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ickynights · 7 months ago

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Finals season stress

Ivan + Seongmin

Seongmin’s older sister had warned the younger just how difficult his first finals season would be in college but he didn’t expect it to take over his life like this.

He prided himself on the neat arrangement of his side of the dorm, a stark contrast to his roommate and boyfriend, Ivan, whose space often looked more ‘lived-in’. Where Seongmin’s area was a model of college tidiness, with every book and note in its rightful place, not a piece of trash in sight. Dorm room magazines had nothing on him.

All of his attempts to stay the cleanest student in the dorm building held zero meaning now. Now, his room was nearly unrecognizable.

His once pristine desk was scattered with countless open textbooks, overlapped with papers covered in sticky notes which barely could be considered eligible. Half-empty coffee mugs and mounds of snack wrappers throughly filled the rest of the empty spaces. His laptop, buried under a mound of class handouts and old quizzes, buzzed with notification reminders of upcoming deadlines. The clothes that were usually folded neatly in the closet or tucked away in drawers, were draped over the back of his chair and cluttered atop his bed, some of which he wasn’t even sure were clean.

Normally, Ivan would tease his boyfriend about such a drastic change, but even he couldn’t bring himself to find humor in the situation this time. Although Ivan was busy with his own exams and essays, he couldn’t help but focus on how much of a mess his boyfriend had become.

Throughout the first semester, Seongmin had diligently prepared healthy meals for both himself and Ivan, almost never opting for the school’s cafeteria shitty food. However, over the past two weeks, his diet had taken a drastic turn. The poor boy had lived off of only two large family packs of Goldfish and far too many slices of cafeteria pizza for his belly’s comfort.

Ivan tried to convince Seongmin to at least throw some fruit into the mix but he was only met with an eye roll and a quiet no thanks. The only thing Ivan could do was watch as his once perfectly put together boyfriend practically wither away in stress induced malnourishment, and hope Seongmin could become himself again after finals ended.

—————

"Could you turn your show down a bit?" Seongmin groaned, his eyes glued to his English textbook. "I know you've finished all your work, but I still need to get through this essay."

Ivan obliged and lowered the volume of the Tv, and casted a sympathetic glance at Seongmin, “Why don’t you take a break to eat, baby. My mom brought over food earlier, it’s your favorite.”

Seongmin looked up from his laptop, something he was sure he hadn’t done all day. He noticed how concerned his boyfriend looked and his stomach practically screamed at him to put actual food in it, but he just simply didn’t have the time to eat anything.

“I have an hour left till this essay is due and I need to revise more,” Seongmin started, trying to ignore the instant eye roll he received back, “But, I promise the second I submit this essay, I’ll sit down and eat with you. Please bear with me, honey. You know I don’t like this any more than you do,” Seongmin pleaded, his expression morphing into a small pout that he hoped would soften Ivan’s frustration.

“Fine, but just so you know, I’m not letting you leave this room until you finish everything she’s made,” Ivan answered roughly, pushing himself up from the couch with an audible sigh of frustration. “I’m serious, Seongmin. You can’t keep skipping meals like this. It’s not healthy, and I won’t stand by and watch you run yourself into the ground,” Ivan added, his tone firm but tinged with worry.

“I appreciate your concern, Ivan, but you’re not my keeper,” Seongmin retorted, his voice sharp and eyes narrowing slightly in frustration. “I know my own limits, okay? I just need to get through this essay, and then I’ll eat—like I said. I don’t need a lecture on top of everything else right now.”

Ivan sighed heavily, the frustration evident in his voice as he grabbed his jacket. “You say that, but you’ve given me this promise like five times this week and guess what? You haven’t kept it once,” he pointed out sharply, his expression tight with irritation. Throwing on his jacket, he added, “So, excuse me if I’m not exactly overflowing with trust right now. Eat whatever you fucking want. I don’t care anymore.” Ivan left, slamming their door.

Seongmin watched silently as his stray papers swayed in the draft, the light rustling sound punctuating the tense silence left in the wake of their argument. His eyes lingered on the door, almost hoping his boyfriend would turn around and come right back in to make up with him.

With a heavy sigh, Seongmin leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The room felt emptier without Ivan’s presence, and the weight of his words lingered in the air. Despite his annoyance, Seongmin knew Ivan was right. He had been neglecting his health, and his promises to take care of himself had fallen unanswered. Seongmin debated running out of the room to chase after Ivan but he knew the older needed space.

Taking a deep breath in, Seongmin focused himself back on his essay in hopes to finish in it in record time. Logistically, he knew exactly how to make it up to Ivan— the simple gesture of actually listening to him and eating the home cooked meal.

It didn't take long for Seongmin to finish editing the essay and submit it. While it wasn't as well-written as his previous work, he reasoned that one B couldn't hurt. Besides, he'd much rather prioritize making Ivan happy than obsess over the quality of his essay, that barely mattered in the long run.

Seongmin quickly got up from his chair and walked over to the microwave, where he knew Ivan had left the pre-made food. Opening the microwave, he found a large, steaming casserole dish filled. The enticing aroma of spices and slow-cooked flavors filled the air, making his mouth water in anticipation. The dish was a colorful array of tender chicken simmered in a spicy tomato sauce, mixed with bell peppers, onions, and black beans.

The food looked absolutely delicious, but Seongmin couldn't fathom how he was expected to finish the whole thing. There was no way Ivan's mom had made the dish just for him. Yet, Ivan had specifically instructed Seongmin to finish it all. He could very well had just been saying that out of anger but Seongmin was determined to appease his partner.

As Seongmin started eating, he found the dish to be incredibly tasty. Each bite was a mix of flavors and textures that reminded why he always chose to eat home cooked meals in the first place.

Seongmin continued eating, he could feel himself growing increasingly full and uncomfortable. Not even halfway through, he noticed his belly straining against his sweatpants. It audibly protested, signaling it was ready for him to stop. However, Seongmin was determined not to let Ivan down.

Despite his determination, Seongmin’s body began to rebel against the onslaught of food. With each bite, his stomach got increasingly more bloated the pressure in his belly building to an almost unbearable level. He shifted on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it offered little relief.

Seongmin rarely burped, finding the act rather disgusting. However, as he continued to eat, not a minute went by without a small (or large), involuntary burp escaping him. Each one seemed to release a bit of the pressure building up in his stomach, offering a momentary reprieve from the discomfort.

After what felt like an eternity, Seongmin finally finished the last bite of food. Despite feeling queasy and the slightest movement threatening to send him rushing to the bathroom, he grabbed his phone and snapped a picture of the empty dish and his very bloated belly. With a sense of accomplishment mingled with discomfort, he sent the photo to Ivan, proof that he had indeed finished it all.

Seongmin carefully lowered himself back onto the couch, letting out a low groan as he felt the contents of his stomach swirl uncomfortably. The gurgling was becoming more and more concerning, with Seongmin watching in awe as he could practically see them rippling across his upper belly.

Seongmin had been no stranger to an upset tummy with how much junk he’d put into himself for the past week but this by far worse than anything he had ever experienced. The discomfort was becoming unbearable, and Seongmin was unsure if he’d even be able to digest all the food he just ate.

Just as he was about to roll over and try to sleep off the pain, he felt his phone vibrate with a notification. Seongmin moaned as he reached over to look at his phone.

The message from Ivan read, “Baby, please tell me you didn’t actually didn’t eat all that food?”

Seongmin rolled his eyes, wasn’t that exactly what the older had told him to do…

“That’s what you told me to do, was it not?” Seongmin replied, feeling a bit guilty for his obvious upset tone. But his tummy was hurting, who could blame him!

Ivan responded within seconds, “I was just kidding, baby! You must be feeling so sick :( I’m on my way home now, try to relax until then.”

Seongmin felt his belly loudly grumble as he read Ivan’s text. He glanced down with an apologetic look spread across his face. He had put the poor thing through hell over an exaggeration. Placing his hand onto his stomach, he rubbed it gently, wincing as it cramped, almost as if it was chastising him.

Thankfully, to Seongmin and his stomach's relief, Ivan arrived back at the door quickly with a bag full of medicine and waters in hand.

Ivan rushed over to Seongmin, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, dropping the bag onto the coffee table and placing his hand on Seongmin’s tummy.

“My tummy hurts,” Seongmin whined, leaning into Ivan’s touch.

Ivan frowned and used his other hand to caress his boyfriend’s lips. “I’m sorry, baby. I really didn’t think you’d take it literally,” he apologized, his voice filled with remorse. Leaning in, he kissed Seongmin gently, afraid to hurt him further. “I got you some medicine that should help it all digest easier. You think you can handle them right now?”

Seongmin nodded weakly, willing to try anything to get his stomach to settle. He sat up slowly, holding onto Ivan’s arm for balence, he took the medicine and swallowed it with the water, hoping for some relief.

The two settled into the couch, with Ivan lying behind Seongmin. He hummed softly as he rubbed gentle, soothing circles onto the younger’s belly. Seongmin closed his eyes, feeling the tension slowly drift away under Ivan’s touch. The rhythmic motion of Ivan’s hand was comforting, and Seongmin couldn’t help but relax into the embrace. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of Ivan’s soothing tune and the upset gurgling from Seongmin’s stomach.

Seongmin drifted off to sleep, the gentle rhythm of Ivan’s hand on his belly lulling him into a peaceful slumber. Ivan continued to rub Seongmin’s stomach, his touch light and soothing.

Ivan’s hand stilled as he felt the rumbles coming from Seongmin’s stomach grow more intense. He tried to follow their source, his brows furrowing in concern. Seongmin shifted slightly in his sleep, a soft moan escaping his lips. Ivan debated on whether to wake up the younger or not. It was obvious to him, Seongmin’s belly had zero plans on allowing the meal to stay inside it much longer, but Ivan didn’t want to disturb his boyfriend’s rest— he barely had any all week.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ivan gently shook Seongmin awake, his voice laced with concern. “Seongmin, wake up. Are you feeling okay?” he asked, his hand still resting on Seongmin’s belly. Seongmin stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at Ivan, confusion and discomfort evident in his expression. Before Seongmin could whine about being woken up, he felt his stomach harshly lurch. Seongmin barely even awake, turned to the side and retched violently, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor beside the couch.

Ivan quickly got up and grabbed the trash can, placing it under Seongmin just in time as he vomited again, his body heaving with each retch. Ivan rubbed Seongmin’s back soothingly, while also holding him upright to help ease the strain on his body. Seongmin’s face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead as he continuously emptied the contents of his stomach into the trash can.

After a few minutes, the retching ended, and Seongmin slumped back into Ivan’s hold.

“I’m here, Seongmin. You’re going to be okay,” Ivan whispered, his voice filled with reassurance. He continued to rub Seongmin’s back soothingly, his touch gentle and comforting. “Do you think you’ll be sick again?”

Seongmin shook his head weakly, moving away from the trash can. “Just want to sleep now,” he mumbled, leaning back to lay down on the couch.

Ivan nodded understandingly, helping Seongmin get comfortable before lying down beside him. He wrapped an arm around Seongmin, pulling him close, and began to gently stroke his hair, soothing him back to sleep.

#belly ache #emeto #belly rubs #tummy ache #stress #fighting #tw emeto #emeto blog #queasy #overeating #stomach ache #sickfics

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emodialisse · 2 years ago

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(Giving a tour on Octavius Industries, first year of Peter's internship)

Otto: Don't worry about leaving too much junk around here, as you can see it's very roomy, this is our main workshop area after all. You can tidy your office later, I'll just need to file some paperwork and have it delivered to my foreseeable suitor. She has shown much promising feedback coming from the health care org.

Peter: I honestly wish I could spit on my high school scientific initiation supervisor's face.

Otto: I won't stop you. Take a look, this is where we shall be. Impressive, won't you say?

Peter: Yeah, much. Especially for a start-up.

Otto: Well, I did get a reliable network after lots of peer reviews. We have everything we need here... And soon after I go through the pile of paperwork that is craving my attention now and then, we can hop into the thing I wanted to discuss with you after tomorrow's interview.

Peter: Oh, I didn't... Do you already have something going on? Oh, you're getting me all pumped up, Doc!

Otto: Alright, alright, let's dial it back a little bit. How could you tell?

Peter: Well, you must have! I mean, isn't that why you called me here?

Otto: Maybe I just enjoy your company.

Peter: Ha. I don't want to question you or anything, sir, the pep talk you gave me that afternoon really stuck to me, but I haven't got this kind of confidence to do something... In years, you know?

Otto: I understand that completely. Lend me some of that faith and I promise you, it won't disappoint.

Peter: Wow. You weren't kidding, it's chilling in here.

Otto: If the circumstances won't turn against us, we might start to warm up tomorrow.

Peter: Good thing I called off all of my compromises, but I do have gym training at six, every Tuesday, so...

Otto: Good to know you're one to keep in shape, but we do need to send a clean report to the org every week, I'm afraid, as I'm counting on not hiring anymore staff for now. I think you've got it covered.

Peter: Hell yeah, if you need help with paperwork, and I'm just letting you know, in my AT position at ESU, I was called the fastest man alive.

Otto: Don't worry about that, it's an stock of ideas for budget, counting that everything goes well with the ethics committee once we get the engines running on my next project.

Peter: With a place like this? External funding should be easy. This could fit the entire of my aunt's homy living room at Queens. How did you find it?

Otto: Oh, this used to be an auto repair shop. Back in the day it seemed like a pretty good deal. The man who sold it to me was a very... Colorful character. He only accepted being referred to as “Paulão”, although I'm pretty sure my pronunciation isn't spot on. He was very easy going, but the same couldn't be said about his partner.

Peter: Oh, so there was two owners?

Otto: I don't think so, no. He showed up only once, and it was the day Paulão would hand me the keys. Hm. He had a very remarkable taste for t-shirts, like they came straight out of kaleidoscope. He came with a taxi, but I'm pretty sure he was driving it. I haven't seen something like that since the 70s, it's funny to think about him now.

Peter: Gotta love someone whose dedicated to strike a first impression.

Otto: I hope this is also a nod to a certain TV celebrity we're getting all over the news these days...

Peter: You watch his show?

Otto: I don't change the channel.

Peter: Do you like it? I don't watch it. Just... You, know, I can see the appeal of his character.

Otto: Well... Then you could say I'm very... Curious, about his existence. Although it's not a topic we can explore much further, after all, the man prefers to be cover his face all times. No surprise that charlatan bouquet Jonah likes to sell it to scare us off. However there's not much performance to pass on a message, he's just showing off cool tricks.

Peter: Got it, “kids like him”.

Otto: Now you're putting words in my mouth. But it's not an entirely misguided assumption either, hm?

Peter: Whatever you say, Doc, I'm just following you.

Otto: I think that's enough for today.

Peter: Yeah, I need to beat it too, I had pick up May at F.E.A.S.T... a hour ago. Fuck.

Otto: Need a lift?

Peter: Thanks, Doctor, but I'm kind of scared of bikes.

Otto: What, never learned how to ride without training wheels?

Peter: When i was ten a kid beat my ass with a tire once and now I have nightmares every night.

Otto: Charming. Well then, don't waste no time.

Peter: Smell ya later!

Otto: You have such way with words, don't you?

Peter: I did try to get into poetry once. If I give you a taste, I can't promise you won't be swoon.

Otto: No thank you, you already had me with your bachelor's thesis, remember?

#I wrote this just to throw in a reference #that no one will understand #mwahahaha #dia writes?#otto octavius #peter parker

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little-homestead-in-the-suburbs · 1 year ago

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Operation Functional Home: Take Two, Days 3,4,and 5

Day 3

Did not do much, had to come "In" to work to upload credit card recipts. Was mostly a zero type day, snuggled pets watched tv.

Maintain:

-1 or 2 loads each dishes and laundry I think.

Improve: Started to dry and weedwhack the veggie garden paths, got a corner done before the battery ran out.

Day 4

Garden take-back day. Got 80% of the garden paths reclaimed, also pulled spent lettuce plants, some weeds, and harvested carrots and tomatoes. Found lots of hidden tomatoes from my compost bin volunteer plants. mostly cherry/small salad types.

Improve:

-Garden: pathways, some weeding, and harvesting

-Vacummed and mopped the area under Red dog's kennel including the rug and pad.

Maintain:

-2 sets of laundry including fold/put away

-one set dishes

-kitten room quick tidy

Day 5

In which I feel like a homesteader on the Scottish moors: ie, the power was out all afternoon, and there were massive storms, and I was hot enough to wear a skirt, tank, and light shawl even for barn chores.

Improve: repaired 1 sock, replaced air conditioner return filter

Maintain: Cleaned all main house litter boxes, took out bathroom trash, picked up side table snack trash.

Picture is my DIY reflector for a candle jar using a large stainless steel mixing bowl duct taped to the window frame to reflect light. To the right is a Hurricane glass candle holder in brass.

this was inbetween storm lines so you could actually see then, compared to the near twilight darkness when the lines would hit.

#cleaning #clutter #unfuck your habitat #building new habits takes time #one day at a time #undiagnosed neurodivergent #operation functional home #ufyh #neurodivergence

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sillybween · 2 years ago

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How have I not gone insane?

My boyfriend's parents have been living with us for months, and they’ve been doing this for the past two years or so. They come here from up north to avoid being snowed in and stay for about 8 months out of the year. They also have a property they fixed up and are selling near us, but they are incredibly aimless and have no timeline for when and what to do next. So they keep coming back, but I get the impression they will keep doing this every year regardless if they actually have a reason to.

Living with his parents has been my absolute personal hell. As some of y’all know, I have always been introverted, and I need time to myself. I am also a very clean, tidy, and hyper-considerate person. His parents are the exact opposite of this.

The worst part is that his parents never leave the house, literally, never. They just sit in the living room and watch TV all day. His parents leave messes throughout the house, leave laundry in the washer or dryer, the sink is constantly filled with their dirty dishes, and the list goes on. Of course, I also have to use the kitchen and the appliances. So before I can do anything I need to do, I have to clean their mess. I have tried to suggest ways to keep the house more organized, like getting those magnets that say clean/dirty on the dishwasher, only to be laughed at and called snotty.

Going into the kitchen is like an open invitation for them to talk to me about anything and everything. It’s gotten to the point where I have to wear earphones to prevent them from talking to me every time I go into the kitchen or living areas. All his mom ever talks about is the end of the world and wanting grandkids. Also, she constantly lies about things and places the blame on others, which is not fun to deal with daily. His dad only talks about politics and how I am wrong for having a different view. He’s one of those, ”it’s communist, fascist, socialist because I don’t like it.”. It feels like they are constantly trying to start shit with me.

There is a stray mom cat I am also trying to gain the trust of so I can get her spayed to prevent her from having more kittens. His parents are massively against me feeding her and feel it is better if she gets put down. They refer to her as MY cat, which is fine because she is a friend. They constantly give me shit for feeding this cat and trying to gain her trust. I also believe they might have “inadvertently” poisoned one of the outdoor cats I cared for a few years ago.

His parents have also gone into our room multiple times uninvited. I only know this because there were instances they thought I wasn’t in the house, so they would just walk into our room. They also have accused us of taking their things if they can’t find whatever in their mess heaps throughout the house.

My boyfriend is so sick of the complaining, but I have no other outlet. I can’t talk to him about them because he starts to break down. So now I have this resentment towards him and his parents because I feel like a punching bag. It feels like there is no room for compromise and that I just need to deal with it. I’m trying hard to get through school, but I keep getting burnt out from dealing with everything. I feel like all I do is complain and clean up after everyone in the house. I can tell it's starting to affect my ability to communicate with other people outside of the house.

I am surrounded by everyone else’s things, and it is like I live in a storage unit. I have been living in the smallest space possible for years. I even had to put up my rock collection and Macy’s urn to make more room for everyone else in the house. I still have boxes gone unpacked since I first moved here. I have had to fight for every inch I occupy in this house.

Needless to say, I have not known peace for what feels like years now.

Looking at all this, It’s not a wonder that I am so unhappy.

#long post #mostly just for me to feel better

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scarthefangirl · 3 years ago

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Count me out

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader | Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Request: Hey! I saw you are taking request and I was thinking maybe if you could do a jealous Wanda (bc Kate keeps kinda flirting with femreader and they get along so well together) or the other way around and Kate is the jealous one (bc of Wanda) I just really need a fic with them 🥺 or even other idea that bumped into my head was both of them fighting over reader to win her over and reader getting overwhelmed by having them competing to have her, so she gets upset cause she likes them pretty much the same lol, that would be so so appreciated!! 💓💓

Warnings: Fighting over reader, reader likes both, flirting, no Wanda x Vision, mentions of alcohol (NO drunkenness, I promise), playing truth or dare

A/N: THIS IS A COMPLETE AU. The avengers are still together and Kate was recruited. I do not mention the age difference, that is part of the au, pretend the ages are the same. Nat is not dead <3 (I did the bold part of the request)

Word count: 1363

Part 2, Part 3

"Can you kiss me more? We're so young boy, we ain't got nothin' to looooOose..." You hum to Doja Cat's song, singing the parts you know and humming the words you forgot. You are tidying up your room and trying to get it cleaned up for tonight. You are having the girls on the team over for a slumber party.

You are hoping this gives you closure on a few things. There are two girls that you like and you want to figure out which one you should be with. You like them both and just need to figure out who would be a better fit.

The party is not for another 45 minutes when Wanda arrives. She is holding two packages of Oreos. One package of normal ones, and the other of mint chocolate chip ones. (a/n They are so good)

"I know these are your favorite so I brought a pack for you." She says lovingly. You smile and nod, grabbing the two packages and setting them on the table overstuffed with food. Chips, chocolate, pizza, beer, monsters, water, M&M's, and lots more. You give Wanda a brief explanation of your plans for the night and she nods along, really just watching your eyes.

She had loved you for so long, not knowing if you loved her that way. Which of course you did, but you also loved Kate that way.

You go through a stack of movies you have, showing Wanda each choice.

"We can watch at least three, maybe more." You say. Wanda can tell you are stressed out with all the planning, so she tells you to lay on the bed and she will get the rest done. "Are you sure Wanda? I got this." You try to argue with her but she shushes you. She gently puts her hand on your arm, making your heart flutter.

"I am sure girly, rest your eyes for a bit." Wanda giggles, using the term girly like always. After an hour all the girls were there and ready to party. You all sat around your big room. Your room is the size of an apartment, you had a small living area in the first corner. It contains a red couch shoved against the wall across from a TV on a brown wooden table with counters containing movies in them. To the side of the cute little couch is a recliner and an old fashioned velvet chair that goes with the couch. The living area was small but not cramped. You all fit fine in the area. On the 2nd corner is a door leading to the bathroom, it has a cute side table against the wall beside the door with a blue vase on it. In the third corner is your king sized bed with a little wooden nightstand beside it. You have a velvet (matching the chair, and the color of the couch) bench. And some sleeping bags are rolled out.

You sat on the right side of the couch next to Kate, who sits against the wall. Wanda is sitting on the floor by your knee. She is crisscrossed like a little girl. It makes you smile.

Natasha sits in the velvet chair, Yelena on the floor next to her. Ever since Clint and Kate helped Yelena with her little predicament with Val, Yelena has been around for awhile.

In the recliner is Shuri (yes you invited her, she flew from Wakanda to be here), she sits with the feet up.

Also on the floor is Pepper Pots, and Carol. You marvel at the amount of people who showed up, wondering where you would all sleep.

Suddenly you are snapped out of your thoughts when you feel a hand on your knee, looking down to see a cackling Wanda. Clearly someone made a joke, but you don't bother to ask about it because you are blushing and very flustered. Even when she is done with her fit prof laughter, her hand remains there.

Kate looks over to see you blushing and can't help feeling jealous. She has crushed on you since she got here, and she believes you like Wanda. You do. But you also like her.

"How about truth or dare?" Natasha offers, getting a good response from the group.

"Oh yes, let's. I have never played it before." Shuri says, rubbing her hands together like a super villian. You all laugh and you mentally prepare yourself for the game.

"Alright since it is your idea, you first 'Tasha." Wanda tells her, at which Nat nods.

"Okay then, Kate." She pauses, making Kate nervous. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare." Kate says, she rubs her hands together anxiously by her legs. She wants so badly to fit in and be a part of this team, and you can tell. You put your hand on hers and she looks at you in surprise. You smile at her and she smiles back.

"I dare you to... call Clint and tell him you peed yourself and act like a little kid." She thinks before giving the dare, and you all burst into laughter.

"Starting of strong there Nat." Yelena says, taking a sip of a glass of beer from the cup she is using. There is a low table between the couch and TV with all that food.

"Fine, fine. But let the record show I hate you." Kate laughs, reaching over to get her phone. She puts the call on speaker as it rings. "Um, hey Clint."

"What do you want Kate?" He says over the line.

"well, I had an accident." Ahe says, trying to conceal her laughter. You smile at her.

"A car accident? Kate Bishop!" He says like a dad would to a child he is disappointed in.

"Not a car accident. I- peed. Like I didn't make it to the restroom accident. I am at the sleepover and idk what to do Clint."

"Your disgusting! You are a grown woman, and you can't make it to the restroom?!" Clint says, utterly grossed out. Kate dies laughing, not able to restrain it.

"It is just prank." He immediately hangs up on her when she says prank. Everyone has a good laugh. She rolls over in laughter.

"Your turn to ask Kate." Natasha laughs.

"Pepper, truth or dare?" Kate says, giving a pointed look towards the red headed woman. Pepper cracks a grin,

"Truth." She says with a short nod. Everyone boos and few words are shouted her way about being a baby to not pick dare. She laughs and awaits Kate's question.

"What is the stupidest thing that you have an emotional attachment to?"

"Tony." Pepper says without hesitation, everyone immediately dies of laughter. "Kidding, I am kidding. I have a really dumb attachment to this fake plant. It is in our bedroom window sill, and I have to tell it goodnight every night." You tried to restrain your laughter unlike the other woman.

"Your turn Pep," You say, still trying to not laugh.

"You guys are mean." She teases, sounding like a mother. "Wanda, truth or dare?"

*Wanda*

"Dare!" The red haired woman states with a brave smile. She looks up briefly at Y/N just to catch A glimpse of her beautiful face. But your eyes were on Kate Bishop. Wanda's smile falters for a moment, before she regains composure.

"I dare you to kiss Y/N." Pepper says indefinitely. Wanda freezes in place. Kiss Y/N? Kiss the woman she has loved since she became an avenger? Kiss the girl in love with another?

Pepper knew you liked Y/N. Wanda told her a while back. Only does she regret it now. "Um, what?" Y/N squeaks. Kate's eyes bulg out other face. Wanda feels the redness grow on her warm skin.

"Yep. Kiss you two." Pepper says in a smiley voice. Wanda catches Y/N's eyes and they are silent.

*Y/N*

Y/N looks over at Kate, who has sunk into the couch with an unreadable look on her face. Y/N looks back at Wanda who is blushing like a tomato. Y/N can only imagine how red she is.

Wanda and hers face meet level and they stare nervously at each other.

The end of part 1! To be tagged in this series shoot me an ask, or comment on this post. To be tagged in all my marvel fics click here.

Tags: @dany-is-my-queen @powerfultaylor @themarvelprince

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royalscarlet · 2 years ago

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Let's Stay and Count the STARS (CH 8, Final)

My contribution to Chreon week: an eight chapter long fic of Re1/2 era Chris and Leon. I prefer to write longer fics, so each chapter was inspired by the given prompts. (Also posted on my Ao3)

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield

Prompt: Free Choice

Words: 1K

Tags: time jump, marriage proposal, fluff

It was a wonderful morning; the sun rose in a clear sky, the spring weather was perfect.

Leon should have been sat at his kitchen table enjoying a fresh breakfast. He woke up with a large plate of pancakes, bacon, and sausage in mind. He tidied up some stray clothes and plates around the house as his bread toasted. As he sat to eat, his plans were quickly shattered as he looked at his hand.

He nearly tore the house apart before Chris woke up; couch cushions thrown around, tables moved, TV sideways. Leon was still in the act of redecorating as Chris walked in the room.

Chris saw the abandoned breakfast “What are you doing?”

“I, uh…lost it,” Leon couldn’t look at him.

“Yeah, I see that,” Chris tried to put some things back in their place.

“No,” Leon stopped, “I lost IT.”

“It? Leon I’m too tired, and a little hungover, to play games right now. We have a lot to do today, if you remember?”

“Chris,” Leon turned to him, “the ring. I lost the stupid thing when I was cleaning or something and I can’t find it.”

Leon stormed into the bedroom, maybe he dropped it off the nightstand? He started to flip over the bedsheets, checked under the bed and all along the floor.

“Leon, would you calm down. I’m sure you’ll find it in time” Chris called as he started to look around.

“I can’t believe I fucking lost it, and of course it happened today.” Leon swore at himself.

“It’ll be alright, just relax and I’ll help you look. But you have to calm down.”

“Just because good ol’ Wesker retired to fulfill some crack medical dream of his and made you captain doesn’t mean you can boss me around.” Leon walked past Chris to check the bathroom.

Chris rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I’m just saying that it’ll be easier to find without you walking around everywhere.”

Leon tapped his fingers on the counter as he scanned the area. He checked in the sink, under the toilet, even the shower and found nothing. He could almost cry at how angry he was at himself since he lost it.

“Hey,” Chris called out.

Leon walked back into the living room and saw Chris knelt on the ground in front of the couch.

“Found it,” Chris held a sleek silver band in his fingers.

Seeing Chris down on one knee nearly brought Leon back to the moment he proposed: They were a few years into their relationship and both couldn’t be happier. There were always ups in down in the stressful job that they had, but with each other by their side they could do anything.

Especially the one time the mayor’s daughter was kidnapped and ransomed for a few million dollars. It was a mix of dumb luck and sheer skill that allowed Leon to save her. He was on his way to dinner when he saw a lead and followed it, one exhausting night later and he was headed back to the RPD.

He radioed ahead the news as he drove through the rain. Leon was beaten up, but it wasn’t anything too serious.

Chris ran out as soon as Leon approached the front door of the RPD and wrapped his arms around him. The other officers took the girl in to take care of her.

“You absolute dumbass,” Chris said as the two got drenched in the rain.

“Sorry I missed out anniversary date,” Leon smiled.

“I guess I should do this now before you run off again,” Chris fished around in his pockets.

Leon looked at him confused as Chris took a step back and got on one knee.

Leon felt his heart rate spike even higher than it was on his little mission. His chest fluttered as he registered what was happening. Chris looked up at him and smiled as drops of water ran off of his face.

“Leon,” Chris couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. He had a whole thing planned at a fancy restaurant, yet this felt more appropriate for the two of them. “Will you marry me?” He held up a silver band.

A collection of awes and gasps sounded from the officers and news people that now crowded the RPD. A few STARS members shouted in encouragement.

“Yes, of course I will,” Leon had to stop himself from crying. But if a tear or two slipped by, he would have told you it was just the rain.

Now several months later, Leon was stood in their shared house with Chris still on the ground in front of him.

“Where did you find it?” Leon reached out to take the ring.

“Under the couch a little,” Chris took Leon’s hand and slid the ring back onto his finger. He gave it a gentle kiss before he stood.

“Oh, thank God,” Leon wrapped around Chris and kissed him properly. “Imagine showing up to a wedding without the stupid rings.”

“Actually I don’t think many people would be surprised,” Chris laughed before he checked the clock on the wall.

“We gotta go, right?” Leon still hung onto Chris.

“Yeah.”

“Can we just postpone it for tomorrow?” Leon’s stomach loudly grumbled now his anxiety was under check.

“Let me call half of Raccoon City real quick and tell them the wedding is pushed back because Leon is upset he missed breakfast.”

“Is it not that easy? Captain?” Leon said in a playful tone.

“No, Lieutenant, it isn’t” Chris gave him another kiss before he went to get dressed.

Leon sighed as he looked at the ring on his finger. He smiled as he turned it around, “I’m driving us there,” Leon yelled.

“Leon, it’s been years. That joke is old.”

Leon chuckled as he snatched a piece of cold bacon from his plate.

#chreonweek2k22 #chreon #chris redfield #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #my writing

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1234-angelika · 3 years ago

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Overnight It

an: As always, I'm excited to share this with y'all. This is the third installment of the Happily Ever After series for Luke. Hope y'all enjoy!

words: 1k

warnings:hospital, implied smut, slight medical terminology,

summary:"I wasn't looking for anthing when I found you & it somehow made me question what I wanted, was I ready for love? I don't think anyone is ever ready, but when someone makes you feel alive again it's kind of worth the risk." -Nikki Rowe

masterpost|taglist|have an idea

By the end of your visit with Luke, you had managed to convince the nurses to let you stay over at the hospital with Luke. His family lived too far away, and his neighbour was already watching Roxy until tomorrow so, the plan was to use his night in the hospital as your date night. Emily was still at the hospital, wanting to make sure that he was ok. The three of you chatted; you mainly were getting to know his boss, Emily. Then, about an hour before visiting hours were over, you asked Emily to stay so you could pick up your overnight bag and some snacks. You drove home as quickly as legally allowed, and on the way, you called your favourite Mexican restaurant for some takeout comfort food. Once you got home, you haphazardly threw basic toiletries, clothes, snacks and your laptop in case you decided to do some work. On your way back to the hospital, you stopped for the food. After a short chat with the owner—about your lack of business—you were back on the way to the hospital. Again, you drove as fast as possible without any traffic violations or spilling the food. The elevator seemed to move at a snail’s pace. You were tapping your foot absentmindedly as the elevator slowly went up the floors until it finally landed on Lukes. You were met with Emily on the other side of the elevator doors. She moved, so you had enough room to step out and then left you with a hug and well-wishes for Luke. You thanked her for staying and promised to keep her updated before heading to his room. You walked in, and he gave you a massive smile saying; “Do I smell elote and tacos al pastor?” Chuckling, you said, “of course! I brought you my comfort food, I assumed you wouldn’t mind and that you’d appreciate the change.” “Babe, I appreciate it so much,” he reached over to grab your hand, and he placed a soft kiss on it. You felt your cheeks get warm at the display of affection, and you just smiled at him. Then, deciding that wasn’t enough, you leant down, so you were at face level, and you kissed him. The both of you melted into the kiss, and it ended up lasting longer than anticipated. You only pulled apart when the two of you needed air. “What was that for?” He asked with a dopey smile; you weren’t sure if it was from the kiss or the pain meds. “Well, I’ve wanted to do that for a while, since I think the second time we hung out.” “For the record,” he paused to give you a cheeky grin, “the feeling is mutual.” You talked for a while, the old hospital tv giving off static softly in the background, before starting to eat dinner. The steady beeping of the hospital equipment created a unique atmosphere for the date. Once the food was all eaten, you cleaned up the containers and made sure it was all tidy. After that, you checked with the nurses, and after getting the ok, you helped Luke take a shower and made sure to avoid the wound. He got changed and then headed back into the room, so you took your turn in the bathroom. You took a quick shower and put on your comfy clothes. Wandering out of the bathroom, you found Luke lying in the hospital bed, flipping through the channels trying to find something to watch. He heard you walk in and turned to look but just as quick as he did, he turned back to the tv, flipping through the channels. You were making your way to the cot the hospital had provided for you when Luke called your name. “Yeah Luke?” “Come lay with me,” he said, beckoning you over. “Are you sure?” You asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to hurt you….” “I am one-hundred percent sure.” He said confidently. “You’ll just have to lay on my right side.” You shuffled back across the hospital room to the bed and then carefully climbed in on his right side. You were on the very edge of the bed, almost half hanging off the bed and, his good arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You gently laid your head on his chest, as best as you could, in the small area. Turning to face the tv, you absentmindedly watched the movie Luke had landed on. You assumed that he was doing the same until you felt his stare boring holes into the side of

your face. Tilting your head up from his chest, you looked at him. “What?” You asked, slightly self-conscious from his persistent stare at you. “I just can’t believe a girl as gorgeous as you agreed to go out with me.” He said wistfully, a slight twinkle in his eye. “Aww…Luke.” You tilted your face even more and captured his lips in a kiss. Unfortunately, what you had intended as a sweet kiss—and it started out that way—quickly escalated into something more. The more heated it got, the more you knew you had to put a stop to it. Knowing where it was headed, you gently but abruptly pulled away. And put some space in between the two of you, well, as much as you could get on a hospital bed anyways. “Why did you stop?” Luke asked, worried he had moved too quickly or done something wrong. “I just don’t want to hurt you….” You said softly. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” He said with a smile. “You just have to be the lead.” Unsure, you analyzed his eyes for any hesitation. He gave you a firm nod and, obviously, that was the go-ahead. You recaptured his lips with yours, re-igniting the urgent and slightly desperate kiss. Which then transformed into events that are better left to the imagination. Making that night one, you would never forget.

taglist:@multixfandomwriter @myescapefromthislife @gspenc

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #happilyeverafter #hea

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likecastle · 4 years ago

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In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought. “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

#the witcher #witcher modern au #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla of cintra #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #gerlion #some background yennalt here #i've got 99 problems and aus are all of them #hairdresser!jaskier #i can't believe i wrote modern au witcher fic and still wound up writing a bath fic #the witcher fandom loves baths apparently #somebody please help me title this thing #i need a title that isn't when the rain washes you clean you'll know

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dreamer213 · 3 years ago

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Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 3: Evening in Atlas Part 1

A week has passed since Weiss’s escape and Jacques’s meltdown, everything has been clean up both in and outside of the manor and Jacques is hosting another evening party as an “apology” for Weiss’s behavior and to announce Whitley as her replacement. The party is set to start at 8 pm, only a few hours away, and the manor staff are hard at work finishing up preparations for the night’s event. But they weren’t the only ones getting ready for the evening. Deep within the manor the youngest Schnee is making preparations of his own.

After finishing his daily assignments, both academic and business related, Whitley tidies up his work space, gets up from his desk and walks over to his mirror.

Whitley: I only have an hour and a half until I need to get changed and two hours before the final walkthrough. I have still have some time to make sure I have it down. A few more goes and I should be ready.

Whitley takes a long look in the mirror, closes his eyes, and then preforms several breathing techniques. Once he’s finished the exercises, Whitley put his heels together, puts his arms out in front of himself with his hands together, puts on slight frown, and lowers his gazes. Where once stood a calm young man now stands a sorrowfully and disappointed boy. He looks into the mirror and signs.

Whitley: I’m so sorry about what happened with Weiss at the charity gala, it was truly a shameful sight.

Yes, I know her behavior was horrible but you must understand she was on ground when it all happened, I’m sure just hearing the word “Vytal” so soon after was far too for much for her to bare.

The fact Weiss made it home alive is a miracle in and of itself, so how could we expect her to come back completely unscathed from the horrors she must’ve witnessed.

Yes, it is terrible how things had to end but all we can do now is hope and pray that she’ll be able make her own way now that she’s on her own.

Thank you for your concern, I to hope that she’ll make peace with her decisions one day.

He continues on speaking several more scripted statements. After he’s spoken his last line he takes a deep inhale and return to his normal stance on the exhale. Soon he repeats the process, this time leaning more into the disappointment aspect, only to start over again this time using a more indifferent attitude as he speaks. It takes a hour for the boy finally stop, satisfied with his work he gives himself an approving nod.

Whitley: That should do for now.

Suddenly there’s a knock at his door, it’s the maids. He opens the door and they bring in his attire for tonight’s party. A thunder grey suit top, cobalt blue vest with silver buttons, white dress shirt, black pants, tie, pocket square, and dress socks, and a pair of navy blue dress shoes. The perfect ensemble for the disinheritance of one heir and the announcement of a new one.

After the maids set the pieces on his bed Whitley nods towards the door, they take the hint and leave the room. Once they’re gone Whitley gets dressed, styles his hair, and heads out towards the ballroom. When he arrives things are going as well as the normally do. The staff is rushing to get everything ready, food venders are setting the buffet, the musicians are tuning their instruments, and Jacques is shouting and hassling everyone over the tiniest of detail. Whitley walks up to him as he’s screaming at servant trying to hang some drapes.

Jacques: No, now that’s too low, put it up higher! No higher! HIGHER! I said higher you worthless insec-

Whitley: Father.

Jacques: Ah there you are Whitley, I was hoping you’d come down soon. Have you finished your work for the day?

Whitley: Yes, I finished my studies a few hours ago. All my assignments are in an orderly pile on my desk as always.

Jacques: And the reports and approval forms?

Whitley: All the forms have been reviewed, filled out, signed, and should be delivered to your office before the party begins.

Jacques: and the speech for tonight?

Whitley: I have both yours and mine completely memorized down to the margins.

Jacques: And if people ask about your sister?

Whitley: “ It’s such a shame that things turned out this way but I suppose it is for the best. Both for the company and her sanity.”

Jacques: Excellent. Since you have nothing to do you can oversee the rest of the preparations. I have to go change into my good suit.

Jacques begins to walk out of the ballroom, he gets a few feet away before he remembers something and turns back. Once he’s back in front of Whitley he pulls a pack of something out of his breast pocket and hands it to Whitley. They were professionally made business cards, white base with a navy blue outline and black font. Inscribed on them is Whitley’s contact information with his name written in large cursive letters with the title of Heir to the Schnee Dust Company underneath. This was his new title and another step closer to his goal. However there’s something very wrong with this situation. Having business cards made for Whitley was one thing but delivering them himself? Not possible. Jacques had too much pride and money to ever do such a menial task. No, something’s off here.

Whitley: Thank you Father but why are you handing them to me? Isn’t delivering things likes this one of Klein’s responsibilities?

Jacques: Oh did I forget to tell you, I kicked that disloyal mutt to the curb this morning, there’s no need to keep such traitorous trash in my manor.

Whitley: I see.

Jacques: Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get changed. Have everything ready before I get back alright?

Whitley: Yes Father.

Once Jacques has left the area the reality of what he just said sets in. Klein, the only person who had cared for Whitley and his sisters in the last ten years, had been thrown to the streets for helping Weiss. The closest thing to a shoulder to cry on he had was taken away because of his sister’s actions. If Whitley had been a normal child he would’ve broke down and cried. He would have shouted and screamed about the unfairness of it all and how his father was being needlessly cruel. But Whitley wasn’t a normal child, he didn’t have the luxury of throwing a fit to get his way. In fact if he ever showed any sign of discontent he’d be punished for acting ungrateful and selfish. No all he could do was stay calm and keep moving forward. He could get someone to check up on Klein later but for now he has to play his part.

Once the preparations are done, the staff is in position, and the door are about to open Whitley heads towards the ballroom entrance where Jacques is waiting. He takes his place at his father’s side and puts on his best “smile” as the doors finally open and Atlas elites begin to pour into to the ballroom. CEO’s, Politicians, Celebrities, and the like were gathered at the manor to attend to tonight’s evening party. Many of them had been present when Weiss made her scene and were anxiously awaiting the outcome of the drama she caused. This was a rare treat for the elites after all, to have the head of the world’s largest dust company the proverbial king of high society bow his head and apologize for his teenage daughter’s outrageous behavior. Oh what a show that would be, the perfect theatre for Atlas’s most wealthy and heartless.

Whitley: The audience is here and the curtains are drawn. Its showtime.

This week had been a hard one for Penny. A small riot, several bar fights that made it onto the streets, three robberies, two large Grimm attacks, and a car accident over the course of five days. It’s been really, really tiring but luckily today had been surprisingly normal compared to the other rest of the week. So much so that Penny was able to wrap up her duties on time for once. After her last report is filled out Penny grabs her things, turns in her usb, and is out the door before the front desk assistant can even say good night. Finally the work day was over and Penny actually had enough time to both unwind a bit and get lots of sleep before her next shift. Oh what she could do with that time maybe read a few chapters of “The Tome of Fables” book her dad had gotten her months ago, or try out that stitch pattern Mrs. Peri showed her last week or maybe just watch some tv.

Penny skips off towards home, happy as any girl could be when given some free time. Once she’s made it home she can already hear her dad in the kitchen, hard to work making dinner. It had been a hard week for him to as he’d been call in a number of times for consultations on improving the robot soldiers and some of the mech suits. But no matter how much he had to do Pietro would always find time for his little girl. Penny smiles at the sight and tiptoes over to him. She sneaks up behind him, gets down to his level, and gives him a big hug. Pietro responds in kind, turning his chair around and squeezing her back.

Pietro: Welcome back sweetie, you’re home early.

Penny: No, I’m just on time. Things were relatively peaceful today so I didn’t have to stay overtime again.

Pietro: That wonderful sweet pea. But I was expected you to be home later so it’s gonna be an hour or so before the food done.

Penny: That’s okay in fact I was hoping spend some of tonight on doing a leisure activity.

Pietro: Really, well then why don’t you go up your room and relax then? I’ll call you when it’s ready.

Penny: That’s a great idea thanks Dad!

Pietro: Just don’t forget to wash your hands before you come back down.

Penny: I won’t.

She gives her dad a quick little cheek kiss before hop upstairs to her room. Once she’s inside she kicks off her boots, grabs her book, and plops down on her bed for a nice read. After half an hour or so someone starts knocking on their front door. Who could that be at this hour? If it was an emergency Penny would get a call or message on her scroll from the security office. And the neighbors would usually calling her dad before coming by for anything. Penny, now curious about the situation, sat up from and puts her book down.

Pietro: Penny!

Penny: I’ve got it!

She puts on a pair of slippers and heads downstairs to answer the door. Penny opens the door only to be greeted by the sight of General James Ironwood in his army best with a shopping bag in hand and a limousine behind him. Definitely not what Penny was expecting at to see at 9:35 at night. As soon as the shock wears off Penny stands at attention and salutes her superior.

Penny: Good Evening General Ironwood.

Ironwood: Evening Penny.

Penny: Sir, What brings to my home at this hour? Is there an emergency I need to attend to? Or is there something you need my assistance with?

Ironwood: There aren’t any emergencies in Mantle at the moment but there is a mission I need your help with.

Penny: What do you need me to do?

Ironwood: I’ll explain everything in the car. But first, I need you to get changed.

Ironwood hands her the shopping bag. Penny peeks inside to see a dress wrapped in plastic and a shoe box. Penny takes the bag and heads back to her room to change. She puts the contents of the bag on her bed and opens them. The dress is a simple green evening gown and the shoes are a pair of 4 inch silver heels. Penny remove her normal attire and puts on the gown and shoes. This was strange, wearing such different clothes from her normal look. Even before her restoration Penny had only ever wore one outfit, all the clothes she had were just multiples of the same outfit, and although her new outfit was very different to her old one it still shared many of the same elements the old one did, barring the fact that she now wore shoes every now and then. The dress itself was a bit long and a little too wide around the waist but still very pretty. The shoes, while cute and her size, were hard to walk in. Penny had never wore heels before, she takes a slow walk around her room to try and figure out how to walk straight. After circling her room a few times she gets a rhythm going. It a little slow but it would do. She checks herself in the mirror and is pleasantly surprised at how different she looks in different clothes. She’s looking herself over when she realizes she had left her bow on. She only ever took it off when she was going to sleep so she’d completely forgotten it was still on her head. Realizing it didn’t quite match the rest of her outfit Penny pulls it off and fixes her hair to catch the fly aways. After one more look and a little twirl Penny heads back down stairs to her dad and Ironwood. When Pietro sees her he almost cries. She looks so beautiful, so happy, and is just beaming with pride, it’s almost too much for him. He’s little girl had become a beautiful young lady.

Pietro: Oh my god. You look so beautiful.

Penny: Thanks Dad.

Ironwood: You look nice Penny, now let’s go.

Penny: Yes Sir. Eat with me okay, I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.

Pietro: Just be safe out there.

Penny: I will be. See you soon.

With a wave and shutting of a car door Penny and Ironwood depart into Mantle’s night. After a minute or so Penny speaks up and finally asks the questions that’s been running through her mind since she answered the door.

Penny: Sir, why did you come to my house in such an oddly noticeable vehicle and in such formal clothing? And why did you have me change into on an outfit that is equally as formal?

Ironwood: Because outfits like this are necessary where we’re going for this mission.

Penny: And where exactly are we going?

Ironwood: Simple, we’re going to a evening party.

There’s a pause as Penny processes this information. Her eyes grow wide and her mouth slowly falls agape as she finds herself confused by the sheer absurdity of the situation she found herself in.

Penny: ………….What? WHAT!

#broken machines #penny polendina #whitley schnee #jacques schnee #pietro polendina #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #the fated meeting is close at hand

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orwocolor · 4 years ago

Text

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Five

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Nighmares

Summary: Your friend is there for you when you need him, and maybe you’re starting to feel something more.

Author’s Note: IT FEELS GREAT TO BE BACK!!! Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym.

“Y/N! I’m back!” a shout comes from the hall and a loud bang of the door closing shut announces Gwil’s return.

You struggle to get to your feet but the moment your weight shifts to your injured ankle, you hiss through gritted teeth. There is not much left to do but to remain on the couch, nonchalantly sprawled out as if the position you’ve gotten into was intended.

“Erm, Y/N?” Gwil makes a move to the kitchen when he stops dead in his tracks as he spots you lying on the couch, your legs swung over the armrest in an awkward angle.

“Did you get the ice cream?” you ask innocently to divert his attention from the obvious mishap you’ve managed to cause in his 10-minute-long absence.

His brows furrow and he licks his lips before he responds. “Yes, I did. Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard about the new yoga position?” The whole situation is so bizarre, you can’t prevent a small giggle from escaping you. “Lying sideways on a couch with one arm squashed between your body and the cushion, and with your legs hanging over the armrest in a way to successfully feel the blood in your legs draining away so that you’re sure you’re gonna have pins and needles in them afterwards for hours, well… That’s the good stuff right there, man.” Your eyes sparkle with glee and, to continue in your blatant lie, you mean to throw your hair over your shoulder as if to imply there’s no room for arguing and that the conversation is over, but as you jerk your head, instead of your hair flawlessly flying around your face in a perfect way, it gets stuck underneath your shoulder and you smack your head against a throw pillow.

Despite your burst of giggles being muffled by the pillow, your laughter is evident in the way your body uncontrollably shakes on the coach.

Gwilym is laughing now too and after quickly discarding the grocery bags at the kitchen island, he rushes to your side. With one of his strong arms supporting your back and his warm fingers taking a hold of your hand, he helps you stand up, an occasional giggle escaping either his or your lips, and sets you down again. He takes a seat right next to you and throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows arched in question and a glint of amusement still present in his blue eyes.

You let your gaze rest on his face for a moment before you spit out the truth.

“Okay, fine. I just wanted to get us some popcorn and I couldn’t recall where exactly I left it the last time the girls were over for a movie night. So, I figured I might as well find it myself. But I couldn’t find the bloody crutches…” you trail off and throw your arms in a dismissive gesture.

“Although I bet the picture of you jumping on one foot just to promptly crash down on the sofa must have been hilarious,” he starts and nudges you with his shoulder, “you should have waited for me, I’m sure I would be able to find the popcorn myself,” he continues softly and brushes a strand of your hair that has fallen to your eyes.

“Well, you were already getting the ice cream I’d sent you for, so.” You shrug and shake your head. “I guess,” you pause and look around your living room, which is uncharacteristically tidied up, the result of Gwilym’s frequent visits he’s been paying you every day since the accident. Your life hasn’t been the same since he moved next door, has it? “Nevermind.” You give him a smile, but it’s not quite reaching your eyes. “What are we having for dinner?” you ask instead, hoping he’ll drop the previous subject.

That earns you a wide grin from Gwil and you release a sigh of relief. He promptly stands up to rummage through the bags he’s brought with him; the rustle of his socks against the carpet has become a familiar sound by now.

“Ta da!” He turns around to reveal two packages of frozen vegetables.

“Really?” You can’t believe this man. “Really?” you echo with disbelief seeping to your voice.

“What?” he tries defensively. “Ever since our journey to the hospital, I’ve been craving some good ol’ risotto. And since you didn’t let me cook it for you that night from our makeshift ice-packages, I had to go and buy new ones.” He moves to the kitchen area and starts storing various items into their designated places. God, a week in your kitchen and he already knows what needs to be put where, probably orienting there much better than you do.

“The vegetable had been out of the freezer for several hours so by the time we got back, it had turned into a mush and you know it,” you shout at him to the kitchen, your voice louder so as to howl down the kitchen cabinets being open and closed again.

Gwilym’s head peers over the kitchen island.

“Spoilsport.”

“I’ve still got one hand that’s alright so don’t be surprised when a pillow lands on your head,” you say matter-of-factly but reach for remote control to turn on the telly.

“I doubt that, I know your aim,” he answers after a minute, busying himself with the meal preparations.

Oh, really? Well, in that case…

You grab one of the cushions and toss it in his direction, but it plops down on the kitchen tiles, a good six feet away from him. Gwil barks out a laugh and you groan in defeat, but when he bends down to lift the pillow from the floor and get even with you, it’s your turn to laugh out loud when the pillow almost knocks down a rubber tree standing in the opposite corner of the room.

“I’m making dinner, okay, I’m distracted!” he explains, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“And I’m injured,” you retort in the same manner.

“Peace?” he asks softly and arches his eyebrows.

“Peace,” you agree, smiling, and let him get back to cooking dinner for you.

Mindlessly flicking through the channels, you watch Gwil from the corner of your eye as he turns on the stove and tosses the vegetable into a frying pan, the water with rice already bubbling in the background.

You get lost in your thoughts as they swirl in your mind with pictures of the last couple of days.

Gwilym’s kept his promise and has been coming over to your place practically every day. Apart from cooking and keeping your flat clean and tidy, which is something you will be forever grateful for because with both of those chores you just can’t be particularly bothered even when your ankle isn’t protesting with every little movement, Gwilym has been most of all keeping you company. Jane and Charlotte have popped by every now and then to help you with showering (the bloody tube, why not just install a shower stall?) or to spend the movie night at yours on one occasion, for which Gwil has always retired to his own apartment, not meaning to intrude on your tradition.

One night, he also invited Ben to come over, of course with your permission, and all three of you played several board games. You’ve tried to repay Gwil’s care by helping him run his lines for his auditions. At first, you were absolutely awful, giggling and feeling warmth spreading across your cheeks, but soon enough you got the hang of it and managed to read the lines with pretended professionalism.

You and Gwil have also started watching several TV shows, especially the cooking and home design ones, which were the best to turn your brains off to (and occasionally doze off to) in the late evenings. Being the gentleman he is, Gwil refused to join you in your bed at first and watched the screen of your laptop form the chair snuggled in the corner of your bedroom. But eventually, he yielded to your pleading eyes and stubborn refusal to press play until he stopped being so silly. Nonetheless, he has always made sure to lie carefully on the covers of your bed even though you were tucked in so that there has remained a duvet between your bodies. Every now and then he fussed for a minute with pillows that were supporting your foot to make sure that your ankle remained elevated just to give you a sheepish smile when he noticed you were watching him with amusement.

You’re smiling now too at the picture of his lovely eyes adorned with small wrinkles in the outer corners. Holding the TV remote still in your hand, you realise you can’t find anything of interest and so you turn the TV off again.

Besides, the dinner is almost ready based on the delicious smell.

“So, who was it?” Jane asks matter-of-factly as she stretches her arms for you to lean on.

“That was Gwil.” Grabbing her forearms, you carefully swing your injured leg over the bathtub rim. “I must have mentioned him,” you add quickly when Jane cocks her perfectly shaped eyebrow. You avoid the eye-contact, suddenly focused on making sure the knot on the towel wrapped around your torso is tied properly.

“No, you haven’t. All you said was that your neighbour had been taking care of you.” Slinking your arm around her shoulders, you shift your weight and get yourself out of the bathtub completely. You pull your face at the odd sensation in your ankle, the pain you have been gradually becoming used to. “I only assumed you were talking about Mrs Thompson from 3A. You’re not the type to befriend your neighbours so eagerly.”

You let the last remark slip and berate yourself inwardly for not telling Jane the identity of your nurse/cleaner/companion sooner. Now it looks like you have kept it from her because there was a reason to. Which there was not. Nuh-uh.

You could have been spared of this conversation, had they not bumped into each other at your door as Jane was letting herself in and Gwil was leaving for his own flat. If only you hadn’t been so selfish, happy to be in his company, and would have let him go a few minutes sooner.

“So, who is he?” Jane presses and takes another towel from a nearby handle to wrap it around your shoulders.

No longer having the strength to keep upright, you perch yourself on the bathtub edge, the cold porcelain causing goose bumps on your thighs. “I already told you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, he’s just a friend, okay?” you finally give up. “He’s helping me with cooking and tidying up and overall, he’s just keeping me company. He’s currently looking for a job, which means that when he’s not auditioning for a role, he’s usually home anyway, so why not hang out together? So yes, he’s my friend.”

“I’m your friend, too, you know?” Jane offers.

“But you’ve got a full-time job and live several bus and tube stops away, not next door. It’s just a matter of proximity.”

“Aaand, what kind of proximity are we talking about here?” Jane’s eyes glint mischievously, and you spray her with droplets of water that have been clinging to your fingers. “Fine, fine,” she laughs and before handing you your bathrobe, she wipes her slightly damp face into it, which earns her a displeased groan from you.

“Okay, I’ll drop it,” she continues once she settles you on the coach, “but you can bet I’m telling Charlotte.”

You roll your eyes, but do not argue. The moment Jane makes up her mind, there’s not much you can do about it.

“Speaking of Charlotte, anything new about her birthday party?”

“I thought you would never ask!” Her eyes sparkle and she pulls out a thick notebook from her purse. “I’ve got so many ideas. Okay, hear me out. Glitter.”

“No,” you laugh out loud.

“Come on!”

“No, I’ve got the veto and I’m exercising it right now.”

“Urgh, fine.” She turns several pages. No way the idea revolving around glitter has been so elaborated.

“A movie night party?”

“We all have had a movie-themed birthday party. And I think Charlotte’s had two already.”

“Okay, not a movie night.” She crosses out the line in her notepad and is leafing through it some more.

“Jungle.”

“Jungle?”

“Yeah, jungle. Remember, when she had visited the Panama islands, she just couldn’t stop gushing over it. Her flat is already filled with hundreds of plants so as for the decoration, we don’t have to do much. Just a couple of balloons, fruity drinks and sweets, maybe we can set the thermostat to a higher temperature. And if we don’t manage to clean it up there in time, we can say it’s just part of the décor, right?”

“I kinda like it,” you admit with a smile and Jane’s winning grin seals the deal. “Yeah, I can imagine it. Yellow and dark green balloons, some more plants, fruity drinks. I’m on board.”

“Great! And it’s not going to be so expensive either, which is more than appreciated. By the way, how are you doing financially? Is there anything I can do in this respect?”

“No, there’s no need, thank you,” you wave her off. “The sick leave is not so bad, and I’ve still got the money my grandpa left me.”

“Wait, you’ve still got that?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure out what to spend it on. I’ve got everything I need; you see. But I guess it’s losing its worth as time goes by. I should invest it rather sooner than later.”

“Sounds right to me.” She gives it some thought. “Oh, maybe we could throw a massive birthday party for Charlotte!”

“Look, I love you both, but no,” you giggle.

“It was worth a try,” she chirps. “We’ll plan the details next time I come around to help you shower?”

“Actually, I’m getting much better with the crunches; the wrist has almost healed. So next time, it’s gonna be without the striptease for free for you, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, dang it, you’ll rob me of the highlight of my week.”

You look up from your laptop screen and give Gwil a questioning look as he enters your bedroom, dragging his bag and jacket behind him. He simply drops them on the floor and crashes down next to you. Promptly closing his eyes and releasing a deep sigh, he goes motionless.

“That bad?” you ask after a few seconds of silence.

“The worst,” he groans and drags his hand down his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back and rub your palm against his shoulder. He peers with one eye over his splayed hand at you and the line between his brows deepens.

“It was awful,” he huffs and proceeds to stare at the ceiling as his fingers remain on his jaw.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask and place your laptop on the floor before you twist on your side and give Gwil your complete attention.

"Yes,” he responds eventually. “Or no. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ve got time, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.”

You mean to give him a reassuring hug but because of your position on the bed, it ends up looking as if you were cuddling up to him. Once you realise your mistake, you shuffle a few inches back. Your palm, however, warm and reassuring, remains on Gwil’s chest.

“It was awful,” he echoes and turns his head to look into your eyes. “Ben and I had been waiting ages for the casting director to show up and when he did, he wasn’t ready at all, kept calling me ‘Will’, yelled at me for not reading my lines when it actually wasn’t my cue, overall dismissed my approach to the character and then he just waved me off. This time, he didn’t even bother to tell me I would be hearing from them soon.”

Your thumb starts drawing soothing circles on Gwilym’s chest as any words of reassurance die in your throat.

“I’d been nervous about that audition the whole day and for what reason?”

“Well,” you try, sure that nothing you will just say can elevate his mood. You have found out a few days ago, that the best cure for Gwil’s brooding isa small glass of something stronger and good night sleep. But you could not exactly stay silent. “If it was really the worst, if you really reached the deep, deep bottom, then it can only get better, right?” You nudge him gently and give him a small smile which he reciprocates.

“Right,” he sighs, and his gaze falls again.

“Shall I get out the tumblers?”

“Not really,” he pauses and ponders over it. “Can we just watch something?”

“Sure!” you agree eagerly and dive down to retrieve your laptop. Quickly searching for a festive episode of Bake Off, you place the laptop on your thighs, rotating it so that Gwil can see, and after a few minutes of making up your mind, you press yourself to Gwil’s side. Although you are aware that it is going to take some time for the clouds on his brows to evaporate, a warm touch might help at least a bit.

After the first Bake Off challenge, Gwil snakes his arms beneath you and wraps it around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. And several minutes later, he feels exhaustion creeping up at him, the stressful events of the day finally taking their toll. He tries to fight the sleep, but he knows it is a losing battle.

A heavy weight of darkness falls on your chest and pins you down. You make an attempt to take a deep breath, but the invisible rock crashes you down. Pushing your arms upwards, you try to fight the suffocating darkness, but your palms are met with cold emptiness. Your mouth falls open and a strangled whimper escapes you, then another, until you’re screaming at the top your lungs despite making no sound at all. Your blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding loudly is cut through with a voice calling your name.

“Y/N!”

You jerk yourself to sit upright in your bed, gasping for breath with eyes wide open. You pull a face at the pain shooting in your wrist and ankle.

A pair of warm arms wrap around your torso, fingers gently stroke your sides and every slow caress wipes the god-awful nightmare far away.

“You’re good, everything is alright, you’re not alone, I’m here,” Gwil keeps muttering into your hair as he presses you to his side, his embrace firm, letting you know that everything he says is true. Taking a deep breath, you burrow your head into the crook of his neck. There are tears in the corner of your eyes but you blink them away and if one or two teardrops fall down your cheeks, they disappear on Gwil’s t-shirt, turning the material one shade darker, which no one can see anyway in the blackness-filled bedroom.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper almost inaudibly against Gwilym’s chest once you calm down and at first, you’re not even sure whether he has heard you.

After a beat of silence, you hear the soft murmur of his voice. “Oh, darling, you have nothing to apologise for. What do you need? A glass of water? Maybe I should turn on the lights?”

“No, no, just –” you take a shaking breath, “just don’t go,” you breathe out eventually.

“Never,” he says and plants a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

Next morning, a ray of sunshine tickles your nose. You make a face, your eyes squeezing and nose scrunching up, and shuffle further away from the window to find retreat in a shadow. You slowly open your eyes and feel the dryness in your throat. Last night surges forward in your thoughts and you are filled with mixed feelings. Loneliness, shame, connection, relief, content.

Rolling over, you almost lie down on Gwilym’s hand, his arm stretched out before him, crossing the gap between your bodies, as soft snores leave his mouth every few seconds. His sleeping state allows you to take a proper look at his face. His piercing dark blue eyes are usually those that capture your attention but now when they are hidden behind the eyelids, you get the opportunity to inspect his face more carefully. Your eyes follow the lines of his prominent nose and cheekbones, spotting the birthmark on his right cheek, and fall on his pink lips, which are slightly open in his sleep. You have to smile; he looks utterly adorable. And you are positively grinning when he hums and smacks his lips.

“Good morning,” you whisper softly in case he has not woken up yet. But an almost inaudible groan confirms your suspicion.

He blinks away his sleep and gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before his gaze falls on your face.

“Good morning,” he replies and brings his outstretched arm towards you to let his hand rub gently your shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you admit truthfully and give him a smile. Meanwhile, your hand clasps over his. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he says and looks up at you through his eyelashes.

You only nod but remain silent as you relish in the peaceful moment. None of you dares to move, certain that once you do so, the spell under which you both are will break. But at the same time, you long to bring him closer to you, to cross the invisible wall that is between you, the wall built from unspoken truths and confessions. However, you also realise how precarious it is to give in to that thought. The analogy of playing with fire comes to your mind but you frown inwardly, not entirely certain it fits. No, you feel the pull and you are sure so does he, the intangible power bringing you to one another. You picture yourself as a child playing with magnets and holding them in each hand to feel them inching closer. But both remain in safe vicinity so as not to jump in your hands and attach to each other. If that happens, you know there is no going back, the force too strong to allow them to let go on their own accord.

“Jane was here yesterday,” you whisper eventually, your head going around with everything that goes on in your mind.

“Yeah?” Gwilym’s eyes flick to yours.

“Yeah. We’re going to organise a jungle-themed party for Charlotte.”

“Nice,” he says appreciatively and gives you a smile. “You still wanna bake that cake? I think we could replace blueberries and raspberries with pineapple, kiwi, and maybe mango?”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you squeeze his hand that you still hold in yours. “I would love that.”

Taglist: @lv7867, @spacedustmazzello, @queenwouldyourathers, @im-an-adult-ish, @fairestkillerqueenofall, @supernaturalee, @queenlover05, @geek-and-proud, @chlobo6, @mrsmazzello, @timeandpixiedust, @kerouacsroad, @gwilsmainhoe

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee fic #multichapter #fluff #vee writes #*mine

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cry-stars · 3 years ago

Note

For the ask, and if you have time to do all four, can I get 9 for Frances, 54 for Walter, 56 for Gareth, and 71 for Juliet? Thanks!

Thank you so much for asking!! I'm so excited to talk about them all! My kids...

Frances: 9: What does your OC’s bedroom look like? His/her living area?

I think that aesthetically, Frances’ room looks a lot like Luke’s does in Last Specter. I’m still trying to plan out my WIP Overwritten, but right now, I think that Clive does manage to save his parents, but their home is still destroyed, so they wind up moving in with the Tritons; Clive’s family doesn’t have much of their own, so they rely on the Tritons sharing their furniture and other things.

Apart from that, I think that Frances has a lot of displays of things like Lego, tinkertoys, and other construction-like toys that she’s built machines and models out of. She’s pretty neat and tidy, so they are always nicely displayed, and her room is very clean. She and Clive have a particular model that they work on together, and that’s displayed right in the middle of her desk.

Walter: 54: Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Walter thinks with his heart, 100%. He’s very sensitive and compassionate, almost to a fault; he’s so terrified of hurting people’s feelings or hurting other people. He will often avoid going places because he’s “happier at home,” but really, he’s letting his social anxiety get the better of him. When it comes to helping people, though, he’ll drop everything to help a person in need, even if he’s frightened.

Gareth: 56: What are some of your OC’s strengths?

Gareth is very good at organization and making plans. He’s very efficient: he rarely starts his plans from scratch, but is always observing what is going on around him, and taking little bits of what he likes to put into his own plans. While Gareth isn’t a people person, he’s also quite capable of making friends when he deems it useful, which isn’t often. Also, Gareth is a computer programmer, and is capable of pushing ‘80s computers far beyond what they should be able to do adfsjhkfdsjaf...

Juliet: 71: What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show?

Juliet is a big weeb :’) She and Walter are born no matter what Clora ‘verse I’m writing, but in the world where she was born in the 1980s, she enjoys watching Astro Boy, Sailor Moon, and whatever other anime aired on 1980s-90s UK television. Disney’s Beauty and the Beast is her favourite movie. You might not think it because of how hyperactive she is, but she’s a big romantic (although she doesn’t want Walter to see her cry during the emotional parts! Because he'd try to hug her and it would be distracting asdjkhadsf...) She also really likes thinking about the logistics behind all of the people being turned into furniture in the movie, and how their lives would be after they got turned back. Juliet has a big imagination, and likes dragging Walter and Gareth into acting out scenes from all of her favourite movies and shows.

#gareth faulkner #frances penford #walter dove-reinhold #juliet dove-reinhold #thank you so much for asking!!#layton ocs #answered asks #professor layton oc

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amythedvdhoarder · 4 years ago

Text

Unexplained Events

Pairing: Bucky x reader

For the Flex Your Muscles Writing Challenge set up by @captain-rogers-beard

18th of June prompt: A very bad day with a very good ending

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: The day goes from bad to worse. Then you receive some news that could make or break everything.

Warnings: Swearing, little bit of angst but mainly fluff

Authors notes: GIF not mine. Over half way through this amazing challenge. My favourite part of the day at the minute is being able to write these entries, I am loving it. Please, please, please let me know what think. x

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Bucky glanced down at your sleeping form. You looked angelic; hair spayed on the pillow around your head, legs tucked up towards your chest and arm leaning towards Bucky’s side of the bed where he should have been sleeping. Steve had rung during the early hours of the morning with an urgent mission. He was disappointed that he couldn’t stay in the bed with his arms around your body and your heat pressed against him. He leant gently on the bed, careful not to wake you and placed a soft kiss your forehead. Your eyes gave a gently flutter in response but remained closed. “Love you Y/N” he whispered in your ear as he stood back up. He took one fleeting look at you, watching as you rolled over to face where he should have been, and shut the door softly behind him.

Bucky’s side of the mattress felt cold beneath your fingertips. There was no noise from the bathroom so he wasn’t there, and you couldn’t hear him moving around the lounge area. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head and glanced around the room looking for any sign of Bucky. It didn’t take you long to spot the note he had left behind.

Sorry Y/N. Emergency mission. Will be back later today. Love you, B xxx

You pulled on one of Bucky’s hoodies, pulled it around you face, breathing in the comforting smell. Bucky often had to disappear for missions last minute so were used to it but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Damn the world for taking him away from you today, especially since he had only just come back from a month-long mission. It wasn’t as if you had massive plans but you had both agreed to spend the day doing some baking, watching trash tv and generally vegging out in each other’s company. But it wasn’t to be.

Sam was the kitchen cooking when you walked in. “Hey Y/N” You were about to speak when the nausea hit you. You bolted back towards yours and Bucky’s room, only just making it to the bathroom in time to be sick. After brushing your teeth and splashing some cold water on your face, you heard your phone ringing in the bedroom. It was Sam checking up on you. “There’s still some bacon left if you want it” At even the mention bacon the thought of the smell made your stomach turned and you had to dash back to the toilet. As you swept your hair out of the way, your phone slipped out of your hand and clattered to the floor and smashed. You didn’t have time to react as you promptly vomited again.

Afterwards you sat, back against the cool tiles on the wall and your head resting between your knees. This day could not get any worse; Bucky was gone, you had been sick twice already and your phone was a lost cause. The sickness was becoming a familiar thing at the moment, you had been sick once or twice a day for the last couple of weeks, you hadn’t told anyone assuming it was just some tummy bug. You certainly didn’t want to worry Bucky, he was overprotective at the best of times. What could it be? You did some quick maths in your head, after you counted back you paused. Shit. You counted again just to be sure. Definitely shit. “FRIDAY, can you tell Bruce that I will be in the medbay in 10minutes?” The AI gave you confirmation and you got to your feet and quickly glanced at your appearance in the mirror. Taking a deep breath, you pulled your hair up into a messy bun and grabbed a quick drink of water before heading up to see Bruce.

As soon as Bruce had told you the panic had really set in. You had walked back to the living quarters that you and Bucky shared, not really looking at where you were going, just letting your feet guide you. When the door closed behind you, you paced up and down going through everything in your head. The biggest worry was Bucky. What was he going to say? How was he going to react? Was this even something he wanted? Hell, you didn’t even know what to think. You were still confused as to how exactly it had happened, you had been careful. Eventually you realised you needed to calm down, it wouldn’t do anybody any good. So, you kept yourself busy, you tidied and cleaned the flat and after a shower managed to cook something for lunch without vomiting.

“Miss Y/N, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have just landed.” You put down the Lee Child book you were reading on the coffee table and nervously ringed your hands on your lap, waiting for Bucky to arrive. As soon as the door opened, his blue eyes searched for yours and he let out a grin as he spotted you and strode towards you. You met him half way and wrapped your arms around him and pressed your face against the muscles of his chest. He kissed the top of your head. “Hey Y/N, I missed you”. You tilted your head up to his and pressed a soft kiss against his lips “I missed you too.” Stepping back, you bit your lip and frowned slightly, suddenly you were really anxious again. Bucky surveyed the change and his brows knitted together with concern. “Something’s up. What is it?” Your head dropped, you had been dreading this moment. “I think you should sit down Buck.” Bucky’s face fell, he didn’t question the instruction and he walked slowly to the sofa and sat down. “Doll, you’re worrying me now. What’s happened?”

“I don’t really know how to tell you Buck…In fact I don’t know how it happened. We were always so carful. Bruce reckons it is to do with the serum.” You still weren’t looking at Bucky, but staring at the floor. Bucky ran his hands through his hair, his mind working in overdrive. “Y/N are you hurt. I have hurt you?” His voice was shaking slightly at that prospect. This made your eyes snap to his and you walked closer to him and took his hands in yours. “No, I’m not hurt. You could never do anything to hurt me.” Bucky opened his mouth to start arguing about that but you cut him off. “Bucky, I’m, um, pregnant.” Bucky’s grip tightened on your hands “you’re what?” He stood up now and waited patiently for you to reply. “I’m pregnant” you repeated quietly. Bucky dropped your hands, you were certain he was going to move away from you but instead his hands cupped your face and gently grazed his thumb along your cheekbones. His blue eyes were filled with tears. There was no hint of disappointment, regret or anger only happiness. “I love you Y/N, you’re my family. We’re a family now.” One of his hands fell to your stomach and rested there. Bucky started to laugh and hot tears started to roll down your face. “You’re not mad?” Bucky scoffed “Mad, are you kidding. It’s a surprise but the best surprise ever. I’m going to be a Dad.” He wiped away your tears and captured you lips with his in the most tender kiss.

Later that night you were curled up with your back to Bucky’s chest. His arm wrapped around you, his hand splayed against your stomach. “I still can’t believe this happened” Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder “So what exactly did Bruce say.” Your hand rested on Bucky’s. “So, he said that because of the serum, my pill didn’t stand a chance. I’m about 3 months pregnant.” Bucky chuckled “What you are really trying to say is that I have my own little super soldiers?” You kicked him, he feigned an injury and you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that nothing you could do would ever really hurt him. “I guess so.” You yawned. “You just get some rest doll.” You nodded. Bucky whispered “I love you Y/N” he shifted and placed a delicate kiss on your stomach “I love you too” he cooed. You smiled as you closed your eyes, your fingers still laced with Bucky’s. This day had definitely turned out better than you thought.

Taglist is open so let me know if you want in

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18 , @silentcoyotesong, @queenofstarliqht, @buckys-henley

#flex your writing muscles challenge #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #marvel fanfics #marvel #avengers #writing challenge

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11scout11 · 3 years ago

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helloo! this is and introduction of a story ive been writing! i desighned the charectors and town and i realy like them, hope you do too!

introduction of The Ghost Of Autinesbury

Chapter 1

“Your late” tanyas cold voice rang out from the door, the door i might add that had swung open with such force and vigour it had almost concussed our poor protagonist Rae. Tanya was a smart, level headed girl with a usually tidy appearance but today was different, tanyas blonde hair, usually neatly brushed and swept into a tight bun was now a frayed, messy top-not with many strands and locks fallen in front of her rosy face, diluted emerald eyes peeking up from under the curtains of silky gold threads, however peaceful the color was her expression juxtaposing whatever calmness was in her face.

“Wow ,didn't think I'd ever see little miss put together look so untidy” rae chuckled nervously only to be tugged into the house by her shirt “i have been cleaning and unpacking all day, by myself i might add!” the angered woman ranted rushing up old rickety stairs with some sort of odd red crust between the floorboards under them.

“Close the front door, i don't want those daft cats in here” came her bellowing voice from some place upstairs, rae rolled her eyes smiling closing the door with a slow subtle creek. she turned when she heard rapid footsteps thundering down the stairs towards her, in a split second a stack of old,dusty music CD’s clattered into her arms “are these?-” the short girl was swiftly cut off by the blonde “yea those are your edge-lord CD’s, you left them at my house last time you came over, i had to hide them from my mum, she claimed they were the devils work, you know her” tanya muttered rushing to the kettle flicking it on. Rae placed the CD’s by her bag at the door sliding off the tall black boots she usually wore in hopes to add a bit of height before wandering into the front room.

The walls were painted a pale homely orange matching the autumn colours outside, the floor consisted of pale wooden floorboards and a yellow carpet beneath a grey sofa positioned towards an old dusty tv on a dark redwood cabinet. Tanya hurried out of the connected kitchen with two steaming cups both filled with the girl's life sustenance, coffee.

“I don't know how you drink black coffee” rae muttered sipping the scolding beverage “and I don't know why you drink yours so hot but you don't see me complaining do you?” the taller replied “well that makes a change doesn't it” rae said to herself, the two bickered like this since they had first met but were truly best of friends, they hadn't seen each other in a little while despite their closeness “so tell me, how was uni” tanya asked pulling her legs up onto the sofa “i dunno it's alright but london is really busy, christ and don't get me started on the trains, why do you think i was late?” the brunette groaned beginning to go into detail on the creep that decided to sit next to her “its a public area rae, other people are allowed to sit down you know” tanya sighed at her seething friend

“Not next to me they aren't, i should have punched him!” she growled

“There there dear we don't want another assault charge do we? How long did they make you work on anger management again?” tanya teased referring to an event in their teenhood, before rae could respond a knocking resonated through the house gaining the girls attention “that'll be my idiot brother” tanya said standing up headed to the door.

Behind the door was a tall messy blonde haired boy with a camera around his neck and a dull blue hoodie with grey patches “hello dearest sister of mine” he spoke loudly with a large grin on his face, james has basically always been a cheerful energetic sort of guy with an almost theatrical air, unless you count the emo phase but we don't talk about that. However, when rae stepped out into the hallway the poor boy's confidence seemed to shrink from a lion to a pitiful mouse as his face flushed and a few beads of sweat seemed to appear “i-i mean hey tanya, how are things?” he corrected leaning awkwardly against the door frame slipping a few times, tanya rolled her eyes pulling him into the now slightly cramped hallway. “Rae, you remember my brother James, he used to play that screamo music whenever you came over to impress you” she smirked watching both her friends flush a bright red before leaving into the front room again.

Both rae and james tried to leave the hallway at once “uh you can go first” james stuttered staring at the apparently very interesting stairs, rae swiftly lurched past him slumping on the sofa next to tanya, james followed timidly “she won't bite james” tanya chuckled before glancing at the brunette “Well i can't promise anything…” both girls slurped their drinks simultaneously filling the awkward silence “didn't a family used to like here… redwoods wasn't it?” Rae muttered trying to lift the mood, she failed when she got a response “yea they left town when the weird one died” tanya said nonshalontly hearing a gasp from james ``you can't say that-``''he died?” rae cut the tall boy off with her own surprise “yea, fell down those stairs” tanya muttered pointing while taking another sip “i don't think he fell” james added getting raes attention “don't listen to him rae, he's full of conspiracies” james squinted at her as she continued “not the best way to go is it, imagine that ‘oh how'd you die?’ ‘oh y'know fell down some stairs’ its a bit pitiful isn't it” to this james pinched her gaining a slap to the hand in response

“you can't say that, were in his house-”

“Our house now, and besides he's dead now, what's he gonna do, rise from the grave to slap me?”

“He might!”

“Oh please, you and your ghost stories”

“What if he's still here!”

“Then I'll say it to his face, he was weird!”

“Guys that's enough”

“Actually rae he was kinda like you”

Rae gasped “I'm not weird, I'm just different!”, tanya giggled “is that what your mum tells you” she remarked as rae jumped up, tanya sprinted into the kitchen trying to avoid her best friends wrath they ran around the kitchen counter before rae tried to climb over the counter receiving a fist full of tea bags thrown at her face in a final,desperate act of self defence. James, finally stifling his laughter, who had been filming them, seemed to realize something they hadn't noticed: “who brought tea?” he asked picking one of the bags up “wasn't me, i hate the vile stuff” tanya remarked, they looked at rae who had just peeled herself off the counter top “well i didn't either” a pause swept over the group before james as always perked up “tea ghost!” he received a light slap up the backside of his head as tanya muttered “enough about ghosts, we have some tidying to do. All three of them winced looking at the mess of loose bits of fruit, teabags and kitchen roll strewn around the place like bunting or Christmas decorations. “Well I'm not helping, I didn't make the mess.” james stated crossing his arms

“I don't even live here. '' James muttered, picking up some oranges and tea bags, turns out going against rae and tanya is a bad idea, they're a good team to say the least. “Just hurry up and clean,'' Tanya growled, chucking the loose scraps of kitchen roll into the bin. Rae chuckled, she had almost always been amused by the sibling squabbling since her and tanya had first met when they were in secondary school. Later they found themselves positioned back on the soft grey sofa “for the last time James, we are not going ghost hunting.”

all the while a slim boy is sat in the attic awaiting discovery...

writtian by emmerson

DISCLAIMER:please do not post this to any other websites or use the charictors without my permission, thanks ^^

#ghost #haunted #original story #ghostcore #ghost and hauntings #comics #original charecter #comedy

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atlafan · 5 years ago

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Take it Slow - Part Three

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry. (Fluff and slight smut? If you squint? )

Part One Part Two

You woke up at eight-thirty so you could shower and get yourself ready for the day. You blow dried your hair and threw some curls in at the ends. You put on some light makeup, and then rummaged through your closest for something cute, but casual to wear for brunch. You decide on a pair of light, high wasted jeans and a black shirt to tuck into them. You grab your white toms and slip them on. Five after ten Harry texts you letting you know he’s downstairs.

He’s standing outside his car. He has a beanie on over his gorgeous hair, a few curls peeking through. Today he has a white t-shirt on with dark blue jeans. He looked heavenly. You could see more of his tattoos peeking through the white fabric. In the light of day you could tell he really did have a lot. Eagerly, you wrap your arms around his neck to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a squeeze before letting you go.

“G’morning.” He smiles.

“Morning.” He opens the door for you, closes it, and gets in himself. “So, where are we going for brunch?”

“It’s called Rick’s, it’s really good. I like it because it actually has things I can eat.” He laughs. He starts driving towards the restaurant.

“What can a vegan eat for breakfast? I still eat eggs and stuff.”

“Typically, I’ll go for some fruit, potatoes, maybe even a slice of toast. I also eat beans.”

“That sounds good.”

“On any given day though I usually just make a smoothie.”

“I usually do a smoothie too.”

You pull up to the restaurant. He opens your door for you. He’s such a gentleman. When you enter he takes his beanie off and shakes his hair out. Respectful of the establishment too. It’s a seat yourself kind of place, so you find a booth in the back, and sit down.

A waiter comes over and pours you both some coffee and water, and tells you he’ll be back. You both look over the menu. You agree to split a bowl of fruit. You opt for some oatmeal. You don’t like how greasy omelets tend to be at place likes this. Harry orders beans on gluten-free toast. Your food is brought out pretty quickly. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took your first bite of oatmeal.

“Mm, this is perfectly made.”

“Oh good, I’m glad.” He smiles taking a spoon full beans. “So…”

“So?”

“After this I’ll take you to get your car. I’m sure you have things you need to do today, but I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”

“Just had a date with my TV, but I can cancel.” You laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place. I’d like to cook for you.” Your jaw nearly drops.

“You cook?”

“Sure do. I worked in a bakery as a teenager back in the U.K.”

“Oh, cool. I’d love to do that. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” He winks.

“No really, I hate showing up empty handed.”

“How about you bring a dessert?”

“What can a vegan eat for dessert?”

“Dark chocolate, fruit?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Perfect.”

You both continue to eat. He puts his beanie back on when you get outside. He drives you to your car at Pinz. He gets out to let you out.

“You don’t have to keep doing that.” You say, taking his hand to help you out.

“Sure I do, how would I get a proper hug goodbye in?” He says with a smirk on his face. He wraps his arms around you, and you reciprocate.

“Thank you again for breakfast.” You say into his ear, and give him a nice kiss on the cheek.

“You’re more than welcome.” He says looking at you. His lips press to yours, and you happily kiss him back. This time he breaks the kiss first. “Right, well we could be like this all day, so, um, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yup, what time?” You ask getting into your car.

“Seven?”

“Works for me.”

You stop by the store on your way home. You grab some melting chocolate and some strawberries. When you get home you melt the chocolate and dip the strawberries in it, and pop them in the freezer. You also grabbed some red wine that would taste good with such a dessert. You take the remainder of the day to tidy up, work on some emails, and catch up on a TV show you were desperate to watch on Netflix.

Around five-thirty, you go into your room to look for something to wear. You wanted to look nice, so you decide on a dress. You pull out your navy blue dress that had the buttons down the front. The straps were thick, and it flowed around you down to the midpoint of your thighs. You put on a jean jacket, and slipped your white toms on. Harry texted you his address, and out the door you went with your dessert and wine.

You got to his place promptly at seven. He buzzed you in, and up you went. The door was opened a crack for you. You walked in and closed it behind you.

“Harry?”

“Over here, love.”

He had his back turned to you, as he was just straining some pasta in the sink. He had an apron tied around his waist. He had put a long sleeve button down shirt on, it was blue, not navy though, baby blue. He changed into an unripped pair of black jeans. When he turns around to look at you he rushes over to kiss you on the cheek and take the items out of your full arms.

“That can go in the freezer.” You say pointing to the strawberries. You take your jacket off, and scan his studio apartment.

He had it set up perfectly. The bed was at one end, up against the wall, but still room for someone to walk on both sides of it. In front of the bed was a couch, and in front of that was a coffee table, and a TV mounted to the wall. He had a bureau adjacent to the bed. There was a full bath down a hall way. Opposite the bedroom/living area was a pretty decent sized kitchen. He had a small cart that he used as an island. There was a table that fit four chairs around it. He had camera bags and a giant iMac and desk in the corner next to his bed. He clearly worked at home quite a bit.

“Harry, your place is lovely.” You say walking over to him.

“Thank you. You look beautiful by the way.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“I made black bean pasta, and roasted some vegetables. I’m just making up the plates now.”

“It smells delicious.”

“Please, have a seat. I can open this wine up.”

“The wine will taste better with dessert.” You say sitting down at the table. He had lit two candles and you feel yourself melt a little. He’s romantic.

“Alright, I have some other wine that will go with this particular dish anyways.”

He brings a plate over to you. You notice he had drizzled some olive oil on top. It looked like something someone could get at a restaurant. He sits down adjacent to you, instead of across, much more intimate.

“This looks amazing, Harry, thank you.”

“Of course, I was happy to do it.” He takes out his phone, and you see him go into the Spotify app. He puts on some light music. You smile at him as you take a bite. You can’t help but moan at how delicious the food it.

“This is delicious!”

“I’m so glad you like it. Sometimes that pasta can be bland.” You love the way he says pasta. It sounds so different from the way you say it.

“S’not bland at all. Lots of flavor. And I love what you put on these veggies. Is that paprika?”

“Yes, and a little chili powder. I didn’t want to use too much because I didn’t know if you liked hot food.”

“Love it, I love spicy food. Hot wings used to be my favorite thing when I used to eat meat. Now I do buffalo cauliflower.”

“You make it yourself?”

“Yup.”

“I’d love to try that sometime.”

“Maybe next weekend I could make it for you.”

“You’d make me wait an entire week?” He asks playfully, shoveling some food into his mouth.

“Wednesday is usually my rest day from the gym, if that works for you.”

“Wednesday it is.” He smiles.

You couldn’t believe how often he already wanted to see you. Your second and third date, now technically fourth, were back to back. It was nice to feel wanted for a change. After you two finish eating, Harry insisted he didn’t want you to help clean up, but you insisted you did because he cooked. You decided on you wash, him dry.

“Care to have dessert over by the sofa?”

“Sure.”

You pad over to the couch, and sit down, crossing your legs at the ankle. You hear Harry pop the cork to the wine you brought. You watch as he takes the chocolate covered strawberries, and puts them on a serving plate. He brings two glasses, the wine, and the dessert over. He pours you each a glass of wine.

“Did you make these?” He asks, pointing to the strawberries.

“Sure did.” You take a sip of the sweet wine. “Here.” You pick one up and hold it in front of his mouth. You expect him to take it from you, but instead he just takes a bite. You feel goosebumps raise on your body. He licks his lips after and takes a sip of the wine.

“You were right, this wine is perfect for dessert. That’s a juicy strawberry.” He picks one up and smiles at you, gesturing for you to do the same as him. You nervously lean forward and take a small bite. The chocolate shell cracks off, and falls onto your dress.

“Oh, shit.” You pick it off and place it onto the napkins on the coffee table. “I guess I could’ve done that more gracefully.” You laugh.

“It’s easier if you bite up here.” He shows you where, eating the rest of the strawberry you just bit into. “Here, try again.” He holds up another for you, and you bite where he showed you, this time not making a mess. “Perfectly executed.” You both laugh.

You guzzle down two glasses of wine like it’s nothing. He does the same, but seems less intoxicated than you. The majority of the strawberries have been eaten. You can’t help but stare at the tattoo on his wrist. It’s an anchor, you reach of his hand and trace over it with your index finger.

“Can I look at the others? The ones on your arms?”

“Sure.” He shrugs his shoulders, stands up, and unbuttons his shirt. He reveals a white t-shirt, and places his button down on the bed. He sits back down and lets you examine him. “Some of them have meaning, and others were just for fun. Do you have any?”

“Oh, god no. Something Niall and I have in common, we’re afraid of needles.” You laugh.

“But your belly button is pierced.” He says raising an eyebrow at you. Your cheeks flush. “Sorry, I noticed it last night while we were playing one of the games.” He smiles nervously.

“It’s alright. Sometimes I forget it’s even there. I got it my first year at college. I got drunk with my friends, and I felt like rebelling against my parents, so I got the one piercing my mom told me I couldn’t have.”

“You’d think she would have told you not to get your nipples done or something.” He takes a sip of wine. Your eyes grow wide. “Sorry, does the word nipple bother you?” You feel your cheeks grow hot.

“Um, no. I just…” You look down at yourself. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open.

“Wait a second, so you won’t get a tattoo, but you’re telling me that not only do you have your naval pierced, but your nipples as well?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I need to hear this story.”

“It was my junior year of college, and all of my friends and I got them done together. I was afraid, I knew it would hurt way more than this.” You point to your stomach. “So we did a bunch of shots and went down to the parlor. The second one hurt worse since I knew what to expect after the first one.”

“Why was that something your friends all wanted to do?”

“Because not everyone was willing to get a tattoo. I think it was the permanence. Piercings can always be taken out. It was sort of childish. I couldn’t wear a bra for over a week, which is not easy to do when you’re, well, chesty, and they burned so bad. They weren’t infected or anything, it was just like this weird sting. Eventually I got used to it, and now I barely remember they’re there.” You laugh, pouring yourself a third glass of wine. You figure you can always uber home if you need to. You top off Harry’s glass. “Don’t tell Niall though, he only knows about the naval.”

“I promise you, I will not mention your nipples to him.” You both laugh. He scoots a little closer to you. “Anything else on your body you’d like to tell me about?”

“Nope, I think that’s it.”

You’re feeling bold, and want him even closer to you. You put your hand on his forearm and rub it lightly back and forth. He takes his other hand and tucks some hair behind your hair.

“Come here.” He says, gesturing to have you scoot closer. He puts his hand on your lower back, and you press your hands to chest. Similar to how you were last night at your place.

He leans in, brushing his nose with yours. You kiss him first, and he pulls you in closer. He leans back against the arm of the couch, and your crawl into his lap, putting your legs on either side of him. You finally part your lips for him. He’s slow at first, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a small moan at the motion. His tongue enters your mouth, and you lightly suck on it, causing him to moan into you. You feel him twitch beneath you. You’re practically hovering over him, but you still feel him shift. His hands move up your back, and pull you closer to his chest. Your hands go straight for his hair as he begins to plaster kisses to your jaw, and then to just under your earlobe. He nips and sucks at the skin.

“Oh, Jesus.” You whisper.

“Wrong name, love.” He says into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

You moan and press your hips down on to him. Not exactly grinding, but there’s no space between you anymore. Your hands tug at his hair as he bites down on the crook up your neck. It was sure to leave a bruise, but right now you didn’t care. Nothing some makeup up and a high enough shirt couldn’t cover up. He lifts his hips to press into you, and you roll on top of him. The vibration of his moan against your neck runs through your whole body. It makes your mind wander to where else his hot breath, nipping, and sucking would feel good. Your eyes burst open. You can’t think like that, not yet.

“Harry.” It comes out as a whimper, so keeps sucking on your neck, getting a good taste of you. You push back on his chest and grab his face in your hands. His pupils are fully blown, you imagine yours are as well. “I like what we’re doing, but our clothes have to stay on, all of them, okay?”

“Of course. Taking your dress off never even crossed my mind.” He smirks at you.

“Sure it didn’t.” You roll your eyes.

“In all seriousness, I want you to feel comfortable, so if I overstep, please don’t be afraid to tell me, okay? We can stop altogether now if you want.”

“I definitely don’t want that.” You kiss him quick. “I’m just not ready to, um…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He smiles. “I’m happy to just make out.”

Your shoulders lower in relief. You kiss him again, this time sticking your tongue in his mouth. They mold together perfectly. You can taste the chocolate and the wine, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t delectable. You could really smell his cologne too, it was intoxicating. You just wanted to berry your face in him. One of his hands slides down to the top of your ass, and gives it gentle squeeze. You lift up a little so he can get a better grip on you. He puts his other hand on your cheek, and laces his fingers in your hair. You moan into his mouth as he starts to suck on your tongue.

You desperately wish you could squeeze your legs together to relieve the pressure that’s been building. You’re certain your panties are soaked at this point. He’s so hard for you, and you want to grind against him to help him relieve his pressure, but you don’t. You know if you start this, you’ll need to finish it. He took a break from your mouth and kissed down to the top of your chest. You knew your skin had to be pink from the alcohol alone. You move to kiss down his neck. You wanted to nip and suck on him the way he did you.

“Oh, fuck.” He says breathless the minute your teeth pinch down on him. He pulls you as close as he possibly can to him. Desperate to feel your breasts against his chest. You start to roll your hips on him, moving back and forth. Your body needs the friction. He grabs your waist to halt your motions. You stop to look at him. His chest is heaving. “If you keep doing this, I’m going to come in my trousers, and I’d rather not make things awkward between us.” He gives you a half smile. You start giggling and rest your forehead on his shoulder. He giggles along with you.

“Guess we should probably cool it for the night then, yeah?”

“I guess that would be the smart choice. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but this couch has a pull out if you’d like to stay. I don’t want to send you in an uber home alone at this time of night, and I’m in no condition to drive.” What time is it anyways?

“That’s awfully sweet, but I’d rather go home. I don’t have a toothbrush or anything here.” You smile. “I know who I can call.”

You get off of Harry, careful not ogle at the strain in his pants. You find your phone and call Niall.

“He said he can be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

You help Harry clean up the dessert and wine glasses. He gives you some water, and you guzzle it down. You two start to kiss again, slowly but with need, when you’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

“That’ll be him.” Harry says. “Use your key, mate!” Niall keys in. You think it’s cute he has a key to his friend’s apartment. Even Niall doesn’t have a key to your place.

“Oi, lad, what did ya do to my friend? Get her so drunk she couldn’t get home?”

“Everything I did was from my own doing.” You slur, putting your jacket on. “Um, I guess I’ll have to come by tomorrow to get my car. I can just uber for that.”

“I can bring ya by here, (y/n).” Niall says. “Harry and I have plans tomorrow anyways.”

“Perfect.” You and Harry smile at each other. He puts his hands in his pockets and gives Niall a look.

“I’ll go wait in the hall so you two can say g’night.”

You pad over to Harry and give me a deep kiss. Something for him to think about. He gives you a light tap on your bottom.

“I had a great time tonight, thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for the amazing dessert.” He bites his bottom lip. “Good night.”

“Night.” You blow a kiss at him as you leave.

Thank god Niall was home, and sober. There’s no way you would’ve been able to get home tonight.

“So, I take it you had a nice night?” He asks, as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Mhm, he’s the best.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For sticking to your not moving too fast thing. Not many women can resist Harry.”

“Trust me, it’s not easy. I gladly would’ve fucked him tonight, but I know it would’ve been too soon.”

“You can do other stuff y’know? He’s a giver, you wouldn’t even have to actually have sex with him.”

“What do you mean he’s a giver?”

Niall holds a hand up and separates two fingers under his chin and makes a licking motion. You scoff and nudge his arm.

“You’re fowl.”

“I’m telling you. I’m sure some heavy petting would be okay to start. You don’t need to hop right on his dick. But you also don’t need to punish yourself.”

“That’s true, and I know I don’t. We’re seeing each other again Wednesday. I’ll see how I feel then.”

#harry styles #hs1 #hs2 #take it slow #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut #smut #fluff #harry styles smut fic #yall please reblog #would love to know thoughts #i have nine parts written lets goooooo

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