs deeper than blood. A love that reaches out to orphans, a love that calls the forgotten son or daughter, a love that crosses oceans to seek one who is lost and alone.

This isn’t the type of story that has a moral. But, dear reader, if it did, that would be the moral of this tale.

#cs ff #csmm #captain swan movie marathon #cs little women au

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moved-danganronpamess · 4 years ago

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globe anon again!! sorry for requesting a lot haha i just rlly love your writing! could i get some quality fluffy content of s/o forcing byakuya to spend a whole day with her doing ‘peasant things’ (such as going to mcdonalds or taking public transportation, etc)?? and byakuya not really wanting to do any of this but going along (very pessimistically) because he loves his s/o djsakgk tYSM!!!

Hey lovely! I love this request sm, and I tried my best with it because Byakuya is one of my favs,,, but it ended up with mostly McDonalds IM SORRY FORGIVE ME

Remember to prioritize yourself, health, and wellbeing lovelies!! 💗 - Mod Mikan who has class in like 5 minutes

Byakuya And His S/O Doing “Peasant Things”

I don’t know how you managed to convince Byakuya to follow you around all day, but I guess if you can manage to steal the Byakuya Togami’s heart, you can do anything! It’ll take a lot of patience and time for it to happen, but when it does, it’s hilariously amazing.

You were quickly slipping on your shoes to head out when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

“Hmm? Oh, Kuya! You finally came out of that stuffy office of yours!”

“For the last time, (Name), do not call me Kuya,” Byakuya sighed as he adjusted his glasses. “I just wanted to know where you were going.” (Yea… acting like he totally didn’t just want to spend some with you, drinking expensive tea and reading together. 🥺)

“Just heading out for some errands, Bya,” you hummed as you pulled on your jacket.

“Errands? Are you referring to those peasant activities you take part in?”

“Hey, they aren’t peasant activities! It’s things normal people do!”

“You are the least normal person I’ve met.”

You stuck your tongue out at him as you huffed. “You know, you should follow me around first and then decide whether I partake in peasant activities. You might enjoy yourself!” You knew that Byakuya wouldn’t be caught doing such things, but it was fun to tease your easily irritable boyfriend.

“I’ll just go drink the milkshake Makoto and Kyoko recommended to me by myself then, Kuya.”

“...Makoto and Kyoko?”

“Yup! They recommended me a yummy drink from this place we eat at frequently together! But you never want to come!” you pouted. “Please, can you come just this once? I’ll be there so you won’t be bored, ya know!”

“Fine… only this once though. And you better not tell-”

“Alrighty! Let us depart at once!” you cheered, grabbing the end of his sleeve, and dragging him out the door. Even though he never showed it, your lover had a soft spot for you and his friends.

It wasn’t until you two were walking side by side that you realized how out of place you looked. Byakuya was clad in his normal attire - a crisp, elegant suit, which was… not very normal for other people. What’s more was that your boyfriend was taller than most, and that someone as simple as you were walking with him like it was nothing. You were a bit embarrassed by all the stares you got but Byakuya looked like he didn’t care.

“Oh, we’re here!” you smiled, standing in front of the familiar place with the big yellow ‘M.’

“(Name)... please don’t tell me you took me here.”

“Don’t worry Kuya, McDonalds’ is pretty good. I bet even someone like you have had it at least once, right?”

“... I’m leaving.”

“Oh God, you never had McDonalds before?? *The* Byakuya Togami hasn’t experienced the wonders of fast food? We have to fix that right now!” you once again dragged a very reluctant and stiff looking Byakuya into the building. Thankfully, it was mostly empty save for a few customers. The place was as you remembered it - napkins laid on the floor messily, wet tables, the menu displayed brightly. You knew your partner disliked PDA, so you opted to just stay close to him so he didn’t disappear on you.

“You see anything you like, Kuya?”

You glanced over and it seemed as though Byakuya was busy casting one of his “You’re inferior to me” looks to everyone in the restaurant.

“Right… I’ll order for the both of us then.” You decided to get the frappe for yourself. Would Byakuya like the black coffee? But that was so boring, he drank that too much anyway! So you decided to order him a mocha instead. And some fries as well, you hadn’t had those in so long,,,

Your order came quickly and you excitedly took out your wallet to pay, when Byakuya stopped you and handed the cashier his credit card instead. (He loves you too much and also has too much pride to ever let you pay. And he just likes *flexing* in front of commoners apparently, you’re not sure whether this is intentional or not.)

The both of you walked over to the tables, albeit Byakuya was more slow, not the fondest of the surroundings and the caution wet floor signs.

“Come on, Bya! You gotta try the fries before they get cold!”

“(Name), I am not sitting… on that.”

“Don’t worry bro, I got you,” you draped your jacket over the chair and beckoned for him to sit down.

He grimaced and sat down in his normal sitting position, arms and legs crossed. “Being around the 99% of the failing population makes me physically ill, (Name.)”

“Shh… and just enjoy your mocha and try these fries man.”

He sighed and hesitantly reached for a fry, inspecting it and placing it into his mouth. You looked at him with stars in your eyes.

“It’s not bad, for peasant food-”

“Really??! We got em everyone! Byakuya admitted McDonalds-”

“I don’t know why or how I put up with you for so long…”

“Haha, because you love me right! Come on, try the mocha now!” After some more encouragement from you, you convinced your lover to try the drink, to which he started listing all of the things wrong about it. You managed to listen to him critique the whole place, how he didn’t expect much from a place commoners frequent, while you sipped on your frappe.

“Ah, wasn’t that so relaxing, Kuya? Spending some quality time with you is truly therapeutic,” you giggled, retrieving your jacket while Byakuya looked at you like you were crazy.

“Why do you always wear that one jacket every time you go out? You have plenty of other options at home.”

“Wow, you paid attention to what I was wearing?”

Byakuya smirked, “Naturally, I know everything that you do.” (His way of saying he cares about you a lot.)

“Well, this was the jacket you gave me on our first date! It was cold and you let me borrow your jacket… I didn’t know you had it in you to be romantic!”

Shock quickly came and left Byakuya’s face. “So you remember that as well…” he looked to the side so you couldn’t see his face. (He was def blushing a bit 🥺.)

“Come on, Kuya! There’s more peasant activity we have to take part in right now!”

You later dragged Byakuya into a bus, and he tries to pay and then you explain that you need to have a Metro Card or coins in order to pay. Therefore you had to pay for the two of you and he never felt so annoyed in his life.

(After the two of you get home, you spread the news to Makoto about your “date” with Byakuya, who spreads it to Aoi and Yasuhiro who can’t stop laughing. They never let him live it down and now Byakuya refuses to go anywhere near fast food. But he still loves you so much, so he still lets you cuddle with him while he reads 🥺.)

I’m sorry to everyone who had to read this, idk what I’m doing.

#danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #byakuya togami #byakuya togami x reader #byakuya x reader #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #trigger happy havoc x reader #thh x reader #byakuya togami headcanons #byakuya togami imagines #story petals

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chickenfics · 4 years ago

Text

Just Us -- Witcher Fanfic

Summary: While attending a royal banquet, Jaskier steps away from his performing for some time alone. But unbeknownst to him, the Witcher followed behind, catching the bard in a moment of vulnerability that they both bond over.

This wasn’t the first royal banquet Geralt and Jaskier had attended - far from it, in the bard’s case.

Though it might’ve been hard to tell from Jaskier’s oh-so-humble demeanor, he was relatively well known throughout the Continent, and had been hired to entertain several noble gatherings throughout his life.

And though it might’ve been hard to tell from Jaskier’s interactions with the Witcher, the bubbly, aggressively humorous bard was not the biggest fan of these banquet jobs.

Of course Jaskier loved performing, and he felt fortunate to be able to make it his life’s work. However, there was quite a cavernous difference between performing at your friendly (or, sometimes, not so friendly) village tavern, and being the hired entertainment for kings and noblemen.

Jaskier, though he would never say so, really didn’t like royalty. He would never speak ill of people he hardly knew, but they could just be so… unpleasant.

His attendance to their distinguished feasts and parties were often met with a wide variety of reactions. Some people looked at him as if he were a joke. Others didn’t even notice him, but were far too rambunctious for even the bard to feel comfortable performing in front of. And even still, many were blatantly rude to him, simply because he was not of ‘royal blood,’ and therefore below them.

For as lovable as Jaskier was, he was also the frequent victim of cold-hearted, ill-intended abuse, and many times it had been at the hands of a noble person.

As much as Jaskier wished he could reserve his talent only for those he found worthy of receiving it, he wished even more to be able to afford some meager food and a warm place to spend the night.

And royalty did pay handsomely.

So, despite all his lamentations towards royal banquets, and the royalty who attended said banquets, Jaskier gritted his teeth, put on a smile, and did what he needed to do in order to make some coin.

He tried to be optimistic. Things weren’t always so bad - sometimes his audience surprised him with kindness and genuine interest in his music. Sometimes…

It didn’t matter anyway - it was just something he had to get through.

On one such occasion, he’d been traveling with Geralt when a request for his musical presence arose.

Poor Geralt, who had been intending to quietly slip in and out of the kingdom in question without so much as a stray cat noticing their presence, found himself being roped into a night of dreadful celebration and socialization.

Someone had recognized Jaskier - or more specifically, Jaskier’s lute - and immediately sent word to the king and queen, who just so happened to be having a party the next night.

The two weary travelers were called before the crown and humbly asked (but really demanded) to join their celebration, given that Jaskier would provide them with a few hours of entertainment.

Of course, Jaskier had to say yes.

“What was I supposed to say?” The bard asked frantically when Geralt confronted him after leaving the castle. “‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry your Majesties,’” He started in a mocking voice, “‘but you see, I’m predestined to follow this large fellow around for the rest of my living days, and he seems to be intent on simply picking a random direction and walking until we drop off the Continent, so you see, I won’t be attending your party, thank you very much.’”

Geralt grunted.

“You could have just said no.”

Jaskier turned to give the Witcher a look of bewilderment.

“No - no I couldn’t have. Do you want to know what happened the first time I tried to decline a request from royalty?”

Geralt waited for an answer that didn’t come. Instead, Jaskier kept staring at him until he finally gave a testy, “What?”

The bard looked pointedly at him.

“Nothing, because I’ve never done it. Generally speaking, we mere mortals don’t say ‘no’ to kings and queens.”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Look, I don’t want to go any more than you do,” Jaskier said fiercely, gesturing with his hands to get the point across.

“And,” he added, “at least you get to just -- sit in the corner and indulge in the pleasantries. I’m the one who’s going to be stared at all night.”

“Well actually” he tilted his head, “probably ignored, but you get the picture.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier.

“I’m a Witcher, Jaskier. I don’t get to go anywhere without being stared at.”

The bard’s eyes softened a little.

“Look, Geralt, I’m sorry. Really,” then, after a moment of thinking he added, “If you really don’t want to go, I won’t make you -- don’t want that on my conscience,” he said, half joking.

Geralt sighed, rolling his head to one side.

He very much did not want to go, but if he didn’t, Jaskier would probably wind up getting himself in trouble. Either that or drunk, and both would result in Geralt having to stay put longer than he already was. The Witcher just wanted to get moving and leave this place and all its people behind them.

“Fine -- I’ll go. But we go in, you perform for however long you’re getting paid to do so, and then we’re leaving.”

Jaskier, Geralt noticed, looked relieved.

“Fantastic,” he said with a grin.

“But you’re going to need a bath, and a change of clothes, my good friend. You stink like a--”

Jaskier’s voice dissipated as Geralt threw him a warning glance.

“Fine, fine,” he said, surrendering. “But seriously -- a bath.” He gave Geralt a nod and a flirtatious wink, which earned him a grunt from the Witcher.

They parted ways - Geralt for his bath, which was taken reluctantly, and Jaskier so he could prepare his instrument and his voice.

In reality, the bard ended up taking a nap.

Geralt, after visiting the bathhouse, had made his way back to their camp on the outskirts of the kingdom’s walls to find Jaskier slumped against a tree.

The Witcher sighed, watching the sleeping bard with fondness for a moment before gently kicking his boot.

Jaskier jolted awake, looking around a little startled before his eyes landed on the Witcher.

“Oi - Geralt. I was just… resting my… voice,” Jaskier said groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Mmhm,” Geralt said with a barely noticeable smirk that was, of course, noticed by the bard.

Jaskier had very quickly learned the ways of Geralt, and was able to pick up on things that most others couldn’t.

“What time?” Jaskier asked, struggling slightly to rise from his position on the ground.

He stumbled forward a little and, with a raised eyebrow, the Witcher reached a hand out to steady the bard.

“It’s time for us to get going, if we’re going to make it to this… party,” He said, sounding less than excited.

“Right -- yes.”

Then, as if remembering that he’d just been napping against a tree, Jaskier gave a glance down at his clothes, frantically brushing them off.

Bringing his hands up to ruffle through his mousy brown hair, he asked Geralt, “How do I look, hmm? Fit for a king?”

The last sentence teased sarcasm.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, narrowing his eyes at the bard, one corner of his mouth tilting upward.

“I’ll take that as a yes -- c’mon, or we’ll be late,” Jaskier chirped, fully awake now.

Slinging his lute onto his shoulder, Jaskier set off in the direction of the castle, the Witcher trailing not far behind.

The party started off alright. By the time Jaskier and Geralt arrived, the festivities were already in full swing. Elegantly dressed women were waltzing about, serving the noble guests with food and drink. Several of the attendees were already dancing, and the center floor was crowded with women in fine dresses and men adorned with intricately patterned jackets.

The room swirled with chaotic activity. The moment they entered, Geralt scoped out a coroner and broke away from the bard to hide from the rest of the party-goers.

Jaskier, not surprised by this, let him pull his disappearing act, knowing that if necessary, they would find each other.

Instead, he swerved in and out through the sea of people until he found the platform where the musicians were set up.

Removing his lute and wrapping the strap around his shoulders, Jaskier began strumming chords and ensuring everything was in tune - something he would have done prior to the party, had he not taken a power nap instead.

It was no bother, though, as his hushed strums could not be heard over the blaring band, and the crowd of people had not even noticed he’d arrived.

That is, until the Queen herself announced it.

Once the dancers had completed their jig, she signaled the musicians to stop. They’d foreseen this order, as they’d noticed the bard prepping his instrument, and without so much as a sideways glance, abandoned their instruments and headed for the table piled high with food.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” The queen said, her voice grand and stately. She swept her hand, long silken sleeve trailing like a curtain, towards the bard.

“Our honored guest of entertainment - Jaskier! You may recognize him as the bard of the infamous White Wolf. He has generously agreed to perform for us tonight.”

With that, she nodded at Jaskier and took her seat.

Jaskier, who had already prepared himself, bowed grandly to the crowd.

Wasting no time, he began to sing. He started with a song of similar tempo to the jig that had been playing, hoping to ease the crowd into his music.

By the second song, the band members had returned to take up their instruments and accompany him for the remainder of his time.

All while he was singing and playing, Jaskier was watching too. He was good at multitasking - in his line of work, you had to be; many times Jaskier had caught a crook trying to steal his disguared jacket or forgotten meal while he played. But keeping a watchful eye also allowed him to gauge the interest of the crowd, and adap to meet their entertainment needs.

This particular crowd didn’t seem to care, really. A group of dancers had assembled once again in the center of the room, but they reacted no differently to his music then they had the previous musicians’. Those who were sitting or standing along the walls to talk or eat didn’t seem to mind him either way. Some were listening, others were ignoring.

This wasn’t the worst reaction, Jaskier knew, and he much preferred indifference to cruel jests and sideways looks, so he continued to play with the showmanship that had earned him such a grand reputation.

He played for two hours before finally taking a break. He was being paid for two more hours, so he had a long night still ahead of him.

Despite this - or maybe because of it - the bard was exhausted.

He rarely played this long at taverns, as the people he encountered there were far less likely to be entertained by the same thing for so long, so he was feeling a little out of his depth.

Now that he had time to think freely, seeing as he was not performing, he began to feel slightly overwhelmed. He found it hard to slow his breathing down, and nearly impossible to relax.

‘Uh oh. Not good,’ he thought to himself.

He still had a lot of singing left to do, and he surely wouldn’t be able to if he continued to feel like this.

He needed to get away from the party for a moment.

He absentmindedly slid his lute around so it was positioned on his back, then sought out a servant girl to attain a much needed drink of water. Once his thirst was quenched, he excused himself and slipped out the door.

Wandering through the hallway, he peered into rooms without much caution, desperately trying to find a quiet place to be alone.

A few doors down he found the perfect place; a small, plain room that was equipped with a long table. It looked like some sort of conference room.

Jaskier didn’t care what its purpose was, only that it was dimly lit and quiet.

He stumbled towards the back of the room, falling into a cushioned chair. Propping his feet up on the table, he let himself lean back heavily, trying to relax.

The total silence, in contrast to the constant noise of the last few hours, unsettled him, so he began to gently pluck at a few strings on his lute.

With his back facing the door, he absentmindedly strummed on his instrument, playing nothing in particular.

The gesture relaxed him, and he felt himself begin to breathe easier.

There he sat for several minutes, plucking at strings and creating a wispy, intricate melody with his skilled fingers.

His eyes stared as he spaced out, all of his focus being on the delicate music he was creating.

After a while, and after he had successfully calmed down, Jaskier knew that the banquet hall would be expecting him back.

With a sigh, he stopped strumming and sat up, tossing his legs down from the table and standing.

When he turned around, he found himself face to face with Geralt.

The Witcher, who must have slipped in unnoticed by the distracted bard, was leaning against the wall by the door, one leg crossed over the other. He was watching Jaskier intently, but his eyes were inexplicably soft.

“Geralt,” the bard said with a start. “What--” The question died on his lips.

What was he doing here? How long had he been watching him?

Instead, all Jaskier could do was stare back.

“I…” The Witcher started somewhat hesitantly. “I saw you leave, and I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows.

“Oh,” he said with a nod of his head.

“And then I heard you playing. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“So you just -- watched ominously from the shadows?” Jaskier teased, a smirk forming on his lips.

Geralt looked away from him for a moment, exhaling a gentle laugh from his nose.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Jaskier smiled at the Witcher.

“Well… I don’t mind,” he said. “But you know, you don’t have to sneak up on me to hear me play. I’m at your service - day or night, you need only call,” he gave a sweeping bow, looking up at Geralt mischievously.

Geralt, to Jaskier’s utter surprise, looked serious and thoughtful.

“I’ve seen you perform many times - too many, if you ask me. But that,” Geralt tilted his chin towards where Jaskier had sat only moments ago. “That wasn’t performing. That was just… you.”

Jaskier gave a thoughtful tilt of his head, looking up at the Witcher.

“Yes,” Jaskier said softly. “But if I were ever to play for you, that wouldn’t be a performance either,” he hesitated a moment.

“That would be just... us.” His tone was careful, tentative - but Geralt could sense the honest vulnerability it carried.

The Witcher looked at him closely, his face blank, but his eyes were contemplating the bard’s words.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed reflectively, his brows slightly drawn together.

Jaskier gave the Witcher a sweet, lopsided grin and shrugged his shoulders.

After a long exhale, Geralt��s eyes left the bard’s face to glance in the direction of the banquet hall. He grunted, sounding almost irritated.

“You better get back,” he said in his low, gravely voice. “It sounds like they’re in need of some music.”

Jaskier followed Geralt’s gaze for a moment before his eyes, seemingly of their own volition, returned to Geralt. The bard found the Witcher’s own intense amber eyes looking back at him.

Jaskier sighed, flicking a strand of hair off his forehead.

“Right. Two more hours, then we’re out of here,” He said optimistically.

“Hmm,” was Geralt’s only reply.

The rest of the party was a success. Jaskier was exhausted, and Geralt had to assist the bard back to their camp.

Jaskier was also drunk, of course.

Geralt had tried to stop him, wanting to leave the moment the bard was done, but Jaskier insisted.

“I can’t leave a perfectly respectable party without indulging a little bit, Geralt. Besides, half of my payment comes in the form of wine.”

So Jaskier had gotten his way and, unsurprisingly, that meant he’d had several drinks before the Witcher finally managed to tear him away from the castle. As they made their way back to camp, Geralt kept a close eye on the bard, who was swaying slightly, and needed to be reminded several times of the direction they were going.

After Jaskier tripped for the third time, Geralt stopped him to gently remove the lute from around the smaller man’s chest.

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing,” Jaskier said, his voice changing octaves as his words slurred.

Geralt grunted, then said, “If you fall and smash this lute, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I won’t -- give it--” Jaskier lurched forward, reaching for the instrument.

But, seeing as Jaskier was intoxicated and Geralt was far quicker and stronger, the bard promptly gave up.

“Just -- be careful, please,” Jaskier practically begged, looking so purposefully at Geralt that the Witcher almost laughed.

Instead he simply sighed and continued walking.

“Don’t worry, Jaskier,” he said, his voice revealing some of the humor he felt.

The bard trailed behind him.

“I do worry,” Jaskier hiccuped, then coughed. “All the time, actually.”

Geralt stopped, turning suddenly to look back at his friend with an expression of mild concern that caused Jaskier to stop in his tracks. “Wat?” He said in a high, throaty voice.

Geralt sighed.

“Nothing. Come on, let’s get moving.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” Jaskier mumbled.

By the time they reached camp, the bard had totally forgotten about his lute, though this was only because he knew Geralt had it. It never mattered how drunk Jaskier was, he always kept a close eye on his prized instrument. But, as he knew the Witcher would take care of it, he allowed himself to fall into his makeshift bed without a second thought.

In a matter of minutes, he was asleep.

Geralt stood, the lute slung carefully across his wide shoulders, staring at his friend for several minutes.

Jaskier was breathing deeply, his face squished into the bundled up blanket that served as a pillow. His hair was a tangled mess of waves, draping over his forehead. He looked peaceful, content - much more serious than when he was awake.

With no one to bear witness, the Witcher smiled - an expression that carried a hint of sadness with it.

Then he carefully laid the instrument next to the sleeping bard, making sure to put it where Jaskier would find it the second he woke up, and there wouldn’t be a moment of doubt that Geralt had kept it safe for him.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt and jaskier #geralt of riva #jaskier #geralt x jaskier

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