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keeper0fthestars · 4 years ago

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would you let me

din djarin x fem!reader (au)

summary: tattooed!din. guys you should know me by now, there’s no plot this is shamelessly soft and a little bit of filth (you can assume this takes place well after the events of ywmnd, but it can be read as a stand-alone fic)

warnings: Din without his helmet, 18+ explicit, fluff/smut, love and affection, oral f receiving, praise kink, y’all din is Hor-neeeee, dirty talk sort of, possessive din, cock warming, unprotected sex, oh yea- din doesn’t realize how enamoured you are with his tattoos.

a/n: Did I intend for this to be 2.8k words? Hahaha, oh god, in my head this was only 600 words at the most and i have nothing to say for myself, all i want is Din Djarin to be being safe, stable and happy.

✨immaculate✨moodboard at the bottom by: @bxbafett

His skin tingles where you still touch him.

The sweat has dried but he can’t yet bring himself to move from where he'd collapsed next to you on the pillows a few minutes ago. Sprawled on his stomach, he takes up your side of the bed, the comfortable weight of your leg bent over the back of his thigh. The heat of your mouth and the exquisite grip of your pussy would stay with him for days.

The peaceful glow blanketing the room hangs in contrast to the raging wind outside. The storm arrived unexpectedly before dawn and continues to rattle the windows every so often, a promise that it's far from over.

Muscles protesting, he bunches the pillow under his arms. His eyes struggle to stay open and he sees you’re doing no better, not a lick of tension left in your body. His shoulders bulging, he rests his head on his forearms, lulled by the sensation of your slow fingers tracing the dark ink over his shoulder blade.

He wonders what you're thinking about, he wonders if you even realize you’re doing it. Not that he minds. Not that he needed a reason to keep you in bed today. Drowsy and spent, the look on your face tells him you wouldn't be able to recall a single thing you’d carried over from yesterday’s to-do list. He likes days like this when the only thing on your mind is him. Even now, especially now, when all that exists is the delicious scent of you and he’s on the verge of dozing off and it's not even noon. He can't get enough of how fucking beautiful you are after he's fucked you.

The dwindling fire dances in the corner of the room, creating shadows across the dips and valleys of his back. Coals begin to crackle but neither of you seems to care about the chill creeping back in the room. The window could be wide open right now and neither of you would even notice.

At the moment, other things occupy your mind. Lazy, your fingers continue over the smooth slope of his shoulder, repeatedly admiring the same path of black ink.

With a languid exhale, he shifts, turning on his side, ruffling the toasty air under the quilt between you. One arm propped under his head, his other hand slipping warm underneath the blanket, hugging your hip, he settles heavy and solid beside you.

Your eyes are drawn to the intricate pattern that spreads across his chest and curls around his biceps and disappears under the blankets. You know the significance of each piece of ink. The one on his shoulder, the one bigger than your palm is your favourite. Ever since he'd gotten it, you found yourself silently longing for something you’d never thought you’d want. But then, you’ve never done anything as reckless as being in love before.

You've often wondered if he'd like that; to see a similar version of one of his tattoos somewhere on you, to watch him brush his fingers over it, or his mouth- tracing the pattern in the dark, knowing the shape of it from memory alone. Tender evidence of just how entwined your life with him is.

The thought of it pulls delightfully inside your stomach.

When you look up, he’s already watching you.

He sees the flash of eagerness in your eyes before you blink it away, he sees the cautious way you wet your bottom lip as you consider your words. He can see you’re itching to say something.

"If I wanted something like this, would you do it for me?"

His brow flattens, his lips part and you can tell the question catches him off guard. You hear the hitch in the air but you don’t know the half of it.

You do not know that his throat jams with adrenaline when he opens his mouth to answer you— he barely manages to swallow it down and level his voice enough to speak. He’s powerless to stop the grin that sneaks into the corner of his mouth.

‘Of course, I would.’

The kick of overwhelming pride in his veins is instant, a punch to his lungs. This timid little request sets off fireworks in his stomach, floods hot up his chest, flushing the roots of his scalp. Something so tangible, so primal he thinks he could reach in and touch it. He thinks if he does, it might lay him to waste. The more he visualizes you this way, the more light-headed he becomes.

And then you weaken him further. Sweet little apples forming on your cheeks— and he gives in. Allows the sensation to shatter him.

His girl, his girl, wants ink that matches his.

He wants to bask in it, drown himself in it. Arousal licks hot inside his stomach, tightens his cock so fast it makes him dizzy-

Instead of on your hip, the heat of his hand is now curling around the back of your neck and his forehead collides gently with yours. Warm and solid.

He has to close his eyes, focus on you, or the muscles around his heart will squeeze right out of his chest and turn him into a puddle. His cock, painfully heavy between his legs.

Tethering himself against your warm brow, he lingers, focuses on your breath fanning down his cheek. Eventually, he comes back down again.

You'd said you want him to do it.

You'd be wearing a part of him on your skin. Forever.

Fuck.

How he wants it.

His lungs threaten to collapse again.

Gentle fingers squeeze the nape of your neck, spreading warmth down your spine. Nudging your forehead up, you are met with the imploring depths of his eyes carefully fixed on yours, circling your features. You watch his brows pull together, the earnestness on his face tugs at the strings around your heart.

“You would let me?” He asks.

You know exactly what he means. Giving him the power to adorn you, stinging with needles.

To hurt you. Trust that he wouldn’t.

Like his name hasn’t already been written on the inside of your heart since the day you met.

Your hand curves along the scruffy edge of his jaw, reaching further, tangling in his hair. Tipping your face up, your mouth slides between his supple lips and you answer him the only way you can.

He melts immediately, nose pressing into your cheek, tugging you closer with a soft hungry moan. Stubble grazing, you’re lost inside the slick of his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper, reaching for yours. His hand trails down the curve of your back, his cock rigid, presses against your softness and heat swoops low in your belly. Much too soon he pulls away and you already feel his burning gaze as you struggle to pull your eyelids open.

Bloomed and dark, his eyes burn with adoration so intense it would blot out both suns.

"Where would you want it?"

The softness in his voice makes your heart flutter. You already see the possibilities flickering in his eyes; his ink decorating you.

Easing you back on the pillows, you barely get a chance to give his question any thought when you feel the ends of his hair tickling your jaw, his mouth ghosting over your clavicle.

"Maybe here?" his voice lilts up at the end, satisfied at the goosebumps erupting across your skin.

He doesn't give you time to answer, instead, he grasps your hand, softly brushing his thumb over the tendons on the inside of your wrist. "Or, here."

And then it hits you and your mouth goes dry. “You’ve already thought about this.”

‘Yeah,’ he says softly, bending to slot his lips over your open mouth. ‘I have.’

His admission just about ruins you.

Ugh. This man.

Curiosity ignites inside you, in sync with an eagerness of an entirely different kind. One that charges your pulse, makes your voice weak.

‘Where would you want it?’

He's slow with his answer. Even slower gripping the blanket from underneath. Pulling it down, watching the satin edge slide over your skin, watching it slowly catch on your nipples. Bit by bit, exposing the soft fullness of your curves. Doesn't stop pulling until the blanket bunches around your knees.

You watch his mouth tug into a crooked grin.

Crowding over the side of you, he’s so long and so broad. Your skin tingles under his appreciative gaze. A warm hand trails up the side of your hip, fingertips counting ribs, so gentle it's almost ticklish. You struggle to breathe around the quivering in your stomach where your heart thuds erratically from one corner of your ribcage to the other.

Unhurried fingers trace a slow semicircle underneath your breast.

‘I want one here,’ his head dips down, his nose following the swell of soft skin. ‘So I can see it every time I fuck you.’

Your pussy twinges, heat flaring all the way to your nipples.

Oh.

Grasping a handful of your breast, he circles his tongue over your nipple and before you can put a single thought together, his large hand moves to your hip, squeezes, then melts into the softest of touches.

“And I want one down here.”

You catch his gaze, blazing and dark, before his mop of messy dark hair trails down your stomach.

He licks a hot stripe over the spot he's just identified on the inside of your hip bone, teeth nipping. Your core clenches painfully at the contact and your vision goes hazy. He is pleased with your splintered gasp, but you can think of a few other uses for that smug grin. As though reading your mind, his open mouth finds more bare skin, hot and wet, scraping slower, pushing your legs apart.

His voice low, possessive, ‘No one but me would ever know about them.’

The thought sends a spectacular sting of arousal around your ass and up your spine.

Something only for him. Maker. He renders you so defenseless so fast your head spins.

"So, what do you think?" his voice dips lower, his stubble scrapes up the inside of your thigh. "Where should we start?"

You know he just asked you a question but his thumb is toying with the seam of your pussy now and the words he just said have nothing to cling to inside your head. He’s slow about it, pressing just far enough to collect your wetness and push it up around your clit. Painting. Teasing. Dipping further each time only to pull away and bring it to his mouth. Spreading you wider so he can see how flushed and swollen you are and he hasn’t even used his mouth yet.

“You gonna answer me?” Using his palm to pin your leg open, his mouth sinks into the inside of your thigh, teeth and all, and he hears you pull air from the beams of your ceiling.

“Tha-s not fair..” you plead.

He moans his agreement into the flesh of your other thigh. “We can finish this conversation after you cum.”

His mouth closes over your clit and your eyes roll back in your head. He doesn’t let up.

“Din-,” you gasp.

He pulls off your swollen clit and sucks the taste off his lips, watching you clench for him at the loss of contact.

“Yeah?”

You’re so fucking wet for him that his cock throbs, leaking between his stomach and the sheets. Bending his index finger he drags the side of his knuckle over your clit, pushing deep until he snags your entrance, holding you there. You’re already fluttering around him, so eager. With every clench, more slick leaks between his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns into the most filthy whimpers every time he laps at your clit. His other hand pries your fist from the sheet beside you, curls his fingers through yours and holds tight. Collects wetness on his tongue and leaves it on your clit again.

“You wanna cum on my mouth... or my cock.”

“Yes…” you plead, chest heaving, not sure if he even hears you.

He doesn’t know what you’re moaning ‘yes’ to but he doesn’t care because your pussy is too fucking tempting to stop now. Two fingers buried to the knuckle, they twist and curl and he has to hold your hips from seizing and climbing off the bed when you cry out and come apart at the seams.

He moans blissfully, mouth buried in your pussy, working you through it until your grip on his hair loosens and your thighs finally lay limp around his shoulders. His mouth becomes patient, gently cleaning you up until you’re too sensitive to take anymore.

He crawls up to your mouth, forearms crowding you on either side, settling his weight between your legs. Your hands tug through his hair and he moans again, taking his time inside your mouth, sloppy and breathless.

Blissed out and shaky, you let him nudge you over on your side. Bringing the blanket over your bodies, he climbs up behind you like a massive wall of warmth.

Soft kisses to your shoulder, his hand splays firm on your belly; he needs to be as close as possible, needs to fit himself between your legs, perfectly content to just keep himself there for the rest of the day if that’s all you wanted.

He knows it’s not.

Still keyed-up from your orgasm, the heavy length of his cock slides exquisitely through your folds, the wide ridges catch perfectly on your tender clit. He throbs hot and your eyes cloud over with a need so obscene, so sharp, it would take no effort at all to angle your hips and ease every inch of him into you. Your fingertips reach down, smearing your fingers over the blunt head of his cock and he twitches for you, leaking and hot, a broken groan shuddering within his chest behind you. The ache goes straight to your pussy.

His mouth gone dry, his hand like steel on your hip now. He holds delightfully still, right over your clit and he feels you shudder and clench, more heat spilling out around his cock.

“Does my girl want more?” His hand dips below the swell of your ass, he squeezes into your flesh, pulling you apart, making more room for himself, fixed on supplying you another heavenly inch of contact. You oblige and squeeze the muscles between your legs, giving him more friction and he keens for you, whimpering ‘fuck’

He sees you bring your slippery fingers into your mouth, and he has to force his eyes shut and rein himself in, dazed at how dangerously close he is to that sweet blinding edge of oblivion. He feels you clench desperately again, knows it’s because you’re gathering more slick from his weeping cock and swallowing it down.

Pressing your ass into the base of his hips you arch your back, sliding him once more through the same path. The desperate sound he makes against the back of your neck makes you throb.

He hums wet kisses into your neck, bringing three fingers soaked from his mouth to your nipple, rolling them over the hardened peaks. You shudder for him and grind harder into his lap, legs trembling, your nails digging into his arm.

“What d’you need, my girl?”

Your only answer is a low whine. “I need you in me.”

Grasping your knee from behind, he lifts your leg just enough to wedge his hips properly... ‘like this, you want me just like this’ ...and it’s effortless. He drags through your whimpers, through the haze of his own blurry desperation, burying himself into your slick heat all at once. When he reaches the hilt, you gasp high and tight, the stretch fucking divine.

He groans through a string of filthy curses, low and needy and breathless through gritted teeth, ‘this what you want, just like this?’ A delicious ache burning deep in his stomach, he stills, waiting for you to breathe again. ‘...good girl, y-es,’ he hushes against your neck, ‘...relax for me.’

There is no more room for him to move but slowly, somehow, he still manages to rock into you, continues to gush praise into your hair, easing your leg down on his, ‘so fucking good for me,’ keeping you anchored, close and unmoving.

Your grip on his cock is intoxicating, nothing could ever come close. Buried deep in you is the only place he feels truly weightless.

It’s a heady thing, the way you claim him, the way you light up when he walks in the door, how much you trust him, how much you care for him. It takes his breath away. Erases every fear he’s ever had and every worry yet to come.

Snug in your bed like this, forever is a real thing.

Shielding you from the cold room, you’re both on the edge of sleep again when it occurs to him and he smiles. “You never answered my question, sweetheart.”

You inhale with a soft contented sound, burying deeper underneath his arm.

“On my wrist.” Your drowsy slurred voice makes his heart swoon.

“I want everyone that sees it, to know who I belong to.”

His arm tightens around your waist.

TO BE CONTINUED...! HOPEFULLY :)

thank you so much for reading! I would love to know what you think of this! if you’ve every left me a comment on anything i’ve written -please know i’ve never forgotten it xx

perm taglist: @opheliaelysia @oldstuffnewstuff @sistasarah-sallysaidso @fromthedeskoftheraven @hiscyarika @oloreaa @punkpascal @wickedfrsgrl @b0n-chann @buckstaposition @mstgsmy @the-wishmonger @givemethatgold @cinewhore @ksgeekgirl @princessxkenobi @getinthepoolkeanu @paintballkid711 @yespolkadotkitty @pedropascalito @randomness501 @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @dearspacepirates @jaime1110 @chews-erotically @this-cat-is-dea @cryptkeepersoul @findhimfives

din djarin tag: @tiffdawg

@seawhisperer deserves all the pancakes in the fcking world for tolerating my incoherent messages at all hours of the night and her endless supply of inspiration xx

If anyone is interested, you can use this link to add or remove yourself from my tag list :)

#din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #tattooed!din #din djarin x female reader #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #*mine: writing #would you let me #this is has been living in my head for a few weeks and i'm so happy i got it out

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kyberheart · 3 years ago

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A Deceitful Creation Part #1 - Wolffe x F!Reader

Part #2

Summary: You’ve been trying for a while now to get pregnant with your lover. Knowing that may never happen, you ask for some outside help from Wolffe on the down-low...

Word Count: 1483

Warnings: 18+, piv sex, infidelity, pregnancy/trying for a baby, cursing, angst

A/N: Heyyyyyyyy.... I’m still here! I had some stuff going on this past week so I missed my Friday fic upload, but hey! It’s Sunday, only missed it by a few days so whatever. I’m still working on part #3 of my little Techy-boy story. Hopefully will be finished by Friday the 3rd! Heh... part #3 on the 3rd... perfect. ANYWAY I hope you like this little blurb I wrote. I wanted maximum sad with lots of OOF. I kept the summary and header as vague as possible to not spoil the end. Good luck in there!

(Ao3 Link if ya want it)

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Wolffe was different with you. All teeth and tongue and nails dug into the plump flesh of your thighs. The look adorning his eyes in this moment is akin to a knife’s edge; he was holding back as not to tear you to shreds.

Your lover on the other hand, well… he was the whisper of a cool breeze in the night. A cascading avalanche of stolen breaths and languid strokes. Completely and utterly tender with you.

“C-close Wolffe, almost…I’m—!”

He nods, stooping to kiss you, but swiftly retracts his head with a tiny scowl. He knew the rules. No marks that can’t be covered up, no pet names, and under no circumstances can he kiss you. This was just a mutually beneficial transaction. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I got you… I got you…”

He’s reaching down, down, down to make contact with your clit. You keen, dropping your head back into the mattress. He fucks you through your orgasm, spilling inside of you as your legs wrap tightly around his waist. You tremble under him as you come down from your high. In a blur of muscle-memory Wolffe is reaching behind you for a pillow. He props your hips upward with it, grinding into you a few more times to make sure his seed is in there nice and deep.

“If this isn’t the one, I’m not sure if I can help. Maybe what they say is true, maybe we’re all infertile. I mean, I’ve heard rumors of defectors running off and getting people knocked up, but…” He shrugs, pulling out of you to head into the ‘fresher. You sigh, staring at the grey ceiling above you. That really wasn’t the case. Some were infertile, yes. You knew that all too well…

“I’m headed out. I have a supply run to facilitate. You alright?”

Wolffe grunts as he snaps his scratched armor around himself. He wasn’t much for conversations after the act. Rather, he preferred to be on his merry way as fast as possible. It wasn’t so much to avoid catching feelings as it was to steer clear of talking. He was undoubtedly the most stand-offish of the clones you knew. You were often surprised at how easy it was to lure him into the bedroom with how hostile his demeanor could be. Though on second thought he was just a normal guy. Sex is just as fun for him as it is for others.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks Wolffe. If this one doesn’t stick I’ll leave you alone.”

He pauses to search your face. You smile at him, wrapping your arms around your chest with a sleepy yawn. A garbled message blips from his forearm, which he answers with a quick acknowledgement before seating his helmet onto his head.

“Understood. I’ll see you around. Say hi to my vod for me when he gets back.”

And with that, he’s silently leaving your apartment into the void beyond. In the silence of the room your mind wanders once more. You think of your lover. Where was he right now? Somewhere far, far away? Somewhere he was safe? Was he warm, fed, and happy?

The cool dribble of Wolffe’s cum down your thigh snaps you from your rumination. You glance at the clock, finding it’s already been twenty minutes since he’d left. More than enough time, you think. With a quick curl of your spine you’re up on your feet and heading to the ‘fresher for a nice long shower. Hopefully when you were out you’d have a comm or a message from your lover.

----------------- He hunches low, lips hovering so close to your ear his hot breaths could have burned a hole through your head.

“That’s it baby, such a good girl. Just a—oh, squeezing me so tight tonight, huh? This’ll be the one, the kriffing ONE. Gonna fuck you full, fill you up to bursting. Make you s-swell with my baby. Can’t wait to see you like that… all mine…”

You cum so hard the world around you dissipates into nothing but him. He growls, pitching you forward with his angled thrusts. His hips crush you into the bed as he cums right along with you. His amber eyes sizzle with freshly tapped desire. Whispered adorations mingle between the two of you, lost to the spinning darkness of the night. When you’ve calmed your heaving breaths, you reach up to grab one of the pillows above you. He helps you position it under your hips before kissing you roughly. Between pecks, he speaks with a heart full of gentle sweetness.

“I’ll keep doing this—you’ll see. We’ll have a little one running around before you know it. Our little adi’ka… yeah…”

His eyes grow distant, lips stilling at the nape of your neck. You huff, smacking his shoulder with your hand.

“I know babe, don’t worry. With how much you’ve been between my legs I think we’ll be having LOTS of them running around.”

You wink at him, leaning up to kiss him again. He chuckles, reciprocating your heavy prodding tongue with his own within your mouth.

“I just… I know we’ve been trying for over a year… what if I...”

You shoot him a frown, tilting your head up to look him straight in the eyes. The fact of the matter was daunting and sat like tepid acid on your tongue. If he knew he wasn’t able to sire children, it would truly break him.

“NO! You are perfectly fine the way you are. I’d know, remember? I’m chief medical officer here dummy. You—WE have nothing to worry about. It’ll happen when the time is right. Trust me.”

He smiles at you, the sight of which could warm even the frostiest planet of Hoth into the dunes of Tatooine. All your love, all your patience and turmoil and sympathy and curiosity and… kriff, you’re everything was him. All him, always was and always will be. Him.

-------------------- The vividness of your dream wakes you with a start. It seemed to be recurring the last few days, a memory of the last time you and your lover were together. You shake your head of the images that haunted you. If only he was home, you wouldn’t worry so much about him.

It had already been a few weeks since Wolffe had occupied your bed. A queasy feeling was beginning to settle low in your stomach. Your lover hadn’t been back in a long while, and you were starting to think something wasn’t right.

You rise to pee, realizing in the dimly lit hush of dawn that this was becoming a frequent occurrence for you. When your shirt brushes a bit too roughly against one of your nipples you yelp. Were they always so sore in the morning? Wait…

Could this be it? A surge of adrenaline hits you like a Hammerhead Corvette as you rush into the ‘fresher. Not long after, you have a small white strip laying on your counter. Your knee bobs with anticipation, head in your hands as you sit on the hard tiled floor. This might just be it!

As the lines swell in the tiny viewport, you force yourself to breathe as deeply as possible. The memory pushes it’s way to the front of your mind once more to taunt you, to make you feel a twinge of guilt at what you’ve done. With a groan you run your fingers soothingly through your hair. You knew you could do this. Joy, passion, and relief would pave over the deceit from which this baby would be born. Your lover would never know the truth, but it was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Forging a life, a family for the two of you was all that mattered right now.

The time is up. The minutes counted down with bated breaths. A scream tears its way from your throat as you see the result:

Pregnant

Before you can have a full-blown excitement meltdown, a beeping from the other room draws your attention. Your comm sits on your nightstand, signaling you of an incoming message. The words flash on the screen as you wipe tears from your eyes:

Dropping in to save a Jedi Master on Lola Sayu. Don’t worry, should be home before your pretty little head hits the pillow. See you soon my love. My heart is yours, forever.

Oh, you were squealing with delight now. It was finally happening! For REAL! This was a dream come true. A baby… you were going to have a baby! And your lover was going to be home by the end of the day. You wanted to comm him, send him a picture of the test, yell it to the kriffing UNIVERSE that you were fulfilling a long-awaited dream. Both of you were. You calmed yourself, resolving to tell him in person when he got home.

You couldn’t wait until Echo was back!

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besanii · 3 years ago

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love the paper thin verse!! the angst is delicious. would love to see more XiXian, maybe a moment where lxc realizes he might have caught feelings?

[ following this ]

There is no pomp, no circumstance, no ceremony nor celebration. All anyone knows is that one day Wei Wuxian is held in guarded custody at the Imperial palace, and the next he is leaving the Emperor's chambers a consort clad in Gusu blue, with Imperial jewels in his hair.

Scandalous, some murmur. Seducing the Emperor so brazenly.

Betrayal, say others. To trample over Hanguang-wang's affection so soon after his death.

Only Lan Xichen knows how bitterly Wei Wuxian had wept when the news had arrived, how his legs had given out from beneath him and he had crumpled to the floor like a puppet without its strings. How he had curled in on himself with a broken cry before lashing out at anyone who dared to approach; how he had to be restrained, bound and gagged like an animal to his bed so he could not injure himself or others in his grief.

It was partly pity, perhaps, and guilt that moved Lan Xichen to make the offer. Lan Wangji is—was—his brother, his most loyal and steadfast subject amongst the treachery of the court, who had died without hesitation to protect the Empire and Lan Xichen. And Wei Wuxian was the only person Lan Wangji had loved as much as the Empire. It would only be right for Lan Xichen to honour his brother’s sacrifice by saving the one he loved.

"Let me help you," he'd said.

Wei Wuxian had looked at him through lifeless eyes.

"Why?"

"For Wangji, if nothing else," he'd answered honestly, and sees something flicker across his face. "Wangji would want you to be safe."

After a long moment, Wei Wuxian had nodded and Lan Xichen drew up the decree almost immediately, conferring upon him the title of xuanyi. Propagator of Deportment. Wei Wuxian had snorted at the irony when he first heard it.

"It is a little on the nose, perhaps," Lan Xichen had admitted.

Wei Wuxian had shaken his head and offered him a wavering, watery smile as he bends his knees for the first time.

"Your concubine thanks Huangshang for his generosity."

He isn't too sure what he had expected of Wei Wuxian as a consort. What he had known about him as a person stemmed almost entirely from a handful of short conversations and watching him with Lan Wangji—as such, he had half-expected to be kept busy with constant chatter and attempts at flouting the constrictive etiquette of the inner palace.

But the Wei Wuxian he gets, the Wei Wuxian after Lan Wangji's death—Wei Wuxian the consort—is a model of propriety. He smiles politely and offers pleasant, unoffending conversation, presenting to the world every bit of the good breeding that has been instilled in him since birth. He charms the other consorts into friendships and earns the respect of his servants almost immediately with his good humour and generous hand. Even Lan Qiren, the notoriously strict and conservative Imperial Tutor, cannot find fault in his behaviour.

But there are brief moments when the smiles slip just a fraction and his eyes grow unfocused; a tremble appears in the corner of his mouth and in his long fingers. In those moments, brief as they are, Lan Xichen thinks he can see the depth of his grief, and something twinges deep inside his chest—in pity, perhaps, or sympathy. Guilt.

So he does his best to make him happy: he gifts him an antique flute, carved of the finest jade by the greatest artisan over three hundred years ago, and allows him to play with the court musicians; he brings him books and tools and paper, and offers him unlimited access to the Imperial libraries. He is aware these are poor substitutes for what he could have had, that he can never give Wei Wuxian what he truly desires. But Wei Wuxian brightens a little with each gift, each new little sliver of freedom, and it eases the ache in Lan Xichen's heart.

It is only right, he tells himself. I am only doing right by Wangji by taking care of him.

“Huangshang, may your concubine speak bluntly?” his Empress murmurs one night as she pours him tea. He picks up the teacup.

"Qiongyue, you are my wife,” he reminds her with a smile. “When we are alone, you may forgo the formalities and speak your mind.”

Nie Qiongyue inclines her head.

“Then, Fujun, Qiongyue will speak freely.” She folds her hands together and sets them on the table in front of her. “Is Fujun truly doing this for Wangji’s sake, or because you want Wei Wuxian to be happy—with you?”

“Huangshang,” Eunuch Wang murmurs from his place at Lan Xichen’s elbow. “Will we be joining Wei-xuanyi and Hanguang-wang in the pavilion?”

He watches from afar as Lan Wangji approaches the pavilion, sees the outline of Wei Wuxian’s profile as he turns and makes his way to the stairs. From this distance, he cannot hear what they are saying, or even make out their faces with much clarity, but he already has a fairly good idea.

His fingers brush against the pendant hanging from his belt. The wood is smooth and polished, carved into the shape of a dragon amidst the flowing cloud insignia of the Imperial family.

A gift, Huangshang. A token of your concubine’s devotion.

Up ahead, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have moved further into the pavilion and appear to be deep in conversation; they stand several feet apart with Wei Wuxian’s retinue around them. To any other person, they would appear as little more than cordial acquaintances.

Lan Xichen exhales through his nose; he tells himself it is not out of relief.

“No,” he decides. “We will return to the Imperial study.”

Eunuch Wang and the rest of his retinue bow.

“Yes, Huangshang.”

Translations

Fujun (夫君) - old-fashioned/archaic form of “husband”

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

Notes

Nie Qiongyue is the OC I used in shattered mirrors for LXC’s Empress, because why create a new one OC when I have a perfectly good one to use right there?

(hey, imagine if this was like...an AU of SM if WWX had not left for Yunmeng and the war was actually with Dongying and not Qishan. food for thought.)

Anyway, I said I didn’t know where I’m going with this but here you go anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’m thinking we just keep this to feelings and angst and leave out the plotty stuff this time lol...I’m saving my plot juices to finish off SM for now.

#my writing #mdzs #wangxian #xixian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan xichen #paper thin fic #薄命 #王爺機 x 妃子羡 #皇帝曦 x 妃子羡 #consort!wwx #emperor!lxc #duke!lwj #lan wangji x wei wuxian #lan xichen x wei wuxian #🔪🔪#harem au #imperial au

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honeyhenry · 4 years ago

Text

Tiny Vol. 2: Kal + Will

you can read the first instalment of Tiny here!

A/N: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! All the love for our sweet bear and Henry of course! And baby Will my new fave 😍

Warnings: Premature labour, a LOT of fluff

as a family of three, you, Henry and Kal were the dream team

Kal had of course taken to you the moment you’d met him

a lot of the time Henry claimed you were more loving towards the big bear than him; “I’m your actual boyfriend, remember?”

Kal naturally being part of your inevitable wedding

hell, he was likely part of the proposal, as role of The Distractor, while Henry would wait on bended knee behind you

Kal knew that he didn’t have a place on the big kingsize bed, but that never stopped him from standing by the closed door of the bedroom whenever you and Henry were occupying it, waiting for either an invitation for cuddles, or for your day to start so he could have some company

and any available snacks, of course

On Henry’s birthday, just over a year into your marriage, you’d bribed the Akita with an extra large prime rib steak in the kitchen so that he could stay content downstairs, while you kept Henry more than content upstairs

It was only 3 weeks later that Kal started to press his large head onto your stomach

at first it was endearing, but over time he became persistent and Henry often had to get him to heel so that he would keep out of your way

it was only one missed period later that you realised your fluffy companion might have been onto something

with a fairly tame schedule for now, you and Henry had stopped “not trying” for a baby, deciding instead to just let it happen when it happened

and somehow Kal had been the first to find out that it had indeed, happened

over the next few weeks and months, it wasn’t just your large, concerned husband that was protective over you, but your bear of a dog too

by the time you were showing, Kal was in full guard dog form, growling at anyone who expressed any form of interest towards your growing belly

even Henry was on the receiving end of a warning growl now and then

but most of the time, Kal knew that Henry was likely safe, based on the look of love he often saw on his owner’s face towards you, and the special little moments his two humans have together with whatever is blooming within you

any strangers that get close to you would face the wrath of Kal because if whatever is happening gets this much love and attention, then it must be special to his Henry and his Mama

Kal hangs around you a lot, favouring you over Henry, especially in your last trimester

which makes Henry pout because damn it, Kal is taking his place most of the time

“Only because i’m carrying a little you.” you’d reassure your husband “he’ll be back to his Henry-loving ways after baby’s born.”

Kal often lays his big head on your bump when Henry isn’t there because he knows you’ll let him get away with it

but if Henry spots him he receives a “Kal, off!” just for your goofy husband to rest his own head there instead, chattering to the baby about things that sometimes have you falling asleep

his voice is soothing, yes

but his video game talk is just the perfect soundtrack for a nap

you get slower and slower as you enter the last few months

soon its just Kal and Henry going for walks together at the park

your bear always whined to you, pawing at your lap as you curl up on the sofa, while Henry would attempt to nod him over to the door

“Mumma can’t come today, she’s staying here with the baby. But she’ll call us if anything happens”

You get a soft kiss on the lips from one member of your family, and a lick on the hand from the fluffier one

Did you know it was Kal who saved the day, the morning you went into early labour?

you’d winced at a small twinge of pain, and then groaned out loud, taken by surprise as you had just been peeling some apples to be made into a stew

the sun was rising slowly, glinting the dewy grass out in the garden, your favourite view from the kitchen window

Henry was in his study, a floor up, with headphones on, completely oblivious to what was happening downstairs

clinging to a table, you’d started to feel tight pain across your belly, issuing you with a mild dose of panic

of course, as Kal has been by your side for the past few months, he’s right there in an instant

he rushes over to you, sensing that something is wrong, watching you as you attempt to sit down on the floor to try and take control of the pain

he had pressed his big head to yours, nudging you as if to ask what he should do

“Get henry, go get Henry, Kal”

you didn’t have to tell him twice

he’d bolted to the study seeking out henry, knocking over everything he flies past, running as fast as he possibly can within the confines of the walls in the house

he was loudly barking the whole time, knowing that right now you are in jeopardy and that his Henry is your only saving grace

he’d burst into Henry’s study nearly knocking the door off its hinges, almost jumping onto Henry’s lap

immediately Henry knew that something was wrong

normally a gentle giant around the house, Kal is bumping into things trying to reach his master, to get you the help you needed from Henry

“Kal, Kal show me where, what’s wrong. Is it Y/N? The baby? Mumma?”

He received a large bark in return, before Kal was rushing back to the kitchen to show his Henry where you were

Henry had raced behind Kal to where you were, panicking as he heard you call for him weakly

he eventually found you, sitting on the kitchen floor and clutching your belly in pain

Kal had stood by the door, watching Henry take over, his muscular form lifting you up and holding you close to get you to safety over on a soft chair

“it’s too early love, it’s got to be false contractions”

“they don’t feel false”

Kal had watched as Henry made a couple of calls, with sweat collecting at his brow

He had then spent a few moments with you, counting and calculating timings on his watch while you’d cried “it can’t be time, he’s not ready Henry”

Kal watched his Henry take your hands and stay close to you, trying to keep calm on the surface while making you a myriad of promises

just 10 minutes later, Kal had been left in the house alone

his only hope was that you and his Henry will be okay when you return

he’d had a strange few days at a friend’s house

their garden was smaller and they had a cat, but Kal hadn't minded them too much

he had still been concerned about where his Henry and his Y/N went so suddenly

and why did you not want to take him with you?

On the Tuesday, Kal hears the words “You’re going back home today, to see your parents! And they have your baby brother waiting there too!”

Kal was delivered back home that afternoon, and comes bounding into the house, making a beeline for Henry who was waiting by the front door to greet his furry friend

You had stayed upstairs in the master bedroom with Will, making sure he was safe from the inevitable commotion downstairs

You’d heard Henry embrace Kal, talking to him like an old friend whom he hadn't seen in years

Kal was so riled up from being away for so long, and Henry still in a lovestruck daze from the last 72 hours

“I know we were gone so suddenly, but everything is okay. We’re back now, and we have someone special we want you to meet” you can hear your husband speak excitedly to the bear

Kal had whined in retaliation, as if to ask "why did you leave me, Henry? What could have possibly been so important?”

“Kal” and it’s Henry’s no nonsense voice that you’d recognised this time; “Your baby brother is upstairs with Mum but he is very little. Very, very small. And you’re a big bear. So we’re going to be calm. Okay? Calm and gentle bear, good boy.”

Henry's footsteps and the tinkling of Kal’s collar were becoming clearer and clearer before the door to the master bedroom creaks open

and there stands Kal in all his fluffy glory

Henry is right by him, watching over every move Kal makes, with baited breath in case he decides to make a running leap towards you and your tiny bundle of joy

Henry had looked up to you with a gentle grin, ensuring the door was left open in the event of any sporadic movements, particularly if Kal wasn’t interested in this new person after all

“Knock knock, Kal’s promised to be good if he wants to see his brother”

Kal wants to jump up onto the bed but he knows he can’t, no matter how curious he is

so he just waits patiently by the bed, because whatever you were holding seems important, especially given that Henry is being very stern with him

maybe this is the special thing that his Henry and Y/N had loved so much

he looks up at you as you lean down enough for him to see the baby’s little face

“Kal, this is your baby brother. This is who all the fuss has been about. he’ll be able to play with you some day, when he’s a bit bigger.”

Kal blinks, taking the situation in

A new smell, a new person

A new, tiny Henry

At this realisation, he fondly rested his head in your lap right next to Will, receiving praise from Henry “easy boy, good boy Kal”

Kal makes an oath there and then to protect his tiny Henry

He sniffed a blanketed foot carefully, nuzzling it before staring at your sweet baby’s face

You look up at Henry briefly, and he’s already watching you as the rest of the scene plays out

“I think our boys are going to get along just fine” you murmur, basking in the fond greeting between Kal and baby Cavill

only for it to end a moment later when your son squeaks the quietest noise, causing Kal to back up quickly, shocked by the sound

“Ohh, are you saying hello to Kal honey? He is so gentle and fluffy isn’t he?” you’d cooed to the fidgeting bundle in your arms

“i think it’s Kal who needs to watch out around here now” Henry comments with a grin

Whenever Henry goes out to play fetch with Kal in the huge garden - it may as well be a football field - you’d watch carefully from the balcony window while cradling Will, pointing out his how his Daddy throws a ball or a stick, and how clever Kal is for fetching and returning it

whenever your older boys are done, they both scramble to be first back to see you and the youngest of the Cavill pack

Will is often found snoozing, giving Kal the perfect excuse to curl up right alongside his crib him to protect him, should anything threaten his soft sleepy snores

And if Will is sleeping in the crib in the master bedroom right beside you and Henry, Kal paws at the door until he is let in, taking his rightful spot curled up beside his new best friend

If you or Henry, or a loving relative or friend is holding him, there is Kal right by their side, as if to stake his claim; “this is my baby”

In the middle of the night when Will starts crying, Kal is there first to check on his tiny Henry before he runs for immediate assistance

cue Henry having tripped over Kal in the middle of the night several times now, as Kal had rushed to the master bedroom and Henry having rushed out of it in the dark

Usually the consequences involve Henry taking a bump to his shin or his head, with you having to get up, turn the light on and fetch a crying baby Will

So yes, Kal is in the nursery a lot of the time and yes, you need to install a couple of night lights in the hallways so that Henry doesn’t ultimately fall down the stairs or continue to injure himself via a fluffy Kal on a rescue mission

Henry always exclaims the next morning “I can’t believe he’s always in the room”

Which makes you laugh, replying “You’re just jealous he loves Will more than you now. I have to say Will is taking the badge for favourite Cavill of the month in this household”

Will sleeps a lot, and when Kal eventually gets bored, he sticks his big head into the crib, panting and waiting for his tiny Henry to pay him some attention

when you catch him, you rub his big head, letting him sit on the bed while you cradle a snoozing Will

however if Henry catches Kal with his head in the crib? Kal is out of the nursery for the rest of the day

“He can’t stick his head in like that, I’m not having him hurting Junior, accident or not”

So you need to unite your parenting tactics to train your dog before you use them to parent Will

When he’s not in his crib, Will is in one of the new moving cribs that Henry had researched to death before ordering and consequently building himself

That was an especially hot day in your pregnancy, and it was in December

Kal often just lays and watches his little best friend in it for as long as he likes, as he soon realises his large Henry will allow him to do that

sometimes you see Will laying in the crib with lots of dog toys around him

courtesy of Kal, of course

typically, Henry will be around to supervise, always thanking Kal on Junior’s behalf, engaging his two dependents in conversation; “oh look another toy, Will. Thank you Kal”

Kal would already be out of the room to fetch another toy while tiny Will is taking a hardcore nap

feeding and putting weight on is hard work!!

Henry definitely gets a few stares at the park now; a big beefy man, pushing a high-tech stroller, alongside an absolute unit of a dog

Kal is obedient as always, walking nicely beside the stroller with his two Henrys

he’s not even tempted by puddles or ducks or squirrels

his focus is on his best friends, especially the one wearing their brand new sweater to signify his move to newborn sized clothing at the age of 9 weeks

he loves watching his Henry and his Mama celebrate his tiny best friend, no matter how small their achievements - or sweaters - are

Kal is always gonna look out for his large Henry and his new tiny Henry, who both have the same dark curls and sparkly eyes

He is just the most wonderful big brother you could ever have wished for your little boy, and you’re sure they will get into heaps of laughs and trouble when Will grows up to become a rambunctious toddler, with peels of giggles coming from wherever the two will be playing together

Kal has the patience of a saint, and it’s why you don’t worry at all when you find out a couple years later, that there will be two more little Henry’s for him to play with and guard, with his whole fluffy being

---

let me know what you think / any questions / any requests HERE

#Henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fluff #dad!henry cavill #kal cavill #Kal + Will vibes #it's tiny will cavill's world we are all just living in it #cavillary

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heyiwrotesomethings · 3 years ago

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Feeding the Weary Traveler

Mitsuri Kanroji x She/Her Reader

A/N: Warnings for this one are homophobia and a mention of physical assault. Let me know if you think I should mention anything else. It’s a relatively light story considering. I usually like to keep the sexuality of the reader undiscussed so it could be anything, but this time around reader doesn’t seem to be interested in men in the slightest. It’s only a couple of lines but just a heads up. Hope you like it! Sorry if there are more errors than usual. My internet is painfully slow and it makes uploading a chore and a half. Word Count: 6,388

Mitsuri hummed happily to herself as she surveyed the various food stalls lighting up the night around her. She wasn’t sure where she should begin, it all looked so good! She was so lucky to have stumbled upon this bustling little village, and during a festival no less! This dinner was going to be legendary! Hopefully there would be an inn nearby where she could rest between missions and take some time to enjoy it all.

Mitsuri decided that the sweet dango stall was calling her name so she made her way over there first and purchased four skewers. She chewed happily as she walked around and tried to decide what to try next. The dango tasted so good she had half a mind to go back and get a couple more.

The Hashira was about to approach a yakitori stall as she finished her last dango when her crow landed none too gracefully in the dirt beside her. She flapped her wings frantically, her little clover shaped crown slightly askew.

Mitsuri whined as she chewed the last bit of dango before swallowing it down. It looked like dinner was over before it really even started. Well, when duty calls...

She cast one last longing glance at the sizzling meats and followed after her crow out of the village’s well lit valley and into the dark mountains above. Lives could be on the line, dinner could wait.

Mitsuri scaled the rugged terrain, hopping from tree to tree. Her crow flapped erratically just ahead, guiding her to whatever demon was wreaking havoc tonight. Her fingers wrapped tightly over the hilt of her blade as the air became heavy with an overwhelming dense dread that could only be brought on by the demon’s bloodlust.

Mitsuri unfurled her blade and kicked off of the next tree branch particularly hard as a scream ripped through the craggy boulders. A few more leaps and bounds.., she did not slow, a scream could mean many things, it wasn’t over yet. They could still be alive!

Her crow cawed in alarm just as Mitsuri’s eyes locked onto a struggle in the brambles below. Almost on instinct, she cracked her whip-like blade over the demon’s grotesque form, causing it to shriek. The Hashira twirled in the air to land in front of the beast and the young woman trapped and writhing beneath it.

“Get off of her, you miserable fiend!” Mitsuri commanded, readying her blade to lash at the demon again.

The demon wailed again in anger, crushing the dirt beside its hostage’s head before tearing off into the forest in an attempt to get away from the powerful newcomer.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mitsuri called after it, cracking her nichirin blade over its retreating form. The blade sliced into the tendons in the back of one of its legs, causing it to tumble to the ground. Before it could skitter off to heal, Mitsuri swung her blade around again. The specially forged metal curled around the demon’s neck and with one clean yank, it’s head came clean off.

The slayer stayed alert, scanning the area for any other nearby threats. An exhausted caw from her crow alerted her that it was safe to let her guard down. She quickly turned on her heel to asses the young woman’s condition, observing her as she shakily got to her knees.

Her kimono was ripped and dirtied. Blood seemed to be seeping through her cloth of her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and frightened while her breath came shallow and quick.

“Are you alright?” Mitsuri spoke gently, slowly moving into the girl’s line of vision. She didn’t want to scare her anymore than she already had been tonight.

“I don’t know,” she said between gasping breaths, “I, I’m alive. That’s something.” She tried to get to her feet, but something twinged in her ankle and she fell back to her knees.

Mitsuri knelt at her side in concern.

The girl would need some medical attention. “My name is Kanroji Mitsuri. What’s your name?”

“(L/n) (Y/n).” She shakily replied.

“Let me help you home, (L/n)-san. Do you live in the village down below?” Mitsuri asked, helping (Y/n) to her feet, carrying most of her weight for her.

“No,” (Y/n) answered quickly, almost as if the insinuation pained her, “no, I don’t. I live here, in the mountains. My cottage isn’t too far from here.”

“I’ll help you get home, (Y/n)-san. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.” Mitsuri assured.

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

Mitsuri eyed the young woman sympathetically. The poor dear was still shaken, but managed to direct Mitsuri in the direction of her home while the Hashira carefully held her up, guiding her through the tough terrain.

Mitsuri frowned at the sight of the worn down shack as it came into view, this couldn’t be it, could it?

“There, I live there.” (Y/n) proclaimed, her voice laced with exhaustion. She must have been able to feel the shift in Mitsuri’s mood at the declaration because she then added, “It’s not much, but it’s home. I built it myself even.”

“Do you live here alone?” Mitsuri couldn’t help but ask, slightly horrified.

“I do.” (Y/n) affirmed, missing Mitsuri’s open-mouthed, wide-eyed shock when she stumbled towards the weathered door. “Thank you again, for saving me and bringing me back home.”

“You’re welcome but...” Mitsuri tried to find words but none would come finally she just shook her head and followed (Y/n)’s stumbling form to the door. “Do you have any medical supplies? Let me help patch you up.”

“I have some things. I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be. You needn’t concern yourself. You’ve done so much for me already, Kanroji-san.”

“Your shoulder could get infected without proper care and your ankle looks sprained or even broken. Let me see what I can do. We might need to take you to the village, there’s got to be a doctor down there.”

(Y/n) shook her head furiously, wincing a bit and grasping her head soon after, “I’m not going into town for anything. I’ll invite you to do what you can here, but that’s where I draw the line.”

Mitsuri was concerned by the girl’s reluctance to go to the village, but she took (Y/n)’s offer and entered the small shack. She was surprised by how homey the inside looked once (Y/n) lit a few lanterns. Not only that, but it smelt heavenly inside.

(Y/n) cursed under her breath as she hobbled over to some kind of makeshift oven and carefully peaked inside before sighing in relief and opened it fully. “It didn’t burn! Thank the gods for small favors I guess.”

“What have you got there, (L/n)-san? It smells very good in here.” Mitsuri said, holding a hand over her stomach in an attempt to quiet its rumbling.

“Bread. Please, help yourself. It’s the least I can offer for all of your help tonight.”

“Really? Thank you!” Mitsuri was practically glowing at the invitation before she remembered why she was here in the first place. “Later! First, let’s check you over.”

(Y/n) gestured to another corner of the space to a wobbly, rustic shelf next to a futon so flat it couldn’t possibly be comfortable to sleep on. Mitsuri’s heart went out to this girl. She couldn’t be too far off from her in age, this was no way to live, and alone no less.

Mitsuri recovered the tin sitting atop the bottom shelf and motioned the girl to sit on the ground as she noted there were no chairs. She kneeled beside (Y/n)’s injured shoulder. A pained grunt rumbled at the back of the hermit’s throat as she painstakingly loosened and lowered the fabric around her shoulders, baring the bloody claw marks to the Hashira.

“Oh you poor dear...” Mitsuri cooed as she gently probed the torn flesh. At least it wasn’t too deep.

“It’s fine,” (Y/n) shivered and looked away, “could you wrap me up now please. Try to be sparing with the bandages if possible.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Mitsuri frowned. She disinfected and wrapped the wound as Shinobu had shown her during her first aid training and managed to only use about a third of the already meager roll. “There,” she gently patted (Y/n)’s shoulder, “that’s all set. Now I just need a look at that ankle. Oh my, it’s swollen pretty bad. We’ll need to elevate it and you should really lay down.”

“I am pretty tired,” (Y/n) sighed wearily, pulling her kimono back up over her shoulders. “Could you help me up?”

“Of course!” Mitsuri eagerly replied, easily scooping (Y/n) up in her arms and standing to her full height.

(Y/n)’s hands scrambled for purchase on Mitsuri’s uniform from the sudden movement. Once she realized Mitsuri’s hold on her was solid and unwavering she relaxed a bit before pulling her hands back to her own chest and jerking her head outwards away from the pale expanse of the demon slayer’s chest. If at all possible, she was sure steam would roll out of her ears like active geysers.

Mitsuri didn’t notice anything amiss and took the few steps needed to lay (Y/n) down in the sad little bed. Then she paid careful attention to (Y/n)’s leg, tilting and rotating it while getting feedback from the girl.

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken, but you should definitely stay off of it for awhile.” Mitsuri informed, feeling anxious. “So you know anyone nearby? Someone that can assist you with your recovery?”

“I’ll be just fine, trust me.” (Y/n) had said.

“That um, didn’t really answer my question.” Mitsuri smiled a bit tightly as more worry settled in her heart. “Do you have family nearby, friends, close acquaintances?”

“If you must know,” (Y/n) weakly spat, “there isn’t anyone. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for nearly two years now.” She finished bitterly.

Mitsuri flinched back at (Y/n)’s tone and the bedridden girl immediately felt bad. She was only trying to help after all. (Y/n) would have been dead without her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

“It’s alright. You’ve had a hard night,” Mitsuri patted (Y/n)’s hand reassuringly. “I’ll just have to watch over you then.”

“Cawww!”

Mitsuri looked over her shoulder at her crow, flapping and comically sweating buckets from her uneasy perch on the windowsill.

“I can take care of myself,” (Y/n) voiced her stance once more, “besides, it looks like your work isn’t over yet. Take a couple loafs for the road as thanks. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

“I couldn’t.” Mitsuri shook her head. The girl already had so little, it would be a crime to take advantage. She was already paid plenty as a Hashira, she could hold out for a few more hours.

“I insist. I make more than I know what to do with. Quite a bit gets thrown to the wildlife.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Mitsuri’s resolve crumbled like loose gravel. She was hungry, and the bread smelled really, really good. If (Y/n) was going to insist, how could she say no? Then Mitsuri straightened as an idea formed in her mind. (Y/n) startled as Mitsuri loudly smacked her hands together.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, tomorrow before the sun sets!” Mitsuri said with conviction.

“What?” (Y/n) blinked, watching Mitsuri pack three loafs of bread into a rucksack before giving it back to her crow to fly off with.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you.” Mitsuri said before taking a bite out of a fourth loaf of bread. “Mmm, this is so good!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I have to get going now, but I’ll be back! Keep your weight off that ankle and don’t strain yourself!” Mitsuri called as she opened the front door.

“No, wait, Kanroji-san!”

But she was already gone, the door closed tightly behind her before she ran off headlong into the dangerous night.

“And she’s gone,” (Y/n) sighed, “just who is she anyway? She’s practically superhuman,” she covered her face in the crook of her good arm, “and she’s really pretty.”

***

By morning Mitsuri was halfway through her last loaf of bread and standing before the familiar sight of the Butterfly Estate. After seeing the state of (Y/n)’s medical supplies, Mitsuri thought it prudent to visit Shinobu and procure a kit for the girl.

“Mitsuri, hello.” Shinobu greeted upon looking up from her microscope. “What brings you here today?”

“Shinobu, you have to help me,” Mitsuri immediately started in, “I saved a girl last night and she got a roughed up a bit before I got to her. Can you help me make a medical kit for her?”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Shinobu smiled, “but I must ask, why not just take her to a civilian doctor? Surely they would be able to provide the help she may need.”

“She lives alone in the mountains. She seems to have a bad relationship with the village in the valley below, but I don’t know why.”

“Just be careful then,” Shinobu warned, “who knows, you might be dealing with a criminal.”

“No way!” Mitsuri gasped, waving the last couple bites of bread in front of Shinobu’s face, “Could a criminal make bread this good? I think not!”

“Please stay vigilant regardless,” Shinobu giggled before switching gears, “now, tell me what happened last night.”

Mitsuri explained the situation the best she could, detailing (Y/n)’s injuries and what supplies she had left. Shinobu helped her pack up a new med kit that would not only replenish (Y/n)’s supplies, but give her some other helpful medicines that she didn’t have initially. Mitsuri thanked Shinobu with a tight hug that forced her fellow Pillar to dangle in the air for a few moments before being lowered to the ground once more. Then she made her way off the property, running off into the woods. She had a lot of ground to cover before sunset.

After a few hours of travel Mitsuri was feeling peckish. She had unfortunately finished the last loaf of bread before leaving Shinobu’s estate and didn’t have time to replenish her snack sack that her crow carried for her. If she was lucky, maybe the festival she had stumbled upon last night was a multiple night event and she could stalk up once she checked on (Y/n).

With an excited hum, she practically flew up the mountain, making her way in the general direction she knew (Y/n)’s shack to be.

“Oh dear, was it a left at this boulder or a right?” Mitsuri mumbled to herself. The forest was more inviting in the evening light but it looked so different. Cautiously, she tried the left path and scoured her surroundings for anything that looked familiar.

Mitsuri had begun to grow a bit anxious, worried that she had taken a wrong turn. She took a deep breath through her nose to calm herself which was quickly followed by a few more testing scentings of the air. Something smelled delicious. She couldn’t be sure, but it was the best lead she had so far. She followed the hearty aroma and cheered to herself as the rundown, misshapen hut came into view.

The Hashira wasted no time hopping up to the door. She gave a courtesy knock and announced herself before letting herself inside. She smiled to herself as she imagined how happy (Y/n) would be to have such an arsenal of medicinal goods. That smile quickly became a shocked, open mouth of light horror upon seeing (Y/n) up and moving about her small home.

“Ah! I thought I told you not to put any weight on that ankle, you’ll hurt yourself!” Mitsuri worried. She quickly went up to (Y/n) with her arms out in front of her like (Y/n) would collapse at any moment.

“I couldn’t just lay in bed all day.” (Y/n) tried to reason. “You said you were coming back so I felt the need to make dinner for you. You know, to repay you for all you’re doing for me. A little ankle pain can hardly keep me down.”

Mitsuri was touched by the gesture, it made her heart flutter with appreciation, but (Y/n) needed to follow her instructions or who knows what long term damage she would cause herself.

“It smells wonderful, (L/n)-san and I thank you endlessly, but please, lay down right now!”

“I’ve been taking breaks. I’m fine—ah!“

Ah, swept off her feet by the strong and beautiful demon slayer once again. As embarrassing as being doted on in this manner was, (Y/n) was definitely going to revisit this tender care in her dreams. Gods, she was touch starved.

“Really (L/n)-san, don’t be difficult. Let me check on your shoulder, okay?” Mitsuri didn’t even sound strained as she slowly placed (Y/n) down on the futon.

“Oh, okay.” (Y/n) fought through the fuzzy tingles, shaking them from her body as she slid her sleeve off her shoulder.

“Aw, it looks a little infected,” Mitsuri whined as she softly prodded the tender flesh, “but don’t worry! I paid a visit to a dear friend today and I’ve got everything you’ll need!”

“Kanroji-san, this is too much.” (Y/n) gaped in awe at the tightly packed tin Mitsuri presented to her.

“Not at all! Now, hold still while I apply some of this cream.” Mitsuri beamed before swirling the cool salve over the cuts. (Y/n) flinched a bit but the numbing chill soon soothed the pain.

“Wow, that feels really nice.”

“Right? I can always trust Shinobu for the best!” Mitsuri proudly proclaimed as she finished re-wrapping (Y/n)’s shoulder. She then took care of (Y/n)’s ankle the way Shinobu had suggested and looked at her handiwork with pride. “There all done! Shinobu said you’ll want to keep it elevated and free of strain for at least two weeks.”

“Okay, I’ll rest where I can. Thank you.”

“No no,” Mitsuri made an ‘x’ with her arms and pouted, “none of that, you have to rest!”

“I can’t afford to rest. It’s not easy living in the mountains alone.” (Y/n) informed, her eyes shifted over Mitsuri’s shoulder at the burning embers in her ‘kitchen’, “Could you take that off the heat please?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Mitsuri shot up and stole to the dingy pot, her eyes shined upon witnessing the rich, golden broth up close. “Wow, this looks amazing!”

“I’m glad you think so, the mountains are harsh but there are plenty of resources if you know where to look. Please, help yourself.”

“Thank you so much! Here, let me get you a bowl as well. Food always tastes better with company after all.”

Mitsuri tried to prepare another bowl for (Y/n) but quickly discovered she only had one. It seemed like the more she looked at the place, the sadder it made her. (Y/n) seemed to notice the sudden downtick in the slayer’s mood and spoke up.

“Hey, I’ve got a tea mug I’ll happily drink from if you don’t mind my bad manners.” She laughed, provoking a smile from Mitsuri.

“Of course I don’t mind.”

They ate the broth and fresh bread together as they made small talk and Mitsuri was having a great time. It was rare to get to know someone she rescued like this and being able to see (Y/n) while the sun had not yet fully disappeared she got an opportunity to have a really good look at her.

Mitsuri’s face heated as (Y/n) laughed at something she said and she silently praised the forces at hand that allowed her to make it to her in time. It felt good, so very rewarding, to know such a beautiful soul’s time was not cut short by a cruel end. She wanted to keep it that way.

“Something on your mind, Kanroji-san?” (Y/n) asked, breaking Mitsuri from her thoughts with a start.

“Oh! I, um, I was just thinking about how good your food is! You know, the village down below was having a festival yesterday. I bet you could sell a lot of what you make really quickly if you set up a stall there.” Mitsuri exclaimed before diving back in.

(Y/n)’s face soured a bit at the thought, though she sighed wistfully and a sad smile crossed her lips.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” She said before taking another sip from her chipped cup.

“Why don’t you go down to the village, (L/n)-san?” Mitsuri asked, her pastel-green eyes gazed at (Y/n)’s downcast face.

(Y/n) stayed silent for a few moments, debating with herself if it was worth delving into her strife with a girl she had only just met the night before and probably wouldn’t see again. At least, she definitely wouldn’t see her again if she were to explain her situation.

“It’s not something I’d really care to discuss. Sorry.” (Y/n) curtly replied.

“No, I’m sorry,” Mitsuri frowned, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. It was an innocent question.” (Y/n) assured, giving Mitsuri’s knee a friendly pat before withdrawing once more.

They continued to talk about anything until the sun disappeared and the stars lit up the night sky and the lanterns were lit to illuminate the hut.

Mitsuri needed to go. The Hashira was reluctant but she wasn’t going to leave (Y/n) completely on her own just yet. She told the mountain dweller she’d come back to check on her in three days time, giggling at the girl’s surprise at the declaration. Mitsuri reasoned that (Y/n) would still need help while she recovered and although she was busy with her duties, she couldn’t in good conscious leave (Y/n) completely on her own. Especially when the girl had a tendency to skip out of much needed rest.

Mitsuri filled her rucksack to her heart’s with (Y/n)’s blessing and set off into the night. She hoped to see improvements in (Y/n)’s health when she returned in a few days.

***

The next visit went well. Mitsuri still had to scold (Y/n) for moving about, but she still, albeit a bit guiltily, heartily ate the meals (Y/n) would prepare for her upon her arrival.

Even after (Y/n) had completely healed, Mitsuri didn’t stop visiting. (Y/n) would always laugh when Mitsuri would show up unannounced, joking that feeding Mitsuri was like feeding a stray cat, she’d always come back for more. (Y/n) was happy for the company though. Very happy.

Mitsuri would also bring little things to make (Y/n)’s shack more bearable, starting with an extra set of dishes so they could properly enjoy a meal together. Before long, they considered themselves close enough to be real friends.

One night Mitsuri came by so late, she had awoken (Y/n) when she knocked on the door. (Y/n) let her in and Mitsuri nearly toppled them both over in her exhaustion.

“Hi,” Mitsuri whispered both shyly and with great exhaustion, “sorry for coming by so late. It’s just been a really long night and I think I’m about to crash any minute now. You were the closest to where I was so...”

“You know better than to think you ever need have an excuse to stop by.” (Y/n) lightly scolded. “Come lay down, are you hungry?” She asked, laying the Hashira down on the new futon that Mitsuri had brought for (Y/n) a couple visits prior.

“I could never say no to anything you make.” Mitsuri smiled, causing a prickly heat to swirl over (Y/n)’s cheeks.

(Y/n) heated up her leftovers and presented them to Mitsuri who ate them with the same vigor she would have if it was fresh.

“So good,” she sighed happily, “really, if this is what you can make in this little hut, I would die of happiness to see what you could do in a proper kitchen.”

“You flatter me, Mitsuri.” (Y/n) smiled shyly. It still gave her butterflies to speak to the demon slayer so familiarly, but it was a good feeling.

“I’m serious, (Y/n)!” Mitsuri swore, “I still maintain that I think you would do very well in the village.”

(Y/n) pursed her lips, which Mitsuri noticed straight away and mirrored before fidgeting with the now empty bowl in her hands.

“Are you ready to talk about that yet? It’s alright if you aren’t.” She hesitantly asked.

(Y/n) would be lying to herself if she thought she wasn’t nervous at the prospect of telling Mitsuri her history with the village, but she found herself wanting to share that part of her story with the sweet woman. Mitsuri had never done anything to hurt her, but that’s what made the aspect of sharing so much more frightening. What if Mitsuri became disgusted with her? Accused her of befriending her with alternative motives? But when (Y/n) met her eyes those doubts quieted and she took a deep shutters breath before blowing it all back out in one harsh breath.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to listen? It might be better if you sleep for the night first.”

Mitsuri seemed more alert already, sitting up fully in the bed and giving (Y/n) her full, undivided attention. “No, I can listen! I want to be able to understand you better and support you in anyway I can! Tell me whatever you are comfortable sharing.”

“Okay,” (Y/n) took another breath, taking a moment to decide how to proceed.

“I was born and raised in that valley, actually. My family owns an inn that doubles as a restaurant to boot.”

“That explains a lot.” Mitsuri commented with a small smile, patting at her full stomach. That earned a chuckle and a nod from (Y/n) before she continued.

“Yeah, my mom started teaching me almost as soon as I could stand on my own. She was strict, but with food that good, she was entitled to that attitude. My father took care of the inn side of things and when he wasn’t doing that, he was drinking his weight in saké.” (Y/n) took note of Mitsuri’s concern and patted her hand while flashing her a reassuring half smile.

“It wasn’t ideal, but that was just life. Incredibly, the business didn’t suffer and he never treated us badly so we saw no need to address it. I didn’t know of any other way of life so I was content where I was. Until...”

“Until what, (Y/n)?” Mitsuri cocked her head to the side.

“Until my parents arranged a marriage for me to be wed to the blacksmith’s son. The union would have brought a large sum of money to my family. The whole village seemed to know about it before I did.” (Y/n) chuckled humorlessly and shook her head while Mitsuri listened, holding herself back from jumping in to ask questions.

“They would talk over me about what I’d wear, who would be invited, even as far as when I should bare a child. I felt like everything I thought I knew was crumbling around me. I hadn’t even talked to the blacksmith’s son before. Even now I don’t recall his name. All I knew was that the idea of marrying him terrified me.”

“Did you tell your parents this?” Mitsuri couldn’t help but blurt, her eyebrows had upturned and creased her forehead.

“Yes,” (Y/n)’s eyes shadowed over as she peered down at her lap, “I admit, the middle of town wasn’t the best place to air my reservations, but they wouldn’t listen to me. They would tell me it was just cold feet or that I was overreacting. Then I had finally had it, and two days before the wedding, I screamed at my mother that I didn’t want to be married to some boy I had never talked to and made a big scene.

She had said then, since I was making such a fuss, that I must have been handing myself out to some other boy while her back was turned and it just made me so mad. I told her there was no other boy, that I didn’t want one.” (Y/n) sighed and pressed her head back against the wall.

“I told her that the only people that I had ever thought of marrying were either the grocer’s eldest daughter or the seamstress’ apprentice who had helped me at my fitting the day prior and then my mother slapped me in front of the whole village.”

Mitsuri gasped, covering her mouth. She was no stranger to the disappointment of a parent, but her parents had never laid a hand on her for any of her failed engagements.

“She was disgusted with me and word traveled fast. The blacksmith called off the arrangement, not wanting his son to have anything to do with my... perversions I think he called them. The grocer refused to sell his produce to my family and kept his daughters inside.

My father, once greatly respected, was humiliated by me and shunned by the whole village. He was furious and drunk which made for a very bad combination as you may imagine. I was severely... disciplined and locked away.

Later that night, I could hear him and my mother discussing selling me to a brothel to be trained as a courtesan. Needless to say, once I believed they were asleep I tore through the paper wall of the room I was trapped in and packed up what I could carry before I escaped into the mountains. I’ve been surviving here ever since.”

As (Y/n) finished her story, Mitsuri sniffed loudly and hiccuped, startling (Y/n) from her memories to try to comfort the demon slayer as she cried for her. Mitsuri pulled (Y/n) into her chest with such ferocity that it cracked the poor girl’s spine.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve such treatment!” The Hashira blubbered. “It was awful of me to ever suggest you go back to that terrible place devoid of love and compassion.”

(Y/n) struggled to breath and patted Mitsuri’s back. “Don’t be hard on yourself, you didn’t know. It’s okay.”

Getting all of that out there, having someone to listen and not judge her for her tale, it made (Y/n) feel so much lighter. Mitsuri kept her close and rocked their bodies side to side and how was (Y/n) not going to cry when she hadn’t been treated so tenderly since she was little. Before long, they were both sobbing messes in the corner of a dingy shack in the middle of the mountains.

By the time their bout had subsided into the occasional sniffle or the loud, gross honk of mucus being sucked back up someone’s nose, the girls had migrated to spooning on the futon with one of Mitsuri’s arms wrapped securely over (Y/n)’s side while the the other alternated between lightly scratching at the nape of (Y/n)’s neck and between her shoulder blades. The fit on the futon was tight, but neither seemed to mind.

“You know,” (Y/n) sighed, “the night you saved me I was out because there is a cliff that you can see the whole village from. I knew the festival lights would be up and I really wanted to feel the warmth I used to feel at festival season. Figures I’d be attacked by a demon before I even got there.”

“You’re going to make me cry again.” Mitsuri said, her voice coming out a tad nasally because of her stuffy nose.

“I didn’t mean for that to make you sad. I was just going to say I was glad for that night for nothing else other than I got to meet you. Thank you for sticking around, Mitsuri.”

“Now you’re being so sweet I’m gonna cry again!” Mitsuri sniffled, weakly batting at (Y/n) and making her laugh as she apologized.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Mitsuri whispered softly once they calmed down again. Then they finally went to sleep as the sun was rising.

***

“I just— mm! I don’t want her living in that rundown shack anymore. I never did! But now, I think about it all the time and I just can't stand it!” Mitsuri complained to Shinobu as the Insect Pillar tried to concentrate on the medicines she was measuring out.

“I see.” Shinobu answered simply, making a note before giving Mitsuri her full attention, “Well, if she’s as good of a cook as you keep telling me, I’m sure Aoi would be happy for another pair of hands in the kitchens.”

“What?” Mitsuri blinked.

“You know me, Mitsuri. I have a history of taking in young girls who have nowhere to go. I assume that’s why you have been telling me all of this.” Shinobu smiled mischievously, “besides, you make her sound so cute, how could I say no?”

That got a rise out of the Love Hashira.

“You—! You already have a girlfriend!” Mitsuri sputtered her face as pink as her hair at the possibility of Shinobu trying to woo (Y/n). Worse yet, the very real possibility that it would work! Mitsuri knew just how charming Shinobu could be! But thankfully, Shinobu laughed and diffused the state Mitsuri had worked herself into.

“I was only teasing, but she really can live here. I have plenty of room. I just figured you would want to keep her closer. I didn’t realize your estate was operating at full capacity.”

“Wait, say that again.” Mitsuri said, the wheels in her head turning as she tried to work backwards herself.

“(L/n)-san can live here?” Shinobu tried.

“No, after that.”

“I didn’t realize your own estate was running at full capacity. I thought you would want (L/n)-san to live with you.” Shinobu reiterated.

“Ah!” Mitsuri shrieked, making Shinobu wince ever so slightly. Then Mitsuri roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her around a little bit, “You, Kochou Shinobu, are a genius! I can’t believe I hadn’t realized sooner! Thanks for the talk, bye!”

“Take care!” Shinobu saw Mitsuri off, fixing her tousled fringe as she watched the blur of pink, green and white run out of sight around the corner. Deciding she was due for a break, she wandered down the opposite end of the hall to find out what her girlfriend was up to at the moment.

***

By now, Mitsuri knew the mountain like she knew the back for her hand. The delicious scent of sizzling vegetables and meats never hurt either of course. She didn’t even bother to knock before letting herself in.

“I had a feeling you’d come by today.” (Y/n) smiled as she checked over her shoulder, “I’m not sure what it was, but I’m glad it proved true because I definitely made too much food.”

“(Y/n), live with me.” Mitsuri blurted before shyly hiding her face in her hands. How could she ask that so suddenly? Never mind ask, she definitely didn’t even phrase it as a question!

“Huh?” Was all (Y/n) could get out before she forgot how her voice worked.

“Would, would you maybe, possibly consider maybe living with me?” Mitsuri tried again, her voice raised almost to the point of cracking with every word.

“...I wouldn’t want to impose.” (Y/n) nervously replied after a few moments, busying herself by stirring a pot that was in no need of attention.

“You wouldn’t be!” Mitsuri said with more conviction. “I really want you to come with me. I know you are proud of what you have managed to do for yourself, it’s better than anything I could ever make, but the more time passes, I can’t help but hate how you still live in this rundown, rickety, shack that I can clear in four strides!” Mitsuri demonstrated her point by walking from one wall to the other before turning back to (Y/n) with pleading eyes.

“Please, come live with me. I love you and you deserve more than this.”

“La, la, lalala, lov, love... love me?” (Y/n) quickly turned back to her cooking as the fire cracked so loud it made her jump. Why was she acting like this? Mitsuri loved a lot of people, she obviously meant a friendly, platonic kind of love and now she had just made it even more awkward!

But then (Y/n) jolted again when Mitsuri’s strong arms wrapped around her middle and her chin rested against her shoulder. The Hashira hummed an affirmative as she slowly began to rock them side to side. Between the heat of the low fire and the heat of Mitsuri’s front pressed against her back, (Y/n) was sure she was going to pass out.

“Please (Y/n), live with me?” Mitsuri asked softly. She kissed (Y/n)’s jaw as she moved.

“?!??!!” (Y/n) short circuited, lost in Mitsuri’s softness. Mitsuri merely giggled and rested another to (Y/n)’s cheek, then her ear, her temple, until—

“Oh dear!” Mitsuri gasped as (Y/n) fell limp in her arms. “(Y/n), are you alright? Are you sick? Why didn’t you say something? You shouldn’t be up!”

“I, I’m not sick,” (Y/n) mumbled, smoke rolling off of her like a steam boat, “It’s just a lot of touching that I’m not really used to yet.”

“Oh! Should I stop?”

“Gods no.” (Y/n) sighed and gripped onto Mitsuri’s haori so she couldn’t back away.

Mitsuri beamed brightly before resting a kiss over (Y/n)’s forehead and rubbed her back. “Come with me?” She asked again.

“I’d follow you to the bottom of the ocean if you asked.” (Y/n)’s eyes slipped shut as she enjoyed Mitsuri’s scattered kisses.

“Great! I can’t wait for you to meet all my friends! Iguro-san and Kabumaru will love you, Kyoujirou-san too! He’ll love your cooking. Just watch out for Shinobu though, she’s flirty.”

“Okay, I’ll stay vigilant.” (Y/n) laughed.

“Good girl,” Mitsuri nodded, “now let’s pack up all that you hold dear. We should be able to make it to my estate by dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” (Y/n) nodded excitedly in return. She took the little pail of water from the floor and doused the low flame, “maybe you’d like lunch first though? I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

“Yes! Lunch first and then the beginning of the rest of our lives!” Mitsuri amended, skipping over to the meal (Y/n) had prepared.

As they are together (Y/n) couldn’t help but grin. Mitsuri was right, food really did taste better when sharing it with people you love. The kisses and nuzzles throughout the meal didn’t hurt either.

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #kny x reader #mitsuri kanroji #mitsuri kanroji x reader #mitsuri x reader

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warmblanketwhump · 4 years ago

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close proximity

two rivals, one bed, one snowstorm. what could go wrong? (word count: 1.3k)

A was furious. They’d told B that their university project could wait until tomorrow, that they’d work out the details before class. But no, B just couldn't settle for that – they had to prepare the night before. And now, B was stuck at A’s apartment as a blizzard raged outside.

"Are you happy now? Class'll probably be cancelled, and it won't even be due," A snaps.

B stands in the doorway, arms crossed, stifling a cough. “It’s your fault that I even had to come over here in the first place. If you hadn’t put your part off, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“Oh don’t start,” A retorts. “I’ve got better things to do than help you keep your precious 4.0.” A and B had been at each others throats all semester, but this project was the last straw.

The snow was coming down in great white waves, and if A was a crueler person, they'd throw B right out on the stoop. But they weren't heartless.

“Look,” huffs A. “You might as well not skid off the road and blame me for that, too. Sleep on my couch. Or don’t. I don’t care.” With that, A snatches the nearest blanket and throws it B’s way, and B catches it. B looks torn, eyes glancing out at the storm and back at the blanket, then to the storm again. Coughing weakly, they sink onto the couch, resigned to their fate.

“Sleep well,” A mumbles. With that, they head back to their room, burrow into their bed, and promptly fall asleep.

Hours later, they’re woken by the freezing cold biting at their nose. A groans as they sit up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. They snatch a blanket from the top of the pile to wrap around themselves, slip a pair of socks over their cold toes, and step back into the hallway.

They make it to their thermostat and are greeted by a dark panel where a warm glow used to be. The blizzard must’ve knocked out power - and hours ago, if it’s this cold.

A turns to go back to their room, but they’re stopped by the sound of a weak sob. They listen again, confused. Someone, sniffling, coughing in short, shuddering breaths - wait, B. That’s who’s here in their usually empty apartment.

A takes a couple hesitant steps. B’s huddled on the couch, the thin blanket pulled closely around them, knees tucked up so they’re a tightly wound ball. And even in the dark, A can see them shivering.

“B? Hey, come on. What’s wrong?” In the darkness, A can make out a small tuft of hair poking out above the blanket.

“M’ cold,” they whimper. A reaches out to feel B's forehead, too warm and speckled with sweat. A’s hand trails down to B's shoulder, feeling the thin blanket that's now their feverish body's only protection against the freezing air. The anger from hours before melts away, replaced by a guilt that punctures A's chest.

“Oh, honey-” The term of endearment slips from A’s mouth before they can stop it, remember who they’re talking to. But B either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care enough to respond, and a weak cough slips from their lips. They've been down here for hours like this.

A sits on the couch and pulls B close under their blanket, rubbing B's arms, their back, their shoulders, desperately trying to warm them up. B just presses closer, and A can feel the heat of the fever radiating off them.

The sudden intimacy just compounds A's guilt. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

B shrugs limply, head buried in the crook of A’s neck. “I was just tired and achy before. I was just going to try and make home if you hadn't offered for me to stay. I figured you didn't really care what I did or how I felt.”

A momentary vision of B sick and stranded in a cold, broken-down car puts a lump in A's throat, and they swallow hard. "C'mon, B. We don't get along, but you can't think that I'm enjoying your suffering."

B snorts softly. "The way we go at it? I was expecting you to pitch me out on the porch." A feels a twinge in their chest - they had considered it. And yet here they were, trying to keep their sworn enemy just a little bit warmer.

Despite the fever, B’s hands are like ice. A puffs warm air onto them, vigorously trying to rub the blood back into their chilled fingers.

B groans with gratitude. "It's so warm."

A sighs. Their options for keeping B comfortable are few, especially with the power being out. And honestly, it makes their heart squeeze a bit to think of B down here, alone and sick. There's only one feasible option - and it's not one that they think B will love, either.

“C’mon,” A says, standing. They hold out their hand to B, who has the decency to look confused as they take it. “It’s freezing and God knows how long it’ll be until the heat comes back. It’ll be warmer with two of us.”

B, still drowsy, is halfway down the hall before they find it in themselves to object. “A, I’m not - we can’t share -"

“You honestly want to turn into a popsicle on my couch and get sicker?”

B drops their protests, and they reach A’s bed, piled in blankets. “It’s a mess," A says sheepishly, "but I promise it’s warmer.”

“You have SIX blankets on your bed? Normally?” A can hear the disbelief in B’s voice.

“Seven, once you bring yours. I hate being cold.”

“So do I - that doesn’t mean I need SIX blankets. Do you even feel a difference after the first three?”

“Do you want to go back to the couch?”

“....no.”

“Then be quiet and enjoy this beautiful, majestic nest I've welcomed you into.”

They help B clumsily navigate the layers, and soon they’re both tucked away, A leaving generous space between the two of them.

“A...” B whispers after a few minutes of silence.

“What?” A huffs.

“You said it'd be warmer. I’m still cold.”

“You have a fever, you kumquat – of course you're cold. These are all the blankets I have.”

B rustles in the blankets for a moment. “You know, it was kind of nice when you hugged me.”

“You mean it was warm when I hugged you.”

“Yes. It was. And being warm felt nice.”

“Are you...implying something?”

“C’mon, A. I’m cold. You’re warm. There's only one solution I can see for that.”

"B, you've got germs and you're technically warmer than I am. Just give it a minute."

B sighs dejectedly, and A can't help but feel an ache of sympathy. Even on the other side of the bed, A can feel B shaking. Though they're loathe to admit it, the bedroom is still cold. And maybe the idea of curling up next to another warm (okay, fevered) body is tempting, even if that body is likely to promptly pass on whatever plague they've got.

“Please?" B whispers a few minutes later. "I'm freezing. Just a minute or two. And then I promise you can shove me off and I'll shut up.”

A pauses for a moment. B's voice is so soft, so pleading, so unlike their usual intolerable self, and A knows they must be truly miserable if they're begging. So they give in.

"Fine. Just until you're warm enough." A scoots closer, pulling B's fevered head onto their chest and wrapping their arms around them. A can feel the tiny shivers that ripple through B's body, and they rub soothing circles onto B's back as their breathing slows. B nestles closer, and an unexpected warmth floods A's whole body. Their hand slowly makes its way towards B’s head, fingers gently running through their soft hair.

Before long, B is completely asleep. But A doesn't let go. Somehow, a small sliver of them has been won over by the least likely person imaginable. And as they drift off, they realize they might not mind at all.

#cold whump #fever whump #sicknario #whump prompt #whump scenario #sickfic #this is the most vanilla thing #like SO vanilla #but i've had writers block so bad these past few weeks so it's something!!#also excuse this garbage title #whump titles are HARD #also did not mean to make it this long but oh well #my writing

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hlizr50 · 3 years ago

Text

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

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When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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crit20art · 3 years ago

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fuck it. jmart kid fic preview

Somewhere Else, 2027

The walk between work and home is always longer going than it is coming. Maybe it’s the fatigue. Maybe it’s some subtle undulation of space. There are things like that here, shimmering at the edges of Jon’s perception, dewdrop-spangled webs catching stray slips of this reality’s sunlight. They aren’t Hilltop tears, just threadbare stretches, places where this world rubs up against the next. Made it a prime candidate for the invasion of Fear, Jon supposes.

The thought sends a shudder through the tension of his upper back, and his jaw clenches, and-- fuck, he’s bitten the goddamn cigarette in half. “Blast it,” he hisses, and spits unceremoniously into the street. He gets a look from a passerby, and has to swallow back the urge to return a much eviler eye.

He lights up as soon as he gets home. Leans out the window on his aching elbows, closes his eyes, and lets the smoke roll through him. The nicotine glitters around the crown of his skull, stimulating neural pathways that don’t get much exercise outside of this ritual. What did he used to do to feel alive?

Live, probably.

He’s just tipping a second cig into his palm when knocking begins to resound through his flat. He stands straight and frowns at the dead-bolted door. While he (understandably, he thinks) has some unpleasant associations with knocking, this is not the ominous sort that he might have once feared; it’s light and fast and won’t give it a rest. Monsters have more restraint than that, he thinks. Probably some kid harassing him.

Grumbling like the old man he’s quickly becoming, he grabs his cane and snaps, “Alright, alright,” as he approaches the door. The knocking falters. He opens the door.

His own eyes blink back at him.

Jon drops his cane. It clatters to his faux-wood floor. He’s swaying, then; he goes proper dizzy, and only snaps back to full lucidity when his shoulder crumples into the door frame. He leans there, mouth agape, and blinks stupidly as the child on his doorstep stoops to pick up his cane. She holds it out to him. He stares at her.

She’s tall for her age. (Nine, he knows without Knowing.) Her warm brown cheeks are still soft with baby fat, and freckles crowd her nose. Wild hair wreaths her head and shoulders, controlled only by glittery barrettes tucked into the curly black jungle.

“Uh hi,” she says, and then she smiles. It’s a smile he knows better than his own, captured somehow on this child’s lips. Jon’s knees waver.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

Her smile falls, and she scrunches her nose at him. The gesture is so familiar that Jon thinks he might pass out.

“Uh--” Jon tries to stand upright, but he just staggers and sinks back against the door jamb. “You-- How-- you’re--”

“Are you gonna fall down?” she asks.

“A-almost certainly,” says Jon. She stretches her arm and shakes it a bit, bringing his attention to the cane she’s still offering him. Finally, he makes himself take it. “You’re. I, uh. Um.”

“I’m Aamal,” she says.

Ah. There it is. Jon’s knees give.

He slumps to the floor, startling the child’s brown eyes saucer-large. Before she can react further, Jon gasps, “How- h-how are you here?”

“I followed the black ribbons,” she says.

Flashes of magnetic tape tangle across Jon’s memory, as clear to him today as they were nine years ago, when the noose of them cinched tight around everything he loved.

“They… ah. Right.” Jon lifts a shaking hand to his face, as if touching something real will steady him, and stares at his guest. His--

His daughter.

“Yes, um,” he whispers, shaking, “H-hello… Aamal.” Her name feels small and sacred on his tongue, fragile as a dissolving wafer. How unworthy he is, to say it. “You’re, uh. Y-you’re- you’re here.” His hand skitters up through his hair, displacing combed-back licks of grey over his forehead. “H-how- how- how did you find me?”

And Aamal says, very matter-of-factly, “I saw you in my dream.”

Jon inhales so sharply that he almost chokes. “Your--?”

“My dream,” Aamal confirms, and bounces on her heels. “I have it every night. I thought it was a bad dream at first, because it was so scary? Like, the world was angry and hungry and I knew it wanted to eat me up while the sky watched. But then I realised that wasn’t gonna happen, because my daddies were there with me, and they’d keep me safe.”

Jon covers his mouth again. Teardrops slip over his fingers.

“You are my daddy, right?” Aamal asks, her cheeriness shrinking to something timid, little hands fluttering together nervously. “That’s how it felt in the dreams.”

“Uh- y-yes? I-- yeah. Yeah.” Fingertips still trembling against his lips, it occurs distantly to Jon that it’s probably time for him to pull himself together and try to offer some kind of comfort to the child who, regardless of whatever uncertainties surround her, has definitely hopped dimensions to be here. Gritting his teeth, he gets his cane under him and forces himself to slide back up the doorframe, then takes a few moments to catch his breath.

“Yes,” he says, finally, when he knows the words will come out steadily. “I, uh. I-I’m your father. My name is, uh, it’s Jon. Jonathan Sims. Um. You can- just- you can call me that.”

“Okay, That.” Aamal grins very widely and looks at him with expectant eyes.

“Oh,” says Jon, after an embarrassingly long pause. “Ha. Yes, uh. Call me ‘That,’ right. Um.” He takes a deep breath, and it punches back out of him in a nervous, awkward chuckle that would make most adults uncomfortable. Aamal just beams, and seems proud to have got a laugh out of him. “Well- no sense having this discussion in the hall, is there? Uh, do- do come in.” He stands aside and gestures at the dim, sparse interior of his flat. He does not blame Aamal for the hesitation that precedes her entering. Reflexively, Jon leans out into the hall and squints one way, then the other. Satisfied, at least, that no one is lying in wait, he shuts and bolts the door.

He turns, and finds for the first time since he signed for this flat that he is not alone in it. His daughter stands in the middle of his thrifted rug, her hands buried in the pockets of her dungarees and her freckles pinched together by her scrunched nose.

She’s here. She’s right here.

“It stinks in here,” she says.

Jon laughs. It’s hoarse and stale, bitten back the moment he realises how wrong it sounds. He clears his throat. “Yes, ah. Smoking’s a nasty habit.” He glances at the pack of cigarettes abandoned on his windowsill, and feels an odd twinge of guilt in his longing for a puff to steady himself. He looks back at Aamal, who has begun to make a circle of the room, touching his shelves, poking at the clutter that always builds up despite his best efforts.

“Um,” says Jon. Aamal doesn’t look at him. She’s shuffling through his books, the little divot between her brows settling deeper as she considers each second-hand paperback.

Jon clears his throat. “Do you, uh, like to read?”

Aamal turns her frown on him, mouth a squiggle of confusion. “Did you cut out all the eyes?”

Ah.

“I, uh. Well- uh.” He picks at the ragged grip of his cane. “That’s-- it- it hardly matters right now,” he manages, exhaling raggedly. Aamal opens her mouth, but he seizes what momentum he’s collected and asks, “Are you here alone? Where’s- do you still know Georgie and Melanie?”

Aamal forgets the books instantly, her face lighting up at the names. “You know Mummy and Mellie?”

“Mum- and--? Oh! Oh, they.” His throat feels like it might close up. “They raised you, then.”

“Yeah, they’re my mums.” Aamal wanders past Jon and drops onto his couch, gasping a squeak when the cushion sinks lower than she was apparently expecting. She wriggles for a moment as if trying to get comfortable. “Do you have any snacks?”

Whiplash-stricken, Jon flounders for a few moments before saying, “Maybe?”

Aamal’s brow drops like she doesn’t find that very promising, but she hops up from the couch and makes a beeline for his tiny kitchen. She’s sticking her head into his fridge before he plucks up enough lucidity to follow her.

“Do you like, ah--” What do kids like? What did he like as a kid? “Uh, how about a sandwich?”

“Sure,” says Aamal. She pulls her preferred makings, then rests her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, and watches Jon assemble. A long-lost hope flutters at the edge of Jon’s memory, a future he’d once imagined: a little face looking up at him, a meal to be prepared, a solid presence at his side, stolen kisses that might make their daughter stick out her tongue and make gross-out noises in the way of children too young to know how rare and precious it is for their parents to love each other so easily.

“Does your hand hurt?” Aamal asks.

Jon comes back to himself. He blinks down at his hands; habitually, he’s only using the one, letting the other rest half-curled on the counter. “Ah. No, n-not today.”

Aamal stares for a moment, then draws a sharp breath and looks Jon in the eye. “Sorry!”

Jon lifts a brow. “What? Why?”

“It’s rude to ask about scars,” Aamal informs him, and something in her intonation sounds so like Georgie that it twists up Jon’s stomach in an odd amalgamation of fondness and loss.

“Ah- well, as a general rule, maybe. But it’s alright.” He clears his throat, then stretches his burned hand with a small wince at its stiffness. Aamal watches his shaky fingers unfurl, and her eyes are intent, and maybe he’s imagining it, but… there’s a kindness there, he thinks. He tries not to think of other kind brown eyes, of other gazes falling so gently on his scars. “It hurts less than it used to,” he says softly. “I’ve had it since… lord, about a year before you were born, actually. Eleven months, almost to the day.”

At that, Aamal’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Did you have me? Like, when I was born?”

“Oh! Uh, n-no, that wasn’t me.” Jon pulls his hand back, feeling very suddenly out of his depth. “Your, uh- did Geo-- did your mums tell you about that?”

“Yeah. They told me that before they adopted me, my parents were two boys, but I wasn’t confused or anything. I know all about genders,” she says, with all the confidence of a tenured professor. Then she looks around, as if suddenly noticing an absence. “Wait, where’s my other daddy?” She turns back to Jon, and he’s struck by the worst urge to look away. “Will he be back soon?”

Jon meets her hopeful eyes, and for the first time in years, actually feels the wound yawning wide in his chest, deeper and bloodier than the scar through his heart has ever been.

“No,” he says, very softly. Aamal’s face falls, her brows drawn in question. Jon can’t look at her. He stares at his good hand, knuckles yellowed by his grip on the edge of the counter.

“He, uh.” He swallows. It goes down like rocks. “He’s not coming back.”

“Why?” Her voice is high, pinched with a note of anger. Unbidden, Jon chokes out a small, miserable laugh.

She sounds just like Martin.

“Because,” he says, raw, both hands shaking now, “I messed up very, very badly.”

thanks for reading this lil preview!! i’m almost finished with ch 1 and planning to publish on ao3 next week. it’s gonna alternate between the present and the past, told through Jon’s POV post-200, and Martin’s POV throughout season 4/5.

#tma fic #jonmartin #jonmartin fic #the magnus archives fic #tma #the magnus archives #i promise i'm not abandoning my gbbo fic (or my zukka one for that matter) i'm just fucking possessed by this idea #trying to write other stuff has been torment and. yknow fanfiction is supposed to be fun so. i'm switching active projects lmao

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spencerreidsmiles · 3 years ago

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Skater Boy Spencer Reid

Written by: spencerreidsmiles

Howdy, howdy! I am very slowly going through my remaining requests. This request was for prompts 38, 41, and 47 on the fluff prompt list here. You’ll see them bolded throughout the story!

Also, a short side note that I have no idea how to skateboard at all! This is solely based off my intensive research (/s) on how to skateboard, so if this isn’t accurate, I’m sorry!

Summary - The reader teaches Spencer how to skateboard.

Content Warnings - blood, minor injury, light teasing

Word Count - 1737

MASTERLIST // WATTPAD VERSION

“Skateboarding? Of all things you could’ve chosen, skateboarding?”

“Oh come on, Spencer, you never know, you might be good at it,” you replied, yanking at his shirt sleeve.

Spencer glanced at you with a slightly withering glare. It was a look you were very familiar with; if there was one thing you enjoyed more than anything else in the world, it was teasing Spencer. It was just so easy to tease him, so why wouldn’t you?

But amidst all the teasing about the skateboarding, there was a part of you that knew Spencer Reid would make an excellent skater boy.

You leaned closer to Spencer, looking up with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster and a big pout.

“Remember when I saved your ass? You owe me, Spencer,” you said, emphasizing each word with a poke to his chest. “You said you would do whatever I wanted.”

Spencer glanced away with a pout. “Fine, whatever you like.”

“Hm, I knew you would say that.” You grinned with satisfaction and squeezed his cheeks. “I’ll see you at the skate park tomorrow! Don’t forget your knee pads!”

Spencer did not, in fact, forget his knee pads. (Not that forgetting things was something Spencer usually did.) And even though you had told him to bring his knee pads, you couldn’t help but laugh when you saw him walk - no, waddle - up in matching purple knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet. He looked long and gangly and awkward in his gear with his usual converse and for once, a tee shirt and shorts. You hadn’t ever seen him in any of these clothes before but you had to admit, you definitely weren’t disliking it.

“You look really good. Color coordinated too,” you said with a big smile as you knocked the side of his helmet with your knuckles.

“You like it?” Spencer beamed. He did a little spin, the clasps of his helmet twirling around.

“It’s perfect for you. Honest.” You kicked up your spare board, catching the top. “But let’s get down to business. I’m going to make you a skater boy by the end of the day, Spencer Reid. That is a promise.”

You handed the board over to Spencer. It was old and scraped up from years of use and many, many wipeouts. When you’d first bought it years ago, it was red and shiny, but now the red had faded away, leaving only a wooden board with strips of red remaining. The wheels were still functional, if a bit wonky, but perfect for learning on.

For someone who claimed to have absolutely zero athletic ability, Spencer was quite good at skateboarding. Well, to be fair, he hadn’t actually started skateboarding for real yet. You started him off by placing a single foot onto the board with the other still fully intact with the ground, but it was a start. He got a feel for what it felt like to bend his knees and push his weight around to move the board. But now he had to put both feet on the board and actually skateboard.

“Y/N, look! I’m doing it!” Spencer said as he hopped around on one leg while scooting with his other on the board.

You couldn’t help but smile. The childlike glee Spencer was exuding could make anyone smile. He carted himself around the perimeter of the skate park as you trailed behind him, keeping a careful eye on him.

“Alright, Spencer. Well here comes the hard part. Give me your hands, you’re going to put both feet on the board now.”

Instantly, Spencer’s smile was replaced with a worried expression. He put his foot down on the ground and paused in front of you.

“What?” he asked. You brushed aside some of Spencer’s hair that had escaped his helmet, accidentally brushing his cheek as well. Shivers tickled your spine and unfamiliar goosebumps covered your body.

“Hey, I got you. Trust me, okay?” you said.

“Okay.” Spencer nodded and placed his hands in yours.

“Now push off with your right foot, then put it back on the board, and I’ll pull you, got it?” you directed.

With a silent gulp, Spencer did as you said. He bent his knees and pushed off with his right foot before placing it back on his board. You started walking backwards and pulled Spencer forward. Slowly, you started walking back faster and faster until you had started to jog.

“Spencer, you’re doing it! You’re doing it!” you exclaimed.

Without saying another word, you let go of Spencer’s hands. And for a minute, he was actually doing it, actually skating around with both feet firmly planted onto the board and arms spread out like wings. You were so busy admiring him you didn’t even notice that he had begun to lose balance and wobble.

“Y/N! How do I stop!” he shouted, reaching his hands out for you.

“Oh shoot! Hold on!”

You started running back towards him, but you were too late. Spencer had already leaned too far ahead. He started making circles with his hands, flapping around in an attempt to keep his balance. Just as you grabbed his hands, the board kicked out from under him and both of you fell flat onto the asphalt.

You had your eyes closed while you were falling, so when you opened them to find Spencer’s face only a couple inches above yours and his body on top of yours, you nearly screamed. You had never been this close to Spencer in your entire life. Surely if he was this close, he could hear your heart beating out of your chest, no? You were breathless but you weren’t quite sure if it was because you were being squished by Spencer or because of how close you were to him.

Spencer, however, was completely frozen. His hands were placed right beside your head and he was staring, just staring, straight at you. His caramel curls hovered right above your face, blowing gently from the wind.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“I’ll be honest, you are crushing me right now.”

“Oh, sorry!” Spencer rolled off of you, landing on his butt, cross-legged on the ground. You wriggled yourself up and watched as Spencer dusted himself off.

When you finally made eye contact, you couldn’t help but start laughing. You were just replaying the image of Spencer slipping over and over again. It was incredible.

“That was the most ridiculous fall I’ve ever seen, Spencer, my god.”

You leaned back, holding your stomach as you laughed. Just before you fell over completely again, Spencer caught your hand. From that single touch, electricity shot from your fingertips into the rest of your body. The sensation nearly scared you for how good it felt, how alive it made you feel. Touching Spencer felt like you were skating without even getting on a board. You never wanted to let go.

But Spencer did. He pulled back, forehead scrunching as he winced.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. But then you saw it, his poor hands all torn up from the fall. They were rubbed raw with speckles of red dotting his palms. “Oh my gosh, Spencer, your hands!”

“I’m fine,” he said. He looked at his own palms, flexing it, moving it around.

“No, come here, at least let me clean it,” you said as you stood up. “Come on, I have a first aid kit in my bag.”

You led Spencer to a bench with all of your things. As you cleaned his palms, wiping them with antiseptic wipes and bandaging them, you could feel Spencer’s eyes watching you.

After years of working for the FBI, going on case after case for years, Spencer’s hands were rough and calloused. There were scars, too many for you or him to remember where and when they came from now, blending in with the creases of his hands. But still, they were comforting, familiar.

“One more try, okay? I believe in you. No more wipeouts.” You finished bandaging his hands with a gentle pat. Spencer pretended to pout, giving you a half-meaning glare.

“Oh come on, you’re okay. Do you need a kiss to make it better?” you teased.

“What?” Spencer’s face flushed.

“I’m kidding.” You pushed his shoulder lightly all whilst thinking that for the first time (or at least the first time you had truly acknowledged it) you weren’t really joking at all. “Now come on, one more try.”

Spencer was more hesitant this time, but he reached for your hands again. He placed one foot on the board, already beginning to wobble. Come on, Spencer, you can do it, you thought to yourself. He glanced at you as he took a deep breath.

And he did. Spencer soared around the whole park. He was like a natural as he swerved around with outstretched arms. The sound of the wheels sliding against the pavement surrounded you as Spencer removed his back foot from the board and stopped without flying off the board right in front of you.

“You did it, Spencer!” You ran up to Spencer and enveloped him in a massive hug.

Spencer returned your hug, throwing his arms around you tightly. His knee pads knocked against your legs as he pulled you closer to him. He smelt of coffee and baby powder under the sweat and dirt and twinge of blood that lingered in the air. As you stayed there wrapped up in his arms, you wondered if it was possible to stay here forever in the comfort you never knew was so close.

The two of you finally decided to leave when the sun started to beat down on your backs. While Spencer was prepared for almost everything, apparently the two things he hadn’t thought about were guard gloves and sunscreen. Spencer grabbed the board, resting it comfortably under his arm.

As you went to get your bag, Spencer tapped your shoulder and spoke. “So uh, can we do this again next week?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I would love that, Spencer. And who knows, you might be better than me soon.”

Spencer looked down with a growing smile on his face.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” you said, fearlessly grabbing Spencer’s hand.

You walked away with satisfaction, thinking to yourself only one thing; you were right, Spencer Reid did make an excellent skater boy.

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 3 | And Miss Out on Mum Meeting the Girl You Married Without Telling Her? Not a Chance

A/N: Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed). It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will. Keep your hate to yourself.

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt. Tom has an idea to solve all their problems. Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts. Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else. In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Molly finally gets to meet Luke and they try to convince him that this marriage is not some elaborate plot to manipulate the press. And Tom makes a critical error. We learn more about Molly and her past.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of: child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED! THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

Tom regretted drinking two cups of espresso the next morning before heading to Luke’s. He definitely regretted not eating anything more than a piece of toast with butter and marmalade. Even after Molly offered to make something for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you eggs, an omelette? I could probably manage some French toast before we have to leave.” Molly sipped her tea as she ate some oatmeal.

French toast sounded divine at the moment as Tom’s stomach did somersaults. Molly’s knee bounced in the passenger seat on the way to the Prosper office.

“Do you think Luke will yell at me?” Molly asked. “I don’t do well when people yell at me.”

Tom’s head snapped over at her. She sighed.

“Foster parents are not always kind. Bio parents can be worse.” She wrung her hands.

He reached over and squeezed Molly’s knee. “I promise I won’t let him yell at you.”

“Thank you, Tom. Are we telling him the truth?”

“Only if necessary.”

“Then what are we telling him?”

“That I went to Vegas, and I fell madly in love with you and on a whim we got married.”

“A fanciful tale.” Her head dropped to her chest.

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. You sell yourself short. You’re bright, funny, caring and dare I even say easy on the eyes.”

Molly blushed. “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself. Although I seriously question your dietary habits.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ll work on it. And I hope after all of this we will be good friends.”

“Me too.”

“Looks like we are here.” Tom parked the car on the street. He hustled around to open Molly’s door and help her out. “Time to face the firing squad.” Her eyes widened. “Kidding!”

By the time the meeting was done, Molly wished it had been a firing squad.

“Luke, this is Molly Bishop, now Hiddleston.” Tom wrapped his arm around her waist. “My wife.”

“My condolences.” Luke shook Molly’s hand.

Molly’s brow furrowed. “I…”

“Of all the stupid shit you have ever fucking done—” Luke started in on Tom.

“Luke, watch your tone.” Tom jabbed a finger in his publicist’s face. “You are not to yell at Molly.” His bright blue eyes flashed and his fists clenched.

Luke took a step back. “Right. Take a seat and let’s see if we can straighten this out.”

They sat next to each other. Molly reached for Tom’s hand and he took it. Luke sat down behind his desk, staring at the two of them. Luke pinched his nose hard and took several deep breaths. Before speaking, he poured a glass of water and dropped two Alka-Seltzer into the water. Molly stared at the whole thing. Tom leaned over.

“For later. Luke says I give him indigestion.” he whispered.

“And headaches.” Luke added.

“I can understand the feeling.” Molly muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon!” Tom twisted around to face Molly. “Et tu. Is this about the vegetables?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to eat one every so often. You’re not 21 anymore.”

Tom gritted his teeth. “I said I would work on it. Can we not talk about this right now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I was just making a comment.”

Luke’s head bounced back and forth like watching a tennis match, a smirk growing on his face.

“You two are good. Really good. Damn Tom, the lengths you will go to… hiring an actress to pretend to be your wife, that’s—”

“We got married, Luke. In Vegas.” Tom retorted. “Darling, do you have the copy of the license?”

Molly grumbled. “I do, but we are not done with the whole diet thing.” She rummaged through her purse and produced the folded piece of paper. “Show him the photos.” She whispered to Tom as she handed over the license.

“I’m not showing him the photos unless I have to.” Tom hissed.

“Show me the photos, Tom.” Luke beckoned him.

Tom side eyed Molly and handed over the license and his phone. Luke glanced at the license and then scrolled through the photos, eyes growing wider. He zoomed in on one and squinted.

“Is that a spider ring?” he asked.

“His name is Clive.” Tom deadpanned.

Luke cuts his eyes at Tom. “Of course, you named it. You wouldn’t happen to have the ring, would you?” He turned to Molly.

She let loose a breath, exasperated. “Honestly,” she jabbed a finger at Tom and then Luke. “I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.” She dug through her purse again. “You are both lucky that I planned ahead.” Molly slammed the two Tiffany boxes on the desk. “There, here is your pound of flesh.”

Luke opened the boxes and found the spider ring and plastic gem ring. His eyes went to their proper rings and then ran his hands through his hair.

“Holy shit, you got married.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I have been saying that for the last 24 hours, mate. Can we move on?”

Molly giggled.

“I… I… apologize. Sorry.” He sputtered, he turned to Molly. “I’m sorry, Molly. You have no idea the things this man has put me through.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey! I—”

“Not talking to you, Tom.” Luke held up a hand. “I am talking to your bride. Clearly the reasonable one. Although she did marry you, so…”

Tom slumped in the chair. “Two of you. I thought you were on my side.”

Molly reached over and rubbed his arm. “I’m always on your side, honey.”

Tom smiled and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, darling. Do you believe me now, Luke?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I do.” He slammed his hand on his desk, rattling his water. “Now let’s talk about these.” He held up several newspapers.

Forty-five minutes later, they finally ended the meeting. Tom was starving. Luke grilled Molly about her background. By the end of everything, Tom now knew that Molly spent the ages of 12-18 in foster care, went to college where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, and has no contact with her younger brother who was adopted. Tom felt a twinge of guilt listening to Molly tell her life story. He never really bothered to ask.

Luke led them to the door but stopped short.

“How did your mom take the news, Tom?” Luke asked. Tom froze and paled. Luke leaned in. “You did tell her?”

Molly glanced between them. “I thought you called her when we got home.”

Tom ran his hands through his hair. Little bits stuck up. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “I forgot. I was distracted by someone yelling at me.”

“You haven’t told your mother about us?!” Molly screeched.

Luke chuckled, which soon turned into a full belly laugh. “You are so dead, Tom.” Molly gasped. “You will be fine, Molly, but pray for your husband. There is nothing scarier in this world than Diana Hiddleston mad at her only son.”

Molly gulped. “I will keep that in mind. Now if you excuse us, we have some calls to make.”

Tom nodded, still reeling from the fact he didn’t tell his mum, or his sisters, that he got married. Fake or not. He hoped she hadn’t seen any of the photos yet. But knowing Emma and Sarah, they sent her the links. “Right, calls.”

Molly pushed Tom out of the office and towards the elevator. She waved bye to Luke as the doors closed.

“That went better than expected.” Molly shifted her weight from side to side.

“Yeah, yeah!” Tom blinked and came back to reality. “You were brilliant. What made you think to bring the rings?”

“People have the tendency to believe you when you can present physical evidence. That, coupled with the photos, lends credibility. I mean, who gets married with a plastic spider ring?” She laughed and Tom joined in.

“Genius, really. Luke would have never—” Tom’s stomach rumbled. He blushed. “You were right I should have eaten something.”

Molly stretched to reach his cheek and gave him a quick peck. “You will soon learn I am always right. Let’s find you some food and then you call your mother.”

“Fine.”

They found a place for Tom to grab a sandwich since it was too late for breakfast and not quite time for lunch. Molly stared on as Tom inhaled the sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a bottle of water.

“Did you taste any of that?”

Tom glanced up at her as he poked the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth. “Yes.”

She shoved a napkin towards him. “You have crumbs on your face.”

Tom swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Call your mother.”

Tom slouched. “Can’t we wait until we get home?”

“No.” She stared him down. “If you don’t do it, I will.” Molly lunged for his phone, but Tom was too fast and grabbed it first.

“I’m calling her right now.” He held the phone to his ear, praying it would go to voicemail.

“Tom!” Diana’s warm voice filled his ear. “How are you doing, love?”

“Doing good. A bit of jet lag, I was in Vegas over the weekend.”

Diana hummed. “And how is Luke?”

Tom chuckled. “Angry at me as always.”

“If you would just listen to him…”

“I like her.” Molly popped in.

Tom waved her off.

“I know, Mother. Listen,” He fidgeted with his hair again. Molly realized it was an absolute tell when Tom was nervous. “I was wondering if you might like to grab some lunch this week. We can catch up. So much as happened since I last saw you.”

“I would be delighted, Thomas. Why don’t you come up to the house? Does Wednesday work for you?”

Tom mouthed “Wednesday” to Molly, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Like I’m doing anything? You and Luke are the only people I know here.”

“Right.” He returned to the call. “Wednesday is perfect, mum. Noon?”

“It’s a date. Don’t forget to bring that wife of yours, Thomas. I am quite keen on meeting her.”

All the blood drained from Tom’s face. “I… I… can explain—”

“I’m sure you can. On Wednesday. I have to go, love. It was good to chat.” The line went dead.

Tom stared at the phone. “I’m so dead. She knows about you.”

“Oh, she knows. You are her son. And didn’t you mention having sisters? They totally ratted you out.” Molly smiled at him.

Tom had some appointments on Tuesday which kept his mind occupied from seeing his mother the next day. Molly took some time to figure out how to change her name, get a new passport, and figure out how to maneuver life in a foreign country. Tom took her to get a phone that would work.

“Here you go.”

The first thing she did was snap Tom to add to his contact list. He was laughing in the photo.

“Don’t use that one!” Tom pouted. “Let me pose.”

“But I like this one. It captures your essence.”

But now it is Wednesday morning. Tom woke up early to go for a run. Molly was already up, sipping tea in the living room.

“Can I join you?” she asked upon seeing Tom in workout gear.

“I run about three miles…”

“Sounds perfect. Give me two minutes.” She bounded off the couch towards her bedroom.

Tom fiddled with his headphones until Molly emerged in sneakers and workout leggings. Over the ear headphones around her neck.

“Ready to go.” She tucked her phone into a pocket. “I will just follow you.”

“Let me know if you need to turn around.” Tom winked as they set off.

They returned home about thirty minutes later.

“Sure you don’t want to go another mile?” Molly bounced on her feet.

Tom breathed hard. “Maybe another time. I’m a bit out of shape. You run?”

Molly nodded. “Most days I run. If I get up in time. I miss the gym.”

Tom chuckled. “We need to get you a membership. And I need to ..get into shape myself. Can’t let my wife show me up in paparazzi photos.” he half-joked.

Molly coughed. “They take photos of you running?!”

“Sometimes.” He took a sip of water, his heart rate going back to normal. “Definitely now with you in the picture.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, stepping towards him, grabbing the water bottle from him. “Think they are out there right now?”

Tom glanced around and sure enough, he spied a few cameras with zoom lenses down the street.

“Yup.”

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe we should give them a more scandalous photo.”

Tom leaned down. “What did you have in mind?” he smirked as Molly tugged his head towards her and her lips crashed against his. She sighed and Tom slipped his tongue into her mouth. Molly did the same. As he fisted the back of her shirt, Tom noticed one of Molly’s arms moving.

“AH!!” He screamed as the cold water poured down on his head and Molly jumped back laughing.

“I thought you needed a little cooling off.” she laughed.

Tom lunged for her with a smile on his face, droplets of water falling from his hair.

“You’ll pay for that!” Tom gave chase, while Molly dashed into the house, screaming and laughing.

She made it as far as the living room before Tom’s long legs caught up with her.

“Got you!”

Tom grabbed her by the waist to pull her towards him, but their feet slipped and they ended up on the couch. Tom on top of her. Their eyes locked for a moment before Tom scrambled to his feet.

“I’ll get you all wet.” he commented nervously. “I should…”

“Right.” Molly nodded, sitting up. “I’ll make some breakfast. Eggs and toast. I don’t know what your mother is planning on for lunch.”

“A light breakfast would be best.” Tom shook out his now soaked t-shirt and Molly caught a glimpse of his abs.

“No problem.” She smiled.

They both headed off in different directions. When it was time to leave for Diana’s house, Molly fidgeted with her casual dress and knee-high boots.

“Do I look okay?” she glanced at Tom in jeans and a sweater. “I’m overdressed. Look at you, casually gorgeous. I’m going to change. I have nothing to wear. Nothing to wear…” Molly’s face broke down.

Tom wrapped his arms around her. “What’s going on, darling?” She buried her head in his sweater. “You didn’t freak out like this when we went to go see Luke.”

“That was business. This is your mother. I don’t do well with families, particularly mothers. What if she hates me?”

He kissed the top of her head. “First off, you look beautiful. Second, if my mum hates anyone between the two of us, it will be me. She is going to love you, darling.”

Molly sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Really?”

“I am 100% certain. Now let’s get on the road.”

Molly smiled and nodded. The fear wasn’t gone, but she felt better knowing Tom would be there with her. That fear came rushing back as they stood on the front step of the house of Diana Hiddleston. Tom reached for Molly first.

“I’ve got you, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek right as the door opened.

“Gross, Tom. And at Mum’s house no less.” Emma gagged.

Tom’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “Emma! I didn’t expect you to be here.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What a surprise.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And miss out on Mum meeting the girl you married without telling her, not a chance.” Emma turned to Molly. “Emma.”

“Molly B… Hiddleston.” She smiled and extended her hand. Emma shook it with a firm grip.

“The papers didn’t give a name. She seems nice, Tom. Clearly she doesn’t know the real you.”

Tom continued to blush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em. Can we come in or are we eating on the front step?”

Emma held the door open wide and stepped aside. They stepped inside. “Mum’s in the kitchen.”

As if on cue, Diana’s voice rang out. “Is that them, Emma?”

“They just got here!” she yelled before turning back to them. “She’s been cooking all day.”

Molly gulped. Tom squeezed her hand. An older woman with grey white shoulder length hair. She came up to Tom's shoulder, if that.

“You were supposed to tell me when they got here.” she scolded Emma.

“I was on my way to tell you.”

“Go take the food out of the oven.”

“But…” Emma protested.

“Go, child. You’ll have the entire meal to listen to me yell. Right now I need a word with your brother.”

Emma pursed her lips as she walked into the kitchen but made a slashing throat gesture, mouthing the words “you’re so dead” at Tom before disappearing.

Diana wiped her hands on her apron. “Now where is my new daughter-in-law?”

Molly raised her hand. “That would be me. Molly, ma’am.”

Diana held open her arms and wrapped them around Molly tight. She realized where Tom got his hugging skills.

“You are just a doll. Is my son treating you well?”

Molly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So polite and much shorter than the last one. Right at eye height for me.”

“Mother…”

Diana waved Tom off. “And please call me Diana or Mum or Mom. I promise I don’t bite.”

Molly giggled. “Yes, ma.. Diana.”

Diana hugged her again before spinning to face her son.

“Tom.” She crossed her arms.

“Mum.” Tom grew very interested in the rug on the floor.

“Do I get a hug?” Diana smiled.

Tom looked up and grinned. “Always.” The two of them hugged tight, Tom bending at the knees to wrap his arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Diana pulled back.

Her hand reached out and smacked Tom right upside the head. Tom cowered, covering his head.

“Mum!” he howled.

“You got married and didn’t tell me!”

“I was getting around to it. Luke distracted me!” Tom explained.

Diana smacked his arm. “Do not blame Luke for this, he is a saint! You were keeping this lovely girl away from me.”

Molly beamed as Diana smacked Tom one more time.

“You think I’m lovely?” she asked.

Diana turned to Molly. “Oh dear. You are perfectly charming. Unlike my wretch of a son.” Another smack to the chest.

“Really, Mum? In front of our guest?” Tom flinched.

“Molly is family.” Diana stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Now with that sorted, let’s go eat.” She spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen.

Tom hooked his arm with Molly’s. “My mother.”

“I like her.”

Emma and Diane pumped the two of them for every detail about this abbreviated courtship.

“A chapel in Vegas, Tom? Romantic.” Emma sneered.

“I thought so.” Molly added.

“Thank you, darling.” Tom leaned against her.

“Awww.” Emma commented.

Diana stood to clear the dishes as Emma examined Molly’s ring.

“Let me help you.” Tom rose to help, taking the rest of the dishes. Diana grabbed his arm when they reached the sink.

“I really like her, Thomas. You did well.”

“Thank you. She is something.” Tom smiled.

“Much better than the last girl you brought home.”

Tom frowned. “Mum, I…”

Diana held up her hand. “I know. Don’t mention her. But I will say this. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me.”

“You never said anything to me.”

Diana smiled softly and cupped Tom’s cheek. “You seemed so in love and happy. And all I have ever wanted for all my kids is to be happy.”

“Oh.”

“But none of that matters. You have Molly now and the two of you have years of happiness ahead.”

Tom glanced over to where Emma and Molly hunched over Emma’s phone. Tom’s heart twinged with guilt.

“Right. Of course.” He smiled.

Molly burst out in laughter.

“What is so funny over there?” Tom called out, heading over to the table.

Emma giggled. “Just some old pictures.”

Tom’s face fell. “No, you didn’t…”

Molly giggled. “You were so skinny and that hair!”

The two girls fell into a fit of giggles as Diane placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Yes, I like her very much.” she whispered. “Why don’t we pull out the old picture albums?”

Tom groaned.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #accidently married

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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 years ago

Text

Oppa Knows Best | Part 6

Word Count: 2.3k (short but super sweet) Genre: Angst, minimal smut Summary: How will Jaehyun react when you suggest that the two of you separate?

Warnings: violence, blood, manipulation, abusive relationship, suicidal thoughts, dub-con

Gif credit “I think… I need some time to think about this.” You say, wrapping your robe tighter around your naked body and warily glancing at Jaehyun who was now dressed in his boxers and pacing around the room. Just as predicted, he stops abruptly at your words and turns to you with barely contained wrath and exasperation. He was at the edge of his rope and you could tell. “You’ve had your time! I’ve waited years for you!”

You gulp, staring down at the knot tying your robe together, and seeing the thin fabric vibrate over your skin with the power of your erratic heartbeat. “I know but---can’t you wait just a little bit longer.... This is all too much for me and I-- I don’t know what I should do.”

“It’s always been too much for you. You’ve always run away from confronting this and I won’t let you run again. This ends tonight.” The finality of his words suffocates you. He has you trapped, forcing you to make a decision that you don’t even know if you can make.

“I didn’t know...I never wanted to hurt you, oppa.” You put your head between your hands, but his accusations still cut their way through to you easily. “You knew. No one is that fucking oblivious. You must’ve seen how you pulled away from me every time I tried to confess to you.”

Guilt eats away at you as you remember all the times you had inexplicably shied away from him every time you seemed to get close to getting what you’ve always wanted from him. You never understood it. You would just close up--the blood in your veins drawing back to your heart and pooling into your abdomen, leaving your limbs cold and shaky. You’d feel so imperiled, like any utterance of his potential love for you would make you bleed out. It didn’t make any sense but it was just so overpowering, a survival instinct, that you were forced to follow it. You couldn’t even discuss it with him, because how could you without revealing your true feelings for him? A prospect that terrified you just as much as the other one.

You shake your head, feeling your mind swelling up with confusion. “I can’t think right now, oppa.”

“There is nothing to think about. You’ve been running from this for years and look where it led us. You tried going after someone else, and look where it led us. You want me and I want you. We are made for each other. There is nothing else to think about.”

“But what if we’re not good for each other?” You whisper quietly, fearing the blasphemy your own tongue was speaking. “What if it’s not healthy…”

“And who told you that, your barista boy?” Jaehyun accuses indignantly, “What the fuck does he know about us? You had no business involving him in our lives. We were doing just fine before he came along.”

“No, we weren’t!” You can’t help your outburst when he’s always refusing to acknowledge the flaws in your relationship. Just because he ignores them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. The least he could give you is to acknowledge your problems and reassure you that he sees them too and wants to solve them. “You were controlling my life and treating me like a slut for sleeping with other guys.”

“You were whoring around. I was protecting you!”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! You keep hurting me, and you don’t give a shit! You are so obsessed with getting me that you are willing to break me down so I’d only have you to turn to.” You shrill, unable to hold back your emotions.

“And you chased away any woman I could possibly be with so I’d only have you!” He shouts right back at you, not missing a beat.

The two of you are at a standstill, anticipating the other’s next attack, and you’re tired of it. You can’t keep doing this. So, full of worry and trepidation, you suggest, “Then maybe we should just stay away from each other for a bit. Take some time to look at things from a---”

“Don’t…” He grits out, fury coiling under his skin.

“I just think it might do us good if--”

“Absolutely not.” He barks at you, making you flinch back, and a thought like a parasite springs up into your mind, taking over you and forcing itself out into the world. “If you can’t even handle me stepping away for a bit then maybe we should just...stop.”

He stares at you in shock and betrayal, hardly believing what you were suggesting. “Don’t you dare.” He hisses, eyes red with tears.

“We can’t keep hurting each other, oppa.” You futility try to explain yourself to him, and perhaps to yourself too.

“No. You can’t do this to me. Not after everything I’ve been through for you. I won’t let you.” He grabs you by the arm, shaking you roughly and jostling the tears out of your eyes. “I love you so much, oppa, but--”

“No, fuck you!” He throws you on the bed, the veins in his neck bulging out as he screams at you. “You promised. You said you’ll never leave me.”

Your fingers dig into the blanket under you, trying to find something to tether yourself to as your world spins into chaos around you. “I was a child back then. I didn’t know how bad things would get.”

“No, you just didn’t have anyone else to latch onto back then, but now that you do, you’re throwing me out like yesterday’s garbage and hiding behind your bullshit excuses. I stayed loyal to you all this time. I never tried to replace you. I dumped Miyeon for you. I never pursued another woman for you. Everything I ever did was for you, and you're abandoning me the minute someone else gives you any attention?" He grabs your face and presses his forehead against yours. "I can't let you go. I won't. You're mine."

"You're hurting me, oppa." You tremble as his fingers dig into your jaw, but he doesn’t let up. "Maybe you deserve it. You're a selfish fucking bitch. All you do is take, take, take! You made me dedicate my entire life to you and now you want to leave? Fuck that."

“That's not fair! I waited so long for you.” You cry out, reaching out to him, needing him to reassure you that he believes you. You’re not some evil person that was playing with him all this time. You don’t want to leave him just because you have someone else now. No one could ever replace him.

But he throws you back against the bed before you can touch him and he whirls around the room like a hurricane, grabbing whatever he can get his hands on and chucking it against the wall, breaking anything and everything. “God-fucking-dammit!”

Soon the entire room is in disarray, but it does nothing to buffer his anger. You gasp in horror as his hand collides with the mirror, his skin breaking along with the glass. Seeing crimson blood gushing down his pale skin, you jump off the bed and run to him, your fear for him overpowering your fear of him.

But when you get close, he grabs you by the neck and slams you against the wall, the back of your head bouncing back against the concrete and the shock of the impact making your vision go spotty and your ears ring for a few seconds.

When you come to, you feel the warmth of his hand being replaced by something cool and jagged pressing against your neck, and you stare at him in horror, hardly believing what is happening, but there is no denying the resentment and malice murking up his warm brown eyes.

“I have no one else but you. You think I’ll just let you leave?” He asks, voice as jagged as the glass he has pressed against your throat

You close your eyes, a small part of you wishing he’d just do what he’s clearly threatening to do. You’d rather die than live in a world where your oppa would ever try to hurt you. You’ve been struggling for too long and you just want it to stop. This will be easier. You won’t have to fight anymore.

But you feel the glass move away from you and hear a thud as Jaehyun falls to his knees in front of you, sobbing loudly. “I love you so much. Why are you doing this to me?”

You feel a twinge of disappointment as you open your eyes and look down at the destitute man in front of you. He looks so small, so scared, resembling the little boy you had made that promise to so long ago and it makes you feel wretched. You were telling him you are going to take everything away from him again after promising him that you’d never leave--after telling him for years and years that you love him and that he’s the most important person in your life. You’re abandoning him just like his father did.

You feel the cold shard of glass on your skin again, this time in your palm as Jaehyun places it in your hand and closes your fist around it. “Kill me then. I’m already dead without you.”

You gasp, shaking your head and trying to pull your hand away. “Stop, please.”

But he tightens his hold around your fist, making your hand close tighter around the glass, the edges of it cutting into your palm. “No. I’ve shielded you from the consequences of your actions for so long. It’s time that you face what you’ve done to me.”

"I never meant to hurt you.” You wail as your own blood seeps between your fingers. “Please, oppa, stop this. I'm scared. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re killing me.” He insists, poking the skin of his neck with the sharp point of the glass, nicking a small area. “This is just quicker.”

"I won't leave. I swear I won't leave.” You choke out desperately, panicking at the trail of blood running down his neck. “Just stop it, please!”

He finally loosens his hold on your fist and you immediately drop the glass and pull your hand up to your face, watching the shaking, bloody mess it had become in horror.

"I love you so much, angel." You hear him say and feel his face nuzzling against your lower belly. You look down at him numbly and see him pulling your robe apart so he can lay kisses directly on your skin.

You can’t feel the warmth from his lips, not when your hand is gushing hot blood still. He doesn’t care though, continuing down your body towards your heat, seeking another warmth all-together.

You gasp when his tongue slides between your lips and your hand shoots out to clutch at his hair, not caring that you’re messing it up with your blood. Jaehyun’s mouth on you manages to warm you up a bit, and you focus all your attention on how his tongue feels licking around your clit, trying to drown out everything else, trying to pretend that this is just a normal day.

You almost fool yourself too--if it wasn’t for his quiet sobs that drift up to you every once in a while and the way his hair becomes matted and discolored with your blood, you could almost believe it. But when he stands up, his dick nudging between your legs, you can’t bear to look at him.

So you turn around and face the wall, feeling more than hearing the strained sound of pain emanating from his chest and flowing into your back. "I'll make it up to you, angel. I'll make us happy again. I promise you." He grunts, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he pushes inside you.

“It will be just like before.” He promises lowly, his words are a hiss in your ear, making you shudder. You bite down on your lip to keep down your own cries as he fucks you against the wall like he intends to prove to you just how much he means his words.

And you stand there and take it. You’re just so tired of fighting back. You don’t want to hurt anymore.

__________________

You lay in his arms in the bathtub, the hot water running down your bodies and carrying the blood with it making it look like a crime scene. And maybe it was. Here lies all your will to break free and every hope that things could change. They wash away from your body like cheap paint to reveal the scars Jaehyun has permanently etched on you, reminding you that he will never go away.

When the water stops running red with blood, he carries you out of the tub and into the bedroom where he dresses you up and bandages your wound, pressing a gentle kiss onto your palm once he’s done. With not a single evidence of the night’s violence on the both of you, he kneels down in front of you, and grabs your fidgety hands in his bigger ones, squeezing down on them and prompting you to look at him. When you do, you see the determination strong in his eyes and you wonder how he could possibly have the energy to fuel it when you were all dried up.

You decide that he must’ve stolen it from you.

"You will not communicate with that boy again. And it goes without saying that Soojin is out of my life too." He informs you.

You stay quiet, staring straight at him and he sighs, kissing your hands again before getting up to lay the both of you on the bed under the blankets. Pulling you in his arms, he rubs a hand up and down your side soothingly as he whispers quietly to you and smiles his dimpled smile, just like he always does, but it doesn’t look the same to you anymore.

"I won't let anyone tear us apart… even you."

________________________

A/N: I know this is super short but like there ain’t much else to say :’) I went with the ending that made the most sense so I hope you guys like it

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #nct smut #nct angst

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