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moonlightndaydreams · 8 months ago

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Hometown

Pairing: au Han jisung x fem reader // friends to lovers back to friends and then lovers.

Synopsis: Jisung moves back to his small hometown to find that you’ve just moved back too. But what happens when he finds out you have a kid and he’s the father?

Word Count: 7.8k

A/n: the idea for this story came to when listening to this Taylor Swift song while I was driving the other day.

I put a lot of thought and care into this story, but i couldn’t convey it as in depth as I wanted. I would have loved to have made this a 60k word story but I just don’t have it in me. I hope you enjoy this story nonetheless, and can see where I was trying to go with it.

NSFVV // MDNI CW under the cut

CW: unprotected p in v sex, accidental cumming inside, fingering, fantasising, emotional hurt, comfort, mention of paternity tests, mention of oral sex, happy ending.

Jisung felt a tug in his chest whenever he came back to his hometown. The place reminded him of you. His childhood best friend. The person whom he shared all his secrets with from being scared of the dark and the nightmares it caused him when he was six, to when he had his first wet dream as a teenager.

You both were each other’s first kiss too. A sloppy, messy attempt behind the boat shed, so that you wouldn’t be the last kids in the year to not have kissed a boy or girl. He later found out most of the kids had been lying about having kissed anyone.

You were each other’s date to your graduation dinner, both of your mums fussing and taking photos, giggling about how you would grow up and get married.

Well that didn’t happen.

You did have one night of intimacy though, before Jisung moved away for work and you stayed in your small town. Well he thought you’d stayed. The first time he came back, eager to see you and catch up, you weren’t there. You’d moved to the city. It wasn’t the same without you. He’d always find himself looking out for you everywhere he went. Just in case. The grocery store. The little cafe. The fucking library even.

But you weren’t there. You were never there.

This was how it felt for Jisung for four years whenever he returned to his hometown.

And here he was again. For the fifth year in a row. But this time he wasn’t just visiting. He was moving back for good to start his own Physiotherapy clinic and to be closer to his family.

The first thing he did was drop his bags off at his parent’s house and go for a walk by the lake to stretch his legs from the long drive.

This place still reminded him of you. He missed you. As he walked along the shoreline he let his imagination take hold. In his mind you were walking beside him hand in hand. You’d throw stones into the lake and laugh about life.

He plopped down on a patch of grass and thought about what he always thought about when he was here.

That night you made love.

The softness of your body. The warmth radiating from you when he kissed your skin. The way you tasted when he went down on you. The pretty sounds you’d made as he fucked you slow and deep. He’d felt like he was drowning and he didn’t want to be saved. Fuck. He’d even said he loved you.

Jisung ran his hands through his hair. Alright Jisung. You gotta get over her. He told himself.

He walked up to the town center to grab a burger from the town’s “famous” burger shop. It was the only burger shop and Jisung was pretty sure it wasn’t famous. But the food tasted good. He placed his order, paid with his card, and was about to turn around and take a seat.

That’s when he heard it.

“Ji?”

He knew that voice. But no. It couldn’t be. Could it?

He slowly turned around. You. Beautiful with a big beaming smile.

“Y/n?” Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. “What are doing here? Are you visiting?”

You shook your head, grinning. “No… no. I’ve moved back here.”

“Really? Me to-”

“Mummy Mummy.” A little girl about four or five years old ran up and pulled on your hand and looked up at Jisung with big round eyes.

His heart stopped beating.

You bit your lip. “So…This is my daughter, Livi.” you said, nervousness creeping into your voice.

—————

Jisung was like he was in a trance, sitting frozen in his seat as he watched you and your daughter across the table. He’d barely touched his burger and coffee, his appetite gone. You had a kid. A million questions ran through his brain simultaneously. The loudest one being, was this his little girl? Followed quickly by, why didn’t you tell him?

“Liv, sweetheart, you’re covered in sauce.” you said as you wiped her little chin with a napkin. The girl grinned at Jisung like it was the funniest thing in the world to fluster you, then on her next bite of her mini burger, smeared sauce all over her chin again. Jisung gave a silent chuckle to himself, thinking of how full your hands must be. “Oh, Liv.” you sighed, giving up on trying to keep her face clean.

Eventually, your attention turned to Jisung, and he tore his eyes from the child to meet yours. Fuck. He wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever you were about to say. Either this little girl was his, or she was someone else’s. Jisung wasn’t even sure which option he wanted to hear either. The thought of you keeping something this big from him upset him. But the thought of you being in love with another man and having a family with him, well, that made him jealous.

“Ji,” No one could say his name the way you did. He tried hard not to show you how it still affected him, even after all this time. “I suppose you have a lot of questions?” you said softly.

Jisung remained silent. Of course he had a lot of questions, but he didn’t know where to begin and he couldn’t seem to make his voice work. He sighed heavily and nodded.

“Well,” you started nervously. “I guess I’ll start with the obvious then. So… Livi…well… you see…” you hesitated.

But Jisung knew. He knew what you were going to say just from the way you took a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling as though you were trying to gather all your courage. He knew by how you were wringing your hands together on the table, and the way you swallowed a lump in your throat. He had always known when you were scared to say something. You’d just never been scared to talk to him before.

“She’s mine isn’t she?” he said. He said it so you didn’t have to.

Your eyes darted to his “Yes, Ji.” you eventually whispered. “She is.” Tears started to well up in your eyes, but you fought them back.

Jisung nodded slowly in understanding, but said nothing, playing with the coffee cup in his hand.

“Ji, please don’t be angry.” you plead. “I have so much to exp-”

“Holy shit! Jisung…y/n!” a loud voice bellowed across the cafe. It was Binnie, one of you mutual childhood friends. “What the flying fu-” his voice trailed off as he approached your table and saw the little girl sitting next to you.

“Wow.” he said, taking in the three of you. “Channie, look who’s here!” he called out to another childhood friend who was putting in an order at the counter. Chan turned around, his face lighting up when he saw both Jisung and you at the table. He quickly made his order and came to sit down next to Binnie at your table. “The gang's back together.” Binnie announced boisterously.

Great. This was the last thing Jisung needed. He had just been told the most life altering news of his life and now he had to socialise? Panic brewed in his chest. He was a father. A father to a preschool kid. He needed time to process this, not have a catch up with friends.

“The whole gang, plus… a mini y/n.” Chan nodded to your daughter, waving at the little girl. “So cute. What’s your name, princess?” He asked.

“Livi.” She replied proudly, and smiled a gummy little smile and looked back at Chan with wide brown eyes. For a second Jisung thought he saw a flicker of realisation cross his friend’s face, but it was gone in an instant.

He watched as you made small talk with your friends. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to be alone to think, and probably cry, but he didn’t want to just get up and leave. So he sat quietly, nodding when he needed to, making it look like he was listening.

Jisung’s gaze kept landing on Livi, and his mind went back to that night. The only night that you and Jisung had slept together. He remembered it vividly. He remembered pulling out and cumming all over your stomach.

But he also remembered he might not have been quick enough. He obviously wasn’t quick enough. You’d felt so good around him he wanted it to last forever. He hadn’t told you he thought he might have spilled the smallest amount inside you. He thought it would have been okay. He was certain you would have told him if you had fallen pregnant from that night. That you’d work through it together.

It was now evident that you hadn’t told him you’d gotten pregnant, and also, that you hadn’t wanted to work through it together either. It hurt.

“I have to go.” Jisung announced all of a sudden, standing up abruptly and bumping the table. All eyes turned to him, including Livi’s. “I said I’d help my Dad with something.” he lied, feeling like everyone could see right through him.

“Okay, man. Catch up for a beer later?” Chan asked, standing to take him in a hug. “If you wanna talk, yeah?” he whispered so only Jisung could hear.

“Talk to you later, Ji?” you asked with hopeful eyes.

“Um, yeah. Of course.” he said quickly and hurried out of the cafe.

————-

Jisung found himself sitting by the lake again, his thoughts racing. He’d walked around the entire town for the past two hours and ended up back here. The place he always ended up.

He’d fucking made a baby with you? Why hadn’t you told him? He couldn’t get his head around it. He felt so angry, hurt, confused. He’d never felt anger towards you and he hated it. He shook his head. He had so many questions, and no answers. Except the kid was his. He closed his eyes, wondering what on earth he was going to do..

“Thought you’d be here, buddy.” Jisung opened his eyes to find Chan approaching, and plopping down beside him on the grass. He offered a can of beer to Jisung.

“You know we’re not meant to drink in public places, right?” Jisung grumbled taking the drink.

“Since when has anyone ever cared?” Chan replied, popping his own can open and taking a sip. “Anyway, you look like you need it.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “You don’t say?” He took a long drink of his beer and looked out over the water.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Jisung snapped.

“I dunno, maybe about y/n being moving back to town, or that you have a kid?” Chan shrugged.

“She told you?” Jisung turned to Chan, bewildered.

Chan shook his head. “No, man. It was just…obvious.”

“Fuck.” Jisung grumbled and took another swig of beer.

The two friends sat in silence for a long while. Chan didn’t push for Jisung to talk about it, and Jisung was grateful. He couldn’t find his words even if he wanted to talk. He felt like he was going to explode with emotions, and at the same time his body felt completely numb. Was this what shock felt like?

The sun was low in the sky and the air had become cooler. Jisung pulled his jacket tight around him. This was not how he’d expected his first day back to be like.

He sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them he started to sob. “Why didn’t she tell me?” He cried looking to Chan. “Why would she keep this from me?”

He completely broke down then, crying loud and uncontrollably. He leaned against Chan who wrapped his arm around him and stroked his back.

“I know. I know.” His friend soothed.

“I’m a fucking father! I don’t even know what that means, or what I am supposed to do… or how I’m meant to feel. It’s so sudden.” He wailed.

“Listen, Ji. I think we should get you home. It’s cold and late, and maybe in the morning when your head’s clearer you can think about all of this. It’s pretty big news, it’s probably gonna take time.”

Chan drove Jisung home in silence, and when he pulled up outside his house Jisung turned to him. “She still makes my heart race.” he whispered. “Even with this… I don’t know what you’d call it, betrayal? Lie? She still gets to me.”

Chan looked at his friend empathetically. “Go inside, mate. Get some rest. Call me if you need me, yeah?” Chan squeezed Jisung’s shoulder reassuringly, before Jisung got out of the car and headed into his childhood home.

Jisung couldn’t sleep. Images of you and Livi at the cafe ran through his mind on repeat. Your smile when he’d first turned around. Your scared expression when you wanted to tell him she was his. The cheeky grin on the kid’s face when you tried to wipe her chin.

He tossed and turned in his bed. The same bed you and him made her in.

———————

Jisung tried to avoid you at all costs while he got his thoughts in order. He knew it was cruel to avoid you, but he just couldn’t face the situation. Not yet anyway.

He told his parents, looking for guidance. But in the course of a two hour deep and meaningful with them, their comments ranged from “I thought we taught you about protection, son” and “the pull out method doesn’t work,” to “we’d always thought you’d make a cute kid.”

None of these remarks were particularly helpful, but they didn’t have a bad word to say about you, and they weren’t disappointed in him. They really believed the two of you could work something out, and he was pretty sure they were secretly excited about being grandparents.

Three days had passed since you’d told him about Livi, and although he still wasn’t ready to talk, he knew he had to say something to you soon otherwise he’d look like a coward. He felt like a coward. He knew where you lived. Your parents house two streets away, you used to walk to school together. But he just couldn't physically take himself over there. He didn't know what to say. He was anxious about seeing your parents. He was nervous about seeing Livi again. Most of all he was terrified of hearing what your reasons were from hiding this from him.

He was scared.

Yep. He was a coward.

———-

A week later, Jisung stood in front of his almost ready to be opened Physiotherapy clinic, and admired the new signage on the front window. He’d secured the lease for the premises before he moved back, and had even organised the fit out-out to be complete beforehand as well. He’d spent the past week hiding inside painting the walls and getting his equipment ready. If he was busy in there, he wouldn’t run into you.

Happy with how his sign looked, Jisung unlocked the front door and slipped inside. The front area was to be the waiting area for clients and reception desk, and a doorway led from the reception area to the main studio. The studio was a large space where he’d set up a treadmill, exercise bike and smaller equipment like hand weights and bosu balls. To the right was a private room for appointments with clients.

He felt proud of his new set up and he couldn’t wait to officially open his doors. He’d even had some home visits this week, although they were his parent’s friends. But still, a client was a client, and that made him happy.

He settled into his chair at the reception desk to check his schedule for the next few days, and then he was going to try and set up the new accounting software he’d been avoiding almost as much as he’d been avoiding you. While he was waiting for the extra slow internet to connect his eyes wandered absentmindedly to the big window that looked out onto the main street of town.

It was a sunny autumn day, the temperature perfect for short sleeves and pants. He enjoyed this time of year with the days warm, and the nights cool. His guilty pleasure was to snuggle in his blanket and beanie and watch anime.

There were quite a number of people going about their day, but no one was in a hurry. Not like in the city, where everyone was in a rush.

Here, people were chatting on the footpath, others were casually doing their laundry at the laundromat while they sat out the front reading a book. The old ice cream shop was busy as usual. It'd been there for as long as Jisung could remember. He and you used to take your little bag of coins down to buy your favourite ice creams after school. The row of ice cream flavours were the perfect height for kids to squish their faces against the glass and say “that one please!”, and then have to reach up so high to pay over the counter.

The signage and colour scheme hadn’t been updated in a thousand years, and the paint was peeling and the store name faded. He wondered if the same family owned the place.

Then he saw you coming out of the door, little Livi in tow. Jisung’s heart jumped out of his chest, and he slid lower in his chair even though you wouldn’t be able to see him through the tinted glass window. He still hadn’t spoken to you.

You were dressed in tight jeans, a plain green top with your long hair in a messy bun. You always looked beautiful even when you weren’t trying. That familiar feeling stirred inside of him. It was a feeling of yearning and heartache. Even though he’d felt it often over the years, it was a feeling he’d never got used to.

His gaze moved down to Livi. She was adorable. Her long dark hair was in two braids, and she had the cutest round cheeks. Her big Bambi-like eyes were fixed on the ice cream cone in her tiny hands. She looked so excited, going in for a bite and… splat! The entire ice cream fell off its cone onto her pink top. Her little face fell and she began to cry as though the world had ended.

Jisung didn’t think, he just acted. He was out of the clinic and across the street in a heartbeat.

“Juice-suuunnn!” Livi wailed when he approached. He was surprised she recognised him. “I lost my ice cream!” Startled, you turned to see Jisung kneeling beside you, ready to help.

“It’s okay, angel. Juice-sun’s” was that what she’d called him? “here to help.” He turned to you. “I’ve got a spare shirt over the road, if you want to change her?” He nodded his head towards his clinic.

“Thank you, but it’s fine, Ji. We can just go home and get changed. It’s no big deal. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” You assured, trying to peel chunks of ice cream off her top.

“But you said we could go to the park!” Livi protested, and you looked at your daughter apologetically.

“It’s really okay.” Jisung said softly. “She should go to the park.”

“Yes, Mummy please! I’m okay to wear Juice-sun’s shirt! I just want to play and eat ice cream.” She blinked her eyes at you and then at Jisung. God that was cute.

He gave her a wink and you rolled your eyes. “Joining forces, I see.” She playfully patted Livi’s head.

Jisung ushered you and Livi across the road and into the clinic, and pulled out the clean tee shirt he was going to wear later for a workout. “If you just want to change her in the side room there.” He directed you to the private appointment room. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jisung ran back across the street, ordered a new chocolate ice cream, apparently the place was still family owned, and returned to the clinic to find you and Livi waiting in the studio. You were sitting on a chair in the corner, and Livi had found a ball and was throwing it up in the air and trying to catch it. His tee shirt fit her like a giant dress, or more accurately, a tent.

“I hope you like chocolate flavour?” He announced with a big smile. “I know it’s my favourite.” He chuckled.

“Juice-Sun!” Her face lit up when she saw him with a fresh ice cream. She ran up to him, the ball instantly abandoned, and carefully took it from him with her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“Juice-sun?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, she’s insisting that’s how you pronounce your name.” you blushed, trying to hide a giggle.

“What about just Ji? That’s what you call me?” He said, sitting on a chair next to you.

“I tried, but she says she likes Juice-sun because it’s like juice and she likes apple juice. Can’t argue with a four year old.” You shrugged.

“I guess not.” He smiled. You both laughed.

“Thank you, Ji.” you said sincerely, giving him a small smile.

“It’s the least I can do.” He shrugged. You nodded and looked at the floor.

“So?”

“So?” You both said at the same time.

This was awkward. Really fucking awkward.

“Can we go play at the park now, Mummy?” Livi asked, and Jisung was grateful for the interruption.

“Maybe eat your ice cream first. If that’s okay with you?” You turned to Jisung.

Jisung nodded. “Of course.”

Livi went and plonked herself on a foam mat on the floor, still holding her ice cream extra carefully. “Juice-sun. Come sit with meee.” She called.

Jisung was taken back by the child’s eagerness to make friends with him, especially since she’d only met him once. But he wandered over and sat himself cross legged next to her on the mat and smiled down a the kid.

“This is a really good set up you’ve got here.” you said looking around the studio. “When is the official opening? I saw on the front window it’s soon.”

“Next week. I’ve started seeing clients on home visits, so technically I’m in business already. That’s if my Mum’s friend from trivia night counts as a client?” he snorted.

“I’d take it as a client. I’m so proud of you.” You said sincerely, and Jisung felt himself blush at the compliment.

“Oh shit, Ji.. “ your hands came up to your mouth horrified. “I.. I’m not asking all this to know about your finances. You know I’m not after money, right?”

“I know. Don’t worry.” he cut you off, and he could see by the way you were biting your lip that you were silently berating yourself. He knew you so well, yet he felt like he knew nothing.

“I’m full.” Livi held the half eaten cone in Jisung’s face.

“Livi, honey. I’m not sure Jisung wants your leftovers. God, I’m so sorry.” You coverered your face in embarrassment.

Jisung chuckled. “It’s really fine. I love chocolate ice cream.” He took it from her sticky little fingers, and bit into it. “Mmm. Yum!” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Juice-Sun?” She asked, standing up and delicately pushing his fluffy hair out of his eyes and staring at him. Her small hand lingered in his hair while she gazed at him.

Jisung was frozen in place as he looked into the eyes of his daughter. His daughter. He was starstruck, captivated by her cute little features, and the way she was so comfortable talking to him, touching him, stirred something inside of him. She was absolutely perfect. He’d made her. He’d never made anything so precious in his entire life. He made her with you, his favourite person in the world.

“Do you know what Mummy’s favourite flavour is?” She whispered like she was about to share a secret.

“Yes I do.” He whispered back. It’s raspberry.”

Livi looked at Jisung like he was a magician. “How’d you know?” She gushed, amazed.

“Well, your Mum and I have known each other since we were as little as you.” His eyes met yours. “And we used to go to the ice cream shop a lot.” he added, keeping his gaze on you.

He could tell you were remembering it. Remembering your childhood together. The ‘inseparable pair’ as some people called you. But there was more than just nostalgia in your expression. There was sadness too. He could see it. You were hurting. He could feel it.

It was time to talk.

——————

The three of you walked to the park with Livi walking in the middle, holding onto both yours and Jisung’s hands. He had felt rather privileged when she grabbed onto him like she’d known him forever, and he held her tiny hand in his as they made their way down the footpath. Several people gave them curious looks as they passed. More fuel for the gossipers. But Jisung didn’t care.

There were already rumours about you and your daughter spreading around town. Specifically, whispers about how she was the “love child” of you and Jisung. Apparently, everyone could see the resemblance. Jisung was getting odd looks when he was in the grocery store the other day, but no one actually asked him if any of the stories were true.

The park was only a minute walk from Jisung’s clinic, and it wasn’t long before Livi was running over to the play equipment and you and Jisung found a park bench to supervise her from.

“She’s a cute kid.” He said, breaking the silence.

“She is.” You replied.

Jisung sighed. “Almost five years, y/n. Why didn't you tell me? In all this time, why haven’t you said anything?” Jisung’s voice cracked and a tear slipped from his eye and rolled down his cheek. He swiped it away, hoping he could hold himself together.

“I didn’t know you were her father.” you said in a quiet voice. Jisung looked at you confused. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. How could you not know he was the father and then all of a sudden know that he was?

“I didn’t know. I promise.” you took in a deep breath. “Look, Ji. Just before you left I got a job offer interstate. I moved away the same week as you. I…I met someone there. Like really quickly.” you sighed and continued. “It all happened so fast, and I wanted to… to try and move on from you.” you looked up at Jisung. “I found out I was pregnant not long after meeting him.”

“Didn’t it occur to you she could’ve been mine?” Jisung asked, surprised at how much hurt was evident in his voice.

“You pulled out when we were… and he didn’t so…” you shrugged like it was an obvious conclusion.

Guilt and regret seeped through Jisung’s veins. He should have told you he hadn’t pulled out quick enough. He cleared his throat, pushing those thoughts aside. Coward, he thought to himself.

“So why all of a sudden are you saying she’s mine. How do you know? What changed?” It wasn’t an accusation, he was genuinely perplexed, bewildered even.

“When I told him I was pregnant, he stayed by my side. We made it work, sort of. I thought he loved me but…he kept having affairs.” You hung your head and Jisung felt anger flair inside his body. How could someone hurt you like that? “Earlier this year he told me he was leaving me for someone else.” you sniffled.

Jisung cautiously moved closer to your side and put his arm around your shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” he soothed. He was absolutely livid at this guy. He wanted to punch him in the face, hurt him. Then wrap you up and look after you. He wished he could’ve been there for you.

“I said something about child support, and he scoffed and told me he wanted to do a paternity test, because ‘fucked if I’m paying for someone else’s kid’.

“I laughed in his face. I was certain she was his, but part of me hoped that somehow she wasn’t. An asshole like that doesn’t deserve to be Livi’s dad. Anyway, the paternity test came back negative, which means he isn’t her father. You’re the only other person I’d slept with, Ji.”

You looked at him and waited. A heavy silence hung in the air as Jisung tried to figure out what to say.

“I shot a bit of cum in you.” He blurted out. Fuck, why’d he say it like that? “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything when it happened. I thought… I hoped, I was quick enough.” he gulped and sucked his lip.

“I’m glad it happened.” you whispered. Your eyes locked. Jisung couldn’t breath. “We wouldn’t have Liv. I was so relieved to find out she’s yours.” you pulled your eyes away from him to watch Livi playing in the sandpit, while your fingers fiddled with the hem of your top.

“I moved back here as soon as I could to be with Mum and Dad, you know, ‘cos it ‘takes a village’ and all. I didn’t know you’d be back here as well. I’d planned to get in touch with you once we’d settled in. But you were already here.” You laughed dryly.

“Don’t you hate me for not telling you?” Jisung pressed, his brain was still stuck at his admission about cumming inside you.

You looked up at him again. “What? That you’re pull-out game’s shit?” you teased, your face softening into a warm smile. Not a hint of anger laced your voice. “Look. Jisung. If you had told me, I’m not sure what I would’ve done. I’m not sure what you’d have done? You were moving away.”

“But If I had told you. Things might’ve been different.” He said solemnly. You might have found him sooner and not have to have been with a cunt for a boyfriend for four years. He might’ve known his daughter, sooner.

You took his hand in yours. “There’s no point thinking about what if’s. The past is the past. I don’t want you to regret anything. I’m not expecting anything from you. I’m just glad she’s ‘part’ you. You’re the best person I have ever known, Jisung, and I want her to grow up as kind as you. But,” you choked. “If you ever do want to be part of her life, I think she’d like that very much. I’d like that very much.”

Jisung’s heart melted. Now that he understood the whole picture, how could he really be angry at you? Neither of you knew he was Livi’s father. But there was still hurt, and sadness. He’d missed so much of her life.

“Juice-sun! Come play on the slide.” Livi ran up to Jisung, breaking his thoughts and tugging on his arm to pull him towards the playground.

The three of you played on the equipment the rest of the afternoon. The slide was by far Livi’s favourite, followed by him holding her up on the flying fox. Jisung tried to let go of the thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. He could deal with them later. For now he wanted to simply be in the present moment and give all of his attention to you both.

Afterwards, he walked you home to your parents. It felt like old times walking you home. When he said goodbye he felt the urge to hold you in a hug, but he wasn’t sure If that was appropriate. So he didn’t. He just stood there awkwardly.

You both looked at each other for a long minute, before Livi threw her arms around his waist and looked up at him.

“Do you want to thank Jisung for your ice cream?” You prompted her.

“Thank you Juice-Sun!” She smiled brightly and ran inside the house.

Jisung rubbed his hands nervously on his pants. “Y/n, I’m sorry I completely ghosted you this past week. I was in shock. I needed to get my head around…everything. But I should’ve spoken to you. It was fucking rude of me.” He hung his head.

“It’s okay. I understand. It was huge news.” You said with understanding. You were always so understanding.

“Well… um…maybe we could hang out again?” He scratched his head nervously and looked up at you sheepishly. Fuck, why was he feeling so flustered?

“I’d really like that.” You said softly.

“You would?” His head snapped up. “What about tomorrow afternoon?” He said eagerly.

The corner of your mouth lifted and then turned into a proper smile. “Tomorrow would be great.”

————-

Over the following month or so, Jisung’s business was in full swing. It was incredible how many people needed a phsyio. His client’s were mostly teenagers and people with sporting injuries, with some people making an appointment merely to see if he’d spill the tea about his and your relationship status. It was an expensive way for them to find out that you were just friends.

Jisung found himself spending more and more time with you and Livi. Most of the time it was buying ice creams and playing at the park, but sometimes it was having dinner at either of your parent’s houses. Jisung’s parents loved getting to know their grandchild, doting on her and spoiling her. They even tried to send you and Jisung out on a date, even though you were just friends, so they can do the whole ‘minding the grandkid’ thing.

The more time Jisung spent with Livi, the more he wanted to have a role in her life. If she ever wanted to call him ‘daddy’ at some point, he’d be over the moon. The thought of her running up to him calling out “daddy, daddy!” made him feel gooey inside. But he wasn’t going to push that. He’d let her move at her own pace, plus he was quite content with ‘Juice-sun’ for now. Even that made him feel gooey inside.

He was absolutely smitten, and everyone could tell.

He’d started printing out photos he’d taken of her doing random things that four year olds did. He bought little frames to put them in and sat them on his desk at work and bedside table, alongside a few photos you’d given him of Livi when she was smaller.

Although it pained him that he missed out on her early years, he told himself that it’s what he does moving forward that counts. He promised himself he’d be the best father he could be, and that he would always be there for her.

Things were falling into a comfortable place with you again too. You’d both caught each other up on the past few years about your time living in the big city, and how country town life felt so much better. You’d pop over to each other’s houses and watch your favourite kids movies with Livi sitting between the two of you, like a little family. You’d laugh and joke and reminisce. It felt good. You’d even started hugging him goodbye at the end of the day.

But he found himself wanting more. He still wanted you. It had always been you. He thought about all those times he’d been back here hoping you'd be in town, playing out a thousand scenarios of what might’ve happened if you had been here. Most of them were of him ending up making love to you in his childhood bed. None of them were you turning up with a kid and telling him he was a father.

But for some reason he wouldn’t trade this with any of the scenarios he’d made up in his imagination. Even if it meant he couldn’t tell you how he felt about you. You’d come back into his life, hopefully permanently, and things were really good between you. He couldn’t risk fucking this up talking about love, or pressuring you into something you might not be ready for, or even want.

He’d think about you though. In his bed. Sometimes he’d imagine obscene things. Like if you were watching a movie with him in his family’s living room and you would climb on top of him in a little skirt. He’d pull your underwear to the side and you’d sink down onto his cock and ride him until you screamed his name and made a mess all over him.

Or he’d take you against his bedroom door. Holding you up against it, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock reaching the deepest parts of you until your legs shook.

Most of the time, though, he’d think about laying you down on his bed and kissing your neck while he slowly undressed you. He’d worship you. He’d give every inch of your body attention. He’d say your name over and over like a mantra, and then he’d squeeze inside your warmth and fuck so slowly you begged him to either stop or go faster.

No matter the scenario, it always ended with him cumming in his hand and your name on his lips.

Gradually, you and Jisung started to spend time together without Livi, and Jisung noticed you were becoming more and more comfortable with being physically close to him. The hugs were becoming more frequent, you lingered more when saying goodbye, and when Jisung sat closer to you on the couch during a ‘grown up movie night’, you leaned into him and rested your head on his shoulder. He’d grown hard in his pants and he’d hoped you hadn’t noticed. He swore he saw your eyes linger on his lips too sometimes, and when he asked you to go on a stargazing picnic and you said yes, a glimmer of hope swirled around in his stomach.

————-

“Do you wanna know what the coolest thing about the moon is?” Jisung asked, looking up at the night sky.

You were both in the back of his Dad’s utility truck laying on a stack of exercise mats from the physio clinic. It was Spring now, and the nights were starting to be less cold, but it was still cool enough to need sweatpants, hoodies and a nest of blankets to keep snug.

You were laying next to him, snuggled under a blanket.

“What was that, Ji?” you hummed.

“Do you know what the coolest thing about the moon is?” He repeated.

You shook your head. “No. I don’t know.”

“That you hung it.” He whispered.

“Oh Ji!” You squealed and nudged his arm. “That was-”

“The corniest shit you’ve ever heard?” Jisung laughed but inside he was dying from cringe and his cheeks burned.

“I was going to say romantic, but corny works too.” You laughed.

He turned to look at you and found you gazing at him.

“Romantic? Huh?” He looked at you curiously.

“Yeah. In your own unique way.” You turned back to look at the sky and Jisung felt your fingers brush against his under the blanket. Bravely, Jisung threaded his fingers through yours. He was sure you could hear his heart beating. You sighed and nestled yourself against his side.

“Baby—” Fuck. “I mean, y/n. Sorry. Shit.” He hadn’t called you baby in years.

“It’s okay, Ji.” You soothed.

“Yeah?” He choked.

“Yeah.” You whispered.

He rolled onto his side propping himself up on his forearm and gazed down at you. You didn’t move. You just looked back up at him. You really did hang the moon.

“Say this is okay.” He whispered.

“That what’s okay, ji?” You purred.

“This.” He cupped your cheek and leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. He started so very slowly, and when he felt you melt into the kiss, he teased your lips with his tongue, seeking permission to deepen the kiss further. Your tongues danced together tenderly. The way your lips felt against his own, sent a rush of desire through his body. He brought his hand from your cheek to hold your waist and press his hardness against your leg. He wanted you to feel how much he burned for you. How badly he needed you.

You whimpered when you felt his erection and hooked your leg around him to bring his leg between yours, and you wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

His hand snuck under your hoodie and shirt. Your skin was so soft and warm to the touch. “Is this still okay, baby.” He said with a raspy tone.

You answered with a grinding of your core against his leg, and a cute little whimper.

“You need to tell me what I’m allowed to do.”

You took his hand that was on your waist and pushed it to your waistband and hooked his fingers on it. “Absolutely anything you want.” You whispered. “I’m yours, Ji.”

“I wanna make love to you. Be inside you. But…”

“I’m on birth control.” You stated. “You know, just in case something happened… between us. So we don’t have an accident.”

Jisung pulled away and looked deep in your eyes. “I hope you know that I’ve never considered Livi to be an accident.” He said sincerely. “A Surprise? Yes.” He grinned “But never an accident.”

You beamed up at him in the way that always tugged on his heart. “I’m glad, because she’s the best thing we ever did together.”

“She is.” He agreed.

Jisung slowly peeled off your sweatpants and underwear and pulled the blanket up around you both as he began to kiss you again. His hand made its way to your inner thigh and you let out another pretty little sound. He gradually made his way up your leg and then slid a finger through your wetness. You were already so wet he could hardly believe it. His dick hardened even more than it already was, and it was absolutely throbbing to be inside you. He needed to bury himself inside your warm walls and soon, or he was going to cum untouched.

“Ji, please. I wanna feel you.” You reached for his waistband, and tugging it down enough to grasp his cock in your hand.

Jisung hissed through his teeth. “Baby, your hand… feels so good.” His eyes rolled back into his head.

“So does yours… oh—” you arched your back into him as he slid a finger inside you. “Ji…yes.” You pulled his face down to kiss him as he slowly fucked you with his fingers and you pumped his cock with your hand.

He peppered kisses down the side of your neck, and eventually he slowly withdrew his fingers, while you let go of his cock. You parted your legs to allow him to settle in between them.

“I love you, y/n. I’ve always loved you.” He declared. “I said it last time, do you remember?”

You nodded. “I remember.”

“I meant it then, and I still mean it now.”

“I love you too, Jisung. I have for as long as I can remember.” You said gripping his bicep and squeezing.

Jisung took hold of his cock and ran the tip through your lips several times and then pushed inside. You both groaned in relief.

“Is this okay, baby?” He moaned, pulling out and pushing back in. He felt like he was so deep inside you, your warm walls holding him tight while he made love to you the way he imagined so many times.

He hooked an arm under one of your legs to get an even deeper angle. “Ji… you feel…this feels…so good.” You cried, holding onto him tighter as he picked up the pace. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m gonna fuck you like this every single day.” He promised.

You were soaking his cock, and as he continued to make love to you the noises coming from where you were both connected were becoming louder. You both had a sheen of sweat covering you foreheads. Jisung’s breath was becoming laboured as he neared his orgasm, but he wanted to make sure you came first. He slipped his hand between you to rub your swollen clit the way he remembered you showing him you how you liked it. You responded instantly, mumbling incoherently as you tensed up around him.

“Ji…I’m close… I’m so…I’m gonna…”

“Please cum for me. I’m so close too, baby.” He really didn’t know if you could even last another moment.

He felt you tense up, gripping his cock like a vice and then slowly pulsed around him. He watched your face as you came, thankful that he’ll be able to see you like this all the time from now on. He meant it. He was going to fuck you every day.

It was all too much seeing you come undone. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum, baby…where… wh—“

“In me, Ji…in me, please.” You cried.

That’s all Jisung needed to hear and he was filling you up, letting out a long growl as he emptied himself inside of you. Tears spilled from his eyes as he collapsed on top of you panting.

“Baby…I fucking love you so much. Please say you wanna be with me. Say you wanna give this a try? Be a family?” He looked at you hopefully.

“Yes. Yes, Ji. I want that so much.”

———

Jisung stopped at the lake to stretch his legs after a long day’s work.

This place always reminded him of you. As he walked along the shoreline he let his imagination take hold. In his mind you were walking beside him hand in hand, little Livi running ahead. He’d teach her to throw stones into the lake and he’d tell her all about what you and him were like as kids.

He’d bring her camping, and he’d bring you here for lunchtime picnics.

But it wasn’t just a fantasy. These were his plans.

He plopped down on a patch of grass and thought about what he always thought about when he was here.

The night he made love to you under the stars and you said you wanted to be a family.

Ask: livi calls Jisung “daddy”

a/n: please, if you enjoyed this consider leaving a comment, reblog, or tag someone you think will like this. x. Sorsha

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itshannjisung @weareapackofstrays @bethanysnow @jisunglyricist @newhope8 @chansbabyg @itshannjisung

#han jisung smut #han jiusng fanfic #skz fic #han jisung is a dad #sorshas fic

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starrynightmuse · 4 months ago

Text

Sign of the Times 🏛⏳️ I. Broken Dragonfly Wings

Aemond Targaryen x reader, Library of Alexandria AU

(Title inspired by the Harry Styles song)

Blurb: It's summer in Alexandria, Egypt, and the heat has reached sweltering heights. Children dash toward the banks of the Nile, eager to find relief in the cool waters while ladies fan themselves under the shade of palm trees. Thick mud huts keep families cool under the boiling sun. It would be 1,892 years before the first ice cubes would be invented and nearly two millennia until air conditioning. Even Jesus Christ wouldn’t be born until another 48 years. But you have the teachings of Aristotle and the works of Euclid. You're the first and only female scholar at the Library of Alexandria, the first institute of its kind. All your life has been spent in the pursuit of knowledge — until the arrival of a mysterious young scholar named Aemond.

Series warnings: period typical misogyny, ancient academia, teacher x student relationship (but they're the same age), violence, fire, sexual content (18+), reader is loosely based off of Hypatia of Alexandria, Targaryens x Ptolemies crossover, character deaths, inaccurate history for the sake of storytelling, accusations of witchcraft, debates on fictional religions, Plato, Daemon being a menace.

Word count: 5,380

Series Masterlist

Your heart was racing, terror coiling in your stomach like a serpent, but you refused to let it show as you looked out at the mob of angry faces around you in the pavilion.

“Traitor!”

“Death to the witch!”

“Kill her!”

You knew there was no escaping this. This was the end. Yet, even as fear flooded your chest, you refused to let go of your pride. You held your head up high as Prince Daemon approached you where you kneeled. He looked down at you, his cold eyes gleaming in sick satisfaction.

"I'm giving you one last chance, witch," he said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "Renounce your unholy ways and convert to the Faith of the Seven, and you shall walk away unharmed."

You looked up at him, refusing to back down. You hypocrite, you thought. When you spoke, your voice was steady and firm. "I cannot.”

The prince's expression darkened. He stepped closer to you, his lips close to your ear so that no one would overhear.

“There is nothing left for you. It's over. Save yourself and the crown will grant you mercy,” he hissed.

You spat at his face. "If the right to think is treason, then I embrace it proudly. I refuse to remain supplicant to a crown that fears the power of knowledge and labels it treachery."

Daemon's lips formed into a cruel snarl. He stepped back and turned to the crowd, opening his arms in a dramatic display. "The punishment for witchcraft is death!" his voice boomed. The crowd erupted, snarling and roaring like a pack of lions.

Your heart raced as the people closed in with stones in hand, hungry predators circulating their prey. You took a final deep breath, bracing yourself for the onslaught. The first stone hit you, a dull throb of pain that quickly gave way to sharper, intense sensations as more stones followed. You feel your knees collapsing to the hard floor. In reflex, you cover your head with your arms. You shut your eyes, and the last thing you saw was the memory of a single blue eye.

🏛⏳️

6 months earlier.

There's a buzzing in the air, and not just from the hum of people in the atrium outside. Inside your classroom, a large blue dragonfly lazily flies in circles, your students taking turns swatting at it as it zips by. It’s an epaulet skimmer, or an orthetrum chrysostigma, a common dragonfly found around Egypt. Last month, you helped survey them with a fellow scholar who was putting together an account of all the various insects along the Nile River delta. The research project was commissioned by the Princess Helaena Targaryen herself, whom you've heard was quite fond of natural history.

In the midst of your lecturing, the buzz of the insect feels amplified. In front of you sit nearly fifty pupils, all perched on wooden benches. Most of them are in their teens and early twenties, and all of them were young men with restless energy with wandering minds. While a few showed genuine curiosity, you knew that attendance was merely a formality to half of them, who were only present because their parents were wealthy aristocrats. Yet, you knew it was your duty to broaden their minds and instill some semblance of knowledge into their minds before they go on to graduate and become lords who make decisions that impact hundreds of people.

“Whether you believe in the Seven or the old gods, we accept that the divine has created all that we know,” you say, your voice carrying across the room. “Yet, the mechanisms behind how their creations work are a mystery to us mortals.”

There's a blur of blue near your eye when the dragonfly makes a landing on your nose. You swap it away and continue.

“For example, what are the gears that drive a drought? Elders of the past have said that a drought is punishment from an angry sun god. Holy men today say it is the repercussion of having vexed the Seven. But how, precisely, do these divine beings bring this drought upon us?” You pause, pacing around the room. “Like observing the work of a craftsman, we can observe the handiwork of the gods. We can observe that volcanic eruptions are one tool that the gods use to give us droughts. Likewise, miasma from a plague, which spews vaporous acid into the atmosphere, can cause rising temperatures and dry up rivers. (Modern Fact check: Miasma does NOT cause plagues. They are caused by infectious bacteria and viruses.)

“Every natural disaster has forces, or causes, behind them. Although perhaps only the gods may know the truth of the workings behind these events, philosophers and believers of science have theorized why certain disasters come to be. Take earthquakes, for example. Compared to droughts, it is much harder for us to determine how earthquakes are created. Aristotle, for one, suggested that it is caused by winds in subterranean caves.”

One of your pupils seated on the front row raises his hand. Ebony curls, dark eyes that remind you of beetles, his robes a deep plum that only money can buy.

“Perhaps Aristotle failed to consider that earthquakes could just be Atticus's mother walking to the market,” he says, a cocky grin spreading across his face. His friend gives him a hearty slap on the back, nearly doubling over with laughter.

You offer a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Flavius."

Some of your students were more mature than others.

Flavius's jolliness is short-lived, however. The dragonfly suddenly decides to dart into his eye and he lets out a startled shriek. He swats at the insect and tumbles forward off the bench. His friend roars even harder with laughter. Meanwhile, the dragonfly falls onto the floor, its delicate blue wings now broken. A couple students in the back crane their necks in curiosity as Flavius stomps his feet on the insect's body, crushing it mercilessly against the tile floor. Tiny blue limbs smear across the tiles, its wings in pieces like shattered glass. A life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

Flavius settles back onto the bench, straightening his toga with an air of nonchalance. "Apologies, miss. Please, continue," he says.

You choose to ignore his interruption, redirecting your attention to the rest of the class.

“When we attempt to unravel the mysteries behind the divine's creations, we begin to understand the natural world,” you say, thinking about the dead bug in front of you, its blue wings, the blue of the Nile, all the species of flora and fauna that have survived for eons thanks to its life-giving waters. “This is why we study the discipline of science.”

“Beyond these walls, I have heard many who deem it to be blasphemy,” a voice interjects.

Your gaze shifts to a young man at the rear of the room. You've never seen him before, not in your classroom nor around the Library. If you've seen him, you would know. With his sharp features, nearly white hair cropped close to his head, and a leather eyepatch covering an angry scar on his left eye — his was not a face you would forget.

“What do they call you?” You ask curiously, piercing blue eye meeting yours. He seemed a bit older than the rest of your students — perhaps in his mid-twenties, around the same age as you. You briefly wondered where he was from. His features stood out in a sea of dark haired Alexandrians.

"I am called Aemond, ma'am," his voice remained composed and respectful. "Just Aemond." There was a refinement in his speech that hinted of a privileged upbringing, yet the absence of a surname intrigued you. Perhaps he was an educated slave, adept at tutoring and managing the finances of the master's household — literate slaves were not uncommon in the Roman Empire.

"And what have you heard, Aemond?" you inquire.

"It is said that scientific inquiry is seen as an offense to the Seven," he responds evenly, referring to the gods. "Questioning their creations is considered sacrilegious." Several students nod in agreement around the room.

You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts.

“It is true that outside these walls, the belief that science is sacrilegious is held by many people,” you say slowly. “Perhaps even now, some of you are wrestling with the idea, torn between conventional thinking and what you are learning at this institute. If this is the case, I implore you to consider this —”

You look out at the faces of your pupils. Some are focused and deep in thought, while others are frowning. A lone blue eye is fixed on you.

"—What act of love is greater than seeking to understand the object of your affection? Mathematics, physics, and astronomy are not merely academic pursuits but they are expressions of love. They are avenues through which we seek to comprehend and appreciate the intricate beauty of our world.” You gestured around the room. “I am aware that some of you are followers of the Seven. Some of you are devoted to the old gods. But science does not seek to refute the existence of one God over another, nor does it attempt to debunk the existence of the divine altogether. Science seeks only to understand.” You look in Aemond's direction. He's watching, listening intently. “In attempting to understand the natural world, we may better love the divine and appreciate their creations.”

🏛⏳️

The remainder of the class concluded smoothly, and due to the sweltering heat, you dismissed everyone earlier than usual. Despite the hour not yet reaching midday, the air was thick with humidity, making the classroom feel oppressive. You had no desire to keep your students in the stuffy classroom for longer than necessary.

As the others rush to leave the room, you notice that Aemond was kneeling down and using a handkerchief to clean the dragonfly off the floor.

“Thank you,” you say to him earnestly. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he delicately holds the insect through the thin white cloth. He picks up a broken piece of an iridescent blue wing, the shimmer catching the light.

"It's an epaulet skimmer," you remark softly. But you're not looking at the bug, you're looking at him.

"Orthetrum chrysostigma," Aemond responds, using the scientific name. You regard him with curiosity.

“My sister has a fondness for insects," Aemond explains. "She is extremely gentle with them. She maintains an extensive collection in her room — beetles, caterpillars, dragonflies, and the like. But she only gathers them once they've passed on. Her heart is too big to confine them before they've lived a full life." He gazes at the broken wing in his hand with a hint of sadness. You suspect that he is thinking of more than the fate of the squashed bug.

“Some cultures believe that dragonflies were once dragons who were tricked by a jackal to change shape into insects,” you say, looking at the wing in fascination. “Once they became a dragonfly, they couldn't transform back. As a result, they represented change and illusion.”

You notice that Aemond's gaze is now fixed on you, a blue eye that reminds you of iridescent wings and the shimmering surface of the Nile on sunny days. You think of mirages in the desert, blue lapis lazuli on polished gold rings, the holographic shells of scarab beetles.

“They must've been very grand in their past lives,” he remarks.

There's a short silence as you observe him, unsure of what to make of this strange new addition to your class. As your gaze shifts from his eyepatch to his eye, you notice that he's studying you too. Suddenly, you feel very exposed, as if he was somehow reading your entire life story just by looking at you.

Breaking the tension, you extend your hand. "I realize I haven't properly introduced myself. It's been a pleasure having you in my class," you say, stating your name. He accepts your gesture, clasping your hand in a firm shake.

“You're the daughter of Theon. Your father is the greatest mathematician in all of Alexandria,” Aemond says. “I know who you are.”

“Do you study mathematics?”

“No. History and philosophy,” he replies. “But I've read enough across all the disciplines to know who the greats are.”

“I don't think I've ever seen you around here before,” you note.

"I just started my studies here," he explains. "I arrived last night."

"Where else have you studied?"

“Nowhere else. All my education has been from tutors hired by my family at home.”

"If you don't mind my asking, where do you come from?"

He hesitates. “I've been around,” he says at last.

🏛⏳️

That afternoon, you decided to teach your next class in one of the classrooms overlooking the sea. Arriving early, you unlatch the tall, arched windows, hoping to coax a gentle breath of ocean breeze into the room. As the soft light of the late afternoon filtered through, you arrange your teaching materials as the first of your students trickled in.

The class was on Euclidean geometry. As it happens, this was one of your favorite subjects to teach. You loved to move around the room, using various objects — such as a discus, a sphere, and even a pineapple — to illustrate geometric shapes and their properties. It was more than just memorizing formulas; it was about seeing and understanding the spatial relationships and practical applications of mathematics in the physical world.

Two thousand years from now, Euclidean geometry would be the foundation for computer graphics, radiology, and geographic information systems. Without Euclid, you wouldn't have video games or anime. There would be no x-rays to help doctors treat broken bones. Without Euclid, there would be no Google Maps, nor would you be able to stalk your crush's location on Snapchat.

Abruptly, you are cut off mid-lecture as a series of bold knocks echo off the door. You excuse yourself and open the door cautiously, finding yourself face-to-face with six armored men adorned in gold cloaks. You step out into the atrium.

"What is your business?" you ask, your gaze sharp and guarded.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen wants to speak to Theon of Alexandria. I'm told you're his daughter,” the guard at front says firmly.

“My father is indisposed. Whatever business you have with him, you can discuss with me.”

A sudden laugh rings out across the atrium. Every movement in the hall comes to a standstill as scholars pause their tracks and turn their heads. In front of you, guards quickly part ways for a tall man with long silver hair. His armor clinks as he strides towards you, his eyes mischievous like those of a jackal, reminding you of the ancient depictions of Anubis on temple walls. Adorning his shoulders is the same golden cloak worn by his men.

It was the unmistakable Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother of King Viserys and the consort of the crown princess Rhaenyra. But to the smallfolk, he is known as the merciless commander of the City Watch.

Daemon looks at you like you are the scum on his shoes. “I don't have time for games, girl,” he says mockingly. “Where is your father?”

“Like I've said, he is indisposed,” you repeat, meeting him with a steady gaze.

“I have come a long way from the palace,” he says, offering a false honeyed grin. “You will fetch him for me.”

You give a smile that mirrored his. It was common knowledge that Prince Daemon frequented the company of his mistress in the city more than he did his own wife at the royal palace.

"I speak the truth when I say my father cannot be here right now, and I apologize on his behalf. However, I am willing to assist you,” you assert calmly.

"This does not concern you," Daemon retorts dismissively. "I am here on business concerning your father's governance of this... academic institution."

"I am a professor here and a senior member of the Library of Alexandria," you counter, maintaining your composure. "After my father, you will find no one more knowledgeable about the affairs of this institute than I am."

Daemon scoffs, his tone condescending. "There are matters too serious to discuss with a woman.”

“Then I'm afraid you will have to come back another day, my prince.”

“Where is your father?”

“He is sick. Unless you have a direct order from the king, I would prefer not to disturb him from his much-needed rest."

The unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air — the Library is under the protection of the crown, and Daemon, despite his authority, is not the king. The prince's expression darkens, a sneer painting his features as his knuckles grip around the handle of his sword on his waist. You find yourself locked in a tense staring contest, both unwilling to yield. Moments tick by in silence, each waiting for the other to give in. Then —

“Very well,” he concedes, letting go of his grip on the sword. But you knew from his expression that this was far from over. Daemon casts a disdainful glance around the atrium as if the place offended him before turning and walking away from you. His gold cloaks follow him, their armor clanking all the way to the main doors of the library.

It is only when the last of them exited onto the street that you allow yourself to release the breath you've been holding.

🏛⏳️

“Daemon Targaryen? What was he doing here?” You hear Cregan before you see him.

You're in the far corner of the main reading room, kneeling before a crate with a new shipment of scrolls that came in from Greece. Gently opening the lid, you discover a signed note from the head of the Platonic School of Athens. Ἕν οἶδα ὅτι οὐδὲν οἶδα. Αὕτη ἡ γνῶσις ἐμοῦ ἐστιν, it reads at the end. One thing I know, that I know nothing. This is the source of my wisdom. It is a quote by Socrates.

Cregan emerges from behind a shelf, his gray eyes wide with exasperation.

“I can't say that I haven't expected this,” you say to him, picking up a scroll and lightly dusting it off. “It is no secret that Daemon puts up with us only because of the pharaoh.”

“Well, yes. But to barge in here and demand for the Professor—” he means your father Theon.

“He's been sending us threats for months.”

Cregan paused. “When did this start?”

“Four moons ago, when King Viserys reinstated him as Lord Commander of the City Watch.”

Daemon had been the commander of the city watch once before, but that had been years ago, and back then he was more interested in dealing with criminals in the worst parts of the city. But after some scandal with the Princess Rhaenyra, Viserys had exiled him to Rome. Now, he was back and had regained both his old post as leader of the city guard and the Princess Rhaenyra, whom he took to wife. However, this time, Daemon was turning his policing to the University of Alexandria, more commonly referred to as simply the Library. Apparently, scholars are the new criminals.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Cregan asked, clearly frustrated.

“I didn't want to burden you with it," you reply honestly. "You've been occupied with your research with Princess Helaena these past four moons.”

Cregan rubs his eyebrows. “What has he been threatening?”

With a sigh, you rise to your feet, making space on the shelf for the new scrolls. Cregan joins you, handing over scrolls from the crate as you arrange them carefully in their designated spots on the shelf.

“He wants to shut down the Library if we don't — and I quote his words — ‘tone down on the science’,” you explain. "He's pushing for censorship, insisting that everything that is taught and published here must be 'safe' for the public. He claims it's about protecting the moral well-being of Alexandrians."

Cregan snorts derisively. "I wonder what his wife thinks of his moral well-being."

"That's an ad hominem attack, Cregan," you chide gently. But you're smiling.

“We're the best scientific research institution in the Mediterranean,” he says. “And, let's face it, we're probably the best in the entire world. We owe it all to King Jaehaerys's proclamation over 50 years ago, protecting our intellectual freedom. Even Daemon Targaryen can't derail something like that.”

“Daemon doesn't like anything he can't control,” you say. “Nor does he like taking no for an answer.”

“He's a cunt,” Cregan muttered angrily. “His word isn't law but he sure does want to act like it. Did you hear he's been trying to ban all Northerners from entering Alexandria? Unless they're slaves, that is. It's utterly absurd. He's a Northerner himself. His entire family hails from the north—well, not the North, but north of the Mediterranean. Valyria is a small city-state in Greece. Still, that's north of us. If he wants only true Alexandrians in the city, maybe he should consider leaving as well." The Targaryens, although originally from Greece, had become the longest-reigning dynasty in Egypt, despite their non-Egyptian origin.

"What does Princess Helaena think?"

"Of Daemon?"

"Of the North."

Cregan blushes slightly. "She's mentioned that we should visit there together someday," he admits. “For research purposes, of course,” he adds quickly.

You grin. Cregan has been your closest friend since childhood, and you swear you've never seen him as happy as he's been the past few months.

"She wants to see the direwolves and the aurora borealis,” says Cregan. “I promised her I'd show her around Winterfell when we go." Winterfell, Cregan's hometown, nestled in a far-off corner of the world where snow and frost dominate most of the year — a large contrast to the sandy dunes of Egypt.

“You like her,” you mused.

“Don't be absurd,” Cregan says, but he's failing miserably in hiding a smile.

There's a rustling among the shelves behind you, and the next thing you know, you're face to face with a single blue eye that reminds you of ocean water and iridescent wings.

"Sorry, I was told that the texts about Plato are in this section?" Aemond asks.

"Oh. Yes. Absolutely," you reply quickly, gesturing around you. "I mean, they're all here. Everything on this wall is Plato. We've just received a new collection of his works from Greece and we just finished cataloging and setting them up. They're on this shelf. Here." Your words stumble out awkwardly, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Perfect,” Aemond says, looking at you. Neither of you move. Cregan eyes the two of you with amusement.

“Well, I was just about to head out,” Cregan says cheerfully, sashaying past you. You turn, widening your eyes and mouthing no to him. Cregan simply grins as he disappears behind the bookshelves, leaving you with Aemond.

“You read Plato?” you ask.

Aemond nods. “I am an admirer of his work,” he says. “You were one of my first introductions to him, actually. I read your thesis on him, An Exploration Into the Metaphysics of Plato, when I was sixteen.”

“I can't imagine there would be many copies of that,” you say with amazement. “I wrote it when I was—”

“Sixteen,” Aemond says. You blink. He clears his throat. “I've been a follower of your work,” he adds shyly.

“Oh. I'm flattered.” You’re blushing.

“Is it true that you started studying at The Academy when you were fourteen?” He means the Platonic School of Athens, founded by Plato himself over 300 years ago. Most scholars called it The Academy. It is the first university to ever open in western civilization.

You nod. “I learned mathematics and astronomy here, but my father wanted me to get a hellenistic education on top of it, so he sent me to Greece. I stayed there for four years before returning to Alexandria.”

“I have a brother who studies there,” Aemond shares, leaning against a bookshelf. “My mother, being an Athenian herself, insisted he be sent there. He writes to me sometimes, telling me about the professors he works with. I had considered studying there myself.”

“What made you choose Alexandria over Athens?”

Aemond smiles. “I'm at the center of the world here. It seemed foolish to want to go anywhere else,” he says, his gaze sweeping the library around him. After a pause, he asks, “What made you want to teach?”

“The fear of oblivion,” you reply. "It's the realization that everything we do, everything we learn, and everything we create could be forgotten someday. Teaching, for me, is a way to combat that inevitability. By sharing knowledge, by shaping young minds, I can hope to leave a lasting impact — a legacy that outlives me."

Aemond nods thoughtfully. "So it's about leaving a mark on the world?"

"In a sense, yes," you affirm. "It's about contributing to something greater than myself, ensuring that knowledge endures beyond individual lives and fleeting moments."

He smiles faintly. "That's a noble pursuit."

"It's what drives me," you conclude. As you look at each other, you feel his gaze tracing over your face with a strange emotion. Awe? Admiration? Before you can decipher his thoughts, a scholar approaches the shelf behind you, prompting you to awkwardly step aside.

"I hope you find the resources on Plato you're looking for," you say to Aemond, refocusing on the moment. You pause. "We're hosting a seminar on Plato's metaphysics tomorrow afternoon in the Rose Hall. You should join us."

Aemond smiles. “I’d be honored to.”

🏛⏳️

Daytime in Alexandrian summers can be hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, but when the chill sets in at night, the city transforms into a completely different land. It is under the cloak of darkness that Alexandria truly comes alive.

You’re wrapped in a headscarf, its tail fluttering in the gentle wind from the Mediterranean as you navigate the narrow streets of the night market. Oil lamps and torches cast a soft, flickering glow as shadows danced across buildings decorated with a mix of hieroglyphs and hellenistic art. On the streets, you hear people speaking in both Greek and Egyptian, but also Persian, Moroccan, and other various African and Asiatic dialects. Various aromas filled the air— spices mingled with the savory scents of grilled meats and the sweet notes of baked pastries and delicacies from the far corners of the world. It was the New York City of the ancient world.

Weaving between stalls adorned with colorful fabrics and gleaming trinkets, you spotted one of the gold cloaks from earlier that day. Upon noticing you, he gave you a brief, curt nod before turning his attention sharply towards a group of rowdy children who were blocking the path of a passing wagon.

You make your way to an apothecary stall, securing the medicine your father needs before turning to leave. Suddenly, a hooded figure trips over a wooden crate and crashes into you, causing both of you to tumble to the ground. You fall flat on the cobblestones, his weight on top of you. Your basket with the apothecary vial shatters on the road.

“Ow!” he yelled. You struggle to push him off and get to your feet, then reach down to help him up, steadying him as he sways unsteadily. His hood falls back, revealing a mess of unruly white curls.

Prince Aegon Targaryen. You’ve seen him a few times while going around the city. The eldest son of Queen Alicent, known to frequent the streets of Alexandria often. Aside from Daemon, he was the only royal that most of the smallfolk could recognize by appearance.

"Prince Aegon," you say cautiously, helping him steady himself. "Are you alright?"

He blinks a few times, focusing on you with bleary eyes. "Why, hello," he slurs slightly, attempting a lopsided smile. For a prince, he seemed dirtier than Diogenes and his barrel.

"Let me help you," you insist, guiding him away from the scattered shards of glass. You maneuver him towards a nearby bench, ensuring he sits down safely.

"I’m alright, I’m fine," he murmurs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He groaned and vomited on the ground next to him. You pat him on the back awkwardly as he empties his stomach.

“Did my mother send you?” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“My mother. She sent you, didn’t she? I can’t catch a break these days,” he grumbled. “The woman is a menace. She’s become crazier since my brother got exiled. I can’t even drink in peace now. She’s sending her spies everywhere.”

You frowned. “I’m not a spy, my prince.”

Aegon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits back heavily on the bench. He tilts his head up at you, scrutinizing you, and then he sighs and hungs his head.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m tired of the games. Tired of the scrutiny. I’m tired of the standards that she sets for me, and I’m tired of her disappointment when I fail to meet them. Can’t she see I don’t want any of this? Can’t she just let me be?”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond to the prince's candidness. He was clearly drunk and you’ve only just met him, and you’ve heard unsettling rumors about him. Stories of his frequenting brothels and fighting rings, of fathering illegitimate children and neglecting them. But in this moment, he seemed far from the crooked prince that people whispered about. He seemed like a child in need of comfort.

“Your mother worries about you,” you say gently. “She only wants what’s best for you.”

He scoffs bitterly. “Does she? Tell me, have you ever had a mother who would rather marry you to your own sibling for political gain than let you live your own life?”

You shake your head slowly. “I cannot say I understand fully, but I know you carry a heavy burden.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be free of it.” Aegon leans back, staring up at the night sky with weary resignation. “My brother was lucky. I’d do anything to exchange places with him.”

You recalled hearing news of Queen Alicent’s second son, who had been condemned to work in the mines of Nubia as punishment for the murder of his nephew. The usual penalty for murder was death, and much worse if the victim was a royal, but since the criminal was a prince himself, it changed a few things. The Nubian mines were typically reserved for lesser crimes in Alexandria.

“The one who was exiled to Nubia?” you asked Aegon.

He chuckles bitterly. “My brother didn’t get sent to Nubia. Mother loves him too much for that.”

You stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. You had a feeling that you weren’t supposed to be hearing this piece of information. Yet, Aegon didn’t seem to expect a reply. He’s looking up at the stars, as if he wished to fly off into the heavens and leave his miseries on the ground.

“Thank you,” Aegon finally said, breaking the quiet that had settled between you. Thank you for listening, thank you for not judging, thank you for watching out for my drunken mess. He rose to his feet, a bit unsteady but more composed than before. He took out a pouch of coins. “This is for… what I broke,” he said, gesturing to the remnants of the vial around you, shards of glass glittering under oil lamps. You thought of the broken dragonfly wings from earlier in the day.

You accepted the pouch gingerly. What he gave you was worth much more than the cost of the medicine, but you didn’t want to offend him so you decided not to mention it.

“Should I call the guards to escort you back to the palace?” you asked.

Aegon blinked, his gaze drifting momentarily. “No, no,” he said, waving dismissively. “They’re my uncle’s people. They don’t like me.”

"Will you manage on your own?" you pressed gently.

Aegon straightened his cloak and mustered a tired smile. "I always do," he said.

With that, the prince turned and started to walk away. You watched as he disappeared into the narrow streets, his figure gradually blending with the shadows.

Chapter II: Coming Soon

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd x you #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond x y/n

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

Dirty Work 22

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Sinuses are trying but I'm fighting!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There you are. Lots to go around," Frigga seals the top of another container. "It'll be a nice surprise, eh?"

"Uh, thank you," you offer a fragile smile.

"Of course, dear. I know how stressful it can be to care for the sick. Odin, my husband, had a scare a few years back. A heart episode..." she explains as she puts the large containers in a cloth bag, "it was a rather eventful family dinner, to say the least."

You let your smile fall. You're reminded of your father on the floor, lifeless, your mouth over his as you desperately tried to breathe life into him. The kitchen blurs around you as you revert to the horror of that moment.

"Darling," Frigga frightens you with a gentle squeeze on your forearm, "apologise if I said something."

"No, no, my dad will be happy," you roll the tension from your shoulders. "Leslie too."

"Leslie?" She prompts curiously.

"His nurse. Sometimes she cooks dinner so this will save her some work."

"Ah, a nurse. That must be expensive."

"A little," you admit, "I have some stuff to finish up on still..."

"Oh, don't let me keep you any longer. I know how demanding my son can be," she pats the bag and slides it to the corner of the counter, "this will be waiting for you."

"Thank you. Again."

You turn to go, little, reluctant steps as you venture back into the large house. Dread slows your feet like a ball and chain as you climb the staircase, pausing every few steps to listen. Mr. Laufeyson is lurking somewhere, like a snake in the grass, you know it.

You turn towards the library and pass the open study door. You peek inside and find it empty. You press on and knock before you enter the library. Alone, you shut the door and let out a heavy breath.

Your heart is racing as if you've escaped some terrifying race. You go to the desk and sit, leaning forward to plant your elbows in front of the closed laptop and cradle your head. What is happening? You can't handle all this. You need to get it together. But how? You've never dealt with any of this before; the spreadsheet, the woman coddling you, and the man who looms in the shadows.

Shoot! You forgot about Ronan. He's due to finish soon. You should go check on him. You stand up and spin, stopping short as a figure fills the door frame between the study and library. You stare at Mr. Laufeyson like a doe caught before a speeding car.

"You have some time," he raises his wrist, checking his watch; the black band and the blue face, that little accessory that caused so much trouble.

"Um, yes, I was going to see the carpenter--"

"I've dealt with him. He's loading up his truck now," Laufeyson slithers forward, "you needn't worry about him."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Laufeyson," you look down and open the laptop, stunned by the image on the screen.

You expect your screensaver to cascade down but instead, there's a woman in a rather scant black and white outfit. Your lips part and you slam shut the computer. Your fingers rest on the lid as Mr. Laufeyson strides closer.

"Hope you don't mind I borrowed your laptop, my own was charging," he purrs, "bit of online shopping, seeing as my mother's hard work should save us some cost on culinary services."

"Mr. Laufeyson," you tremble, staring at the desk, "what..."

He hums and leans in, his fingers splayed wide as he places his hands on the wood, "what...hm?"

You steel yourself and force yourself to look him in the eye. You flinch at the darkness there and stutter. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He snickers and tilts his head, "I simply thought you earned a bonus with all your hard work," his tongue pokes out as he smirks. "It should suit you well..."

You take a step back, nearly falling into the chair as you collide with it. You can't hear above the pounding in your temples. No, it can't be what you think it is. He's not saying that. He can't expect you to wear that... that... thing. You stumble around the seat and scurry to the door, fumbling with the handle as his calm pursuit trails after you.

As you pull the door inward, it snaps back shut. His hand is above you on the wood as he pens you in against the door. You whimper and clutch the handle tightly, pressing yourself to the door as your heart hammers against your ribs. You shudder as his other hand curves around your waist.

"When it arrives, you will put it on," he commands, "and you will begin your duties as always."

"Mr. Laufeyson, please, I'm scared--"

"You needn't be," he purrs as he leans in to inhale your scent, his breath grazing your scalp, "you take orders rather well. I trust you will continue to do so."

"I don't--" you wisp as you brace the door, his fingertips poking into your side as he grips you tighter, "I don't want to..."

"Mm, pet, you should know by now," he loosens his hold on you and lets his hand stretch across your stomach, dragging it up to your chest as he brings himself flush to your back, "this isn't about what you want." He bends and nips your ear with a growl, "you wouldn't want to let dear old dad down, would you?"

You whine and twist the handle frantically. You're pinned to it as he continues to grope you, rolling his body against yours from behind as he groans. You're mortified as heat radiates from his touch and floods your veins. The flames lick at you and have you tingle as nuzzles you breathily.

"Didn't think so," he rasps and slowly draws away.

He backs away as your knees buckle and you slide down the door, crumpling against it. His shadow struts away as your hands shake and you watch them in a haze of shock. You're weak, you're stupid, and you're worthless.

You could scream for help, you could run out, you could try. But you won't because he's right. You can't. You need him more than he needs you.

💄

Mr. Laufeyson opens the door ahead of you, waiting patiently as he turns to watch you. You carry the bag of containers against your work bag down the hall as Frigga trails you. She informs you that she put a few extra goodies in as a surprise. You nod and thank her, trying not to show your discomfort as you near your employer.

"Thank you, mother, but I'm certain she is eager to be away," Laufeyson intones, "she has a loving father waiting for her at home."

You flinch. You still wonder if he'd witnessed that pocket dial or not. He's hard to read even when he's spelling it out clearly. You bid a final goodbye but scuff to a halt as Laufeyson stretches out an arm.

"Allow me," he takes the bag from you, his hand brushing yours before closing around the straps.

"Aw, Loki, my gentleman," Frigga preens, "darling, you have a good night."

You let him take the tote and your work bag. You precede him out the door, fluttering your fingers as if to shake away his touch. He follows you as his mother watches from the door. You keep your head forward as he comes close, sidling around you to open the passenger door before you can do so yourself. His behaviour sets you even more on edge. He's taunting you.

You get in and make yourself as small as you can in the seat. You refuse to look at him as you buckle in. He shuts the door and opens the rear one, placing the bags on the backseat before he diverts around the hood. He claims the driver seat, the car shifting slightly with his weight. He pushes the ignition and the car whirs to life. You fixate on the dashboard, trying to tamp out his presence and the memories nipping at your mind.

He clicks his belt into place and adjusts the mirror. He takes his time. You can tell it's deliberate. You don't understand him, but you're starting to. Everything he does is for his own delight, which he seems to draw only from your distress. You've never met anyone like him.

"A lovely day," he declares as he shifts gear, "wasn't it, pet?"

You blink and look at your lap, tracing a line on your palm.

"Now, don't be rude, I asked a question."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you mutter.

"You must be tired," his hand wanders from the stick to your knee, "why don't you close your eyes and enjoy the ride?"

"I'm okay," you fold your arms as he squeezes your leg.

"What is the matter, hm? You seem perturbed, pet."

You shudder and put your hand on his as it starts to crawl higher, "Mr. Laufeyson, please stop calling me that."

"I'm tired of your little game," he pinches the tender flesh of your leg.

"I'm not--"

"I've made myself very clear," he taps your leg before slipping his hand out from under yours, "I am interested and that's that. I am wealthy, attractive, I hardly see how it would be an issue..." he steers with one hand as he speaks to the road, "especially for someone like you."

It hurts. To have it said aloud. Not his intent, no, but your worth. Or, what you lack. Who are you to be picky?

You wiggle your nose and turn your face away. You don’t respond as your gaze pans through the window. Your eyes singe and your nose tingles. You feel like the little girl standing against the wall again. The whispers swirling all around you, fingers pointing, voices jeering…

The silence stretches the minutes to eons. You watch the streets pass and lean into each turn. Finally, he steers onto a familiar road. You’re almost there.

He slows and pulls against the curb outside your father’s house. You unbuckle the seat belt and he does the same. You glance up at him but he doesn’t notice. He gets out on his side as you hesitate. Before you can even get your door open, he’s halfway around the car.

You climb out, nearly colliding with the rear door as he swings it open. You sidestep it as he bends to reach within. He pulls out both bags, elbowing the door shut carelessly before stepping up on the pavement. You reach for your work bag and he evades your grasp.

“Ah ah, I insist, it wouldn’t be very nice to let you struggle with all of this.”

You pout. Nice? When has he ever been nice? He’s mocking you again.

“Mr. Laufeyson, please,” you beg, “I can handle it–”

“Go on, pet,” he motions ahead of him with the square tote, “it’s rather rude to refuse an offer of help.”

You cringe and shrug helplessly, throwing your hands up slightly. What else can you do but obey? He knows you have no other choice and he basks in that fact.

You turn and slouch, dragging your feet up the walk as he follows you. You search for an excuse to keep him outside. Some sort of out. He has to understand, your father is sick!

He trails you onto the porch and you stop at the door, facing him.

“I can get it from here,” you eke out.

“Nonsense, I don’t mind–”

“Please, Mr. Laufeyson, my father doesn’t feel well most days. He’s not fit for visitors.”

“I’ve come all this way. I know manners are hardly in vogue around these parts but it is only polite to invite someone in,” he reproaches.

You whimper. Why are you doing this? You don’t ask. You know already. He’s doing it because he can. Because you won’t stop him. You can’t.

“I don’t want you to go in,” you confess as you look down, “please don’t go insi–”

You hear the door, the loud groan of the squeaky hinges before the screen door hits your shoulder. You sidle out of the way and turn to Leslie as she pokes her head out. Her eyes flick up to Mr. Laufeyson and her forehead ripples in surprise.

“I was wondering what all the chatter was,” she opens the door wider, “what’s all this?”

“Um, Leslie,” you gulp, “I…” you blink and look at Mr. Laufeyson, “this is my boss. He just drove me home.”

“How nice,” she remarks, “that’s… him?” She steps out completely, “he’s your boss?”

“Loki,” he introduces himself, “charmed.”

“Me too, me too, I… Leslie, I help her father, I’m the nurse,” she explains.

“We brought dinner,” Laufeyson lifts the tote higher, “my mother wanted to send her well wishes. She heard about her father and wanted to help out.”

“That is so sweet,” Leslie fans herself, “please, sir, come in, come in, Charles will be so happy to meet you.”

Doom crashes down on you. You stand back as Leslie holds the door open and you only vaguely hear Laufeyson’s insistence that you go first. You move in a fuzzy sludge, barely aware of the world around you as your legs carry you on habit alone.

You stand in the front entryway as Mr. Laufeyson hands over the bag. Leslie takes it with glee and hurries away. You sway and touch your forehead. You wince as he touches your arm.

“Mm, this place is… vintage,” he muses as he nudges you, “please, introduce me. I’ve heard so much.”

You breathe out shakily and curl your fingers into fists. You give a pleading look. You’re already too embarrassed to tell him the truth. He doesn’t want to meet your father and your father doesn’t want to meet him.

You surrender and turn cautiously. You meekly pass through the entryway, your father’s shoulders hunched over the table as he works on the puzzle. You shuffle closer, standing just behind the corner of the couch.

“Dad,” you utter, “um… this is my boss, Mr. Laufeyson. He, er, he brought us some food.”

“Eh, is that what she was going on about?” He snorts into a cough and covers his mouth. He makes no move to rise as he reaches for another piece.

“Charles, is it?” Laufeyson steps forward, stopping just beside you, “I prefer Loki. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

“Chuck,” your father snarls, “call me ‘Chuck’.”

“Of course, Chuck, I didn’t mean to presume.”

Your dad tosses the peace and scoffs. He coughs again and stands, adjusting the tub below his nose as he rounds on his visitor. Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t waver as your dad scowls in his direction.

“Wonderful home you have,” Laufeyson offers his hand.

Your father looks at his fingers then narrows his eyes at his face. Mr. Laufeyson is a head taller, though your dad is wider. He claps his hands against your boss’s and tries to jerk his hand. The effort teeters your father but does not affect the other man.

“You’re the one dressing her up like your little whore,” your dad sneers.

Mr. Laufeyson laughs curtly, “pardon?”

“Look at that skirt,” your father spits.

“Better than the rags you supplied,” Mr. Laufeyson retorts without pause, “I can see she didn’t get her manners from you.”

“What did you say to me, boy?” Your father’s face contorts with rage, “you come into my home and– and– and–”

Your father coughs between each word until he’s racked and quaking. He grips the armrest as he leans forward and covers his mouth, unable to stop the fit. You go to help him but Mr. Laufeyson blocks you with his arm.

“He has his nurse,” he says brusquely.

“Please,” you beg.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you are,” Laufeyson lowers his voice dangerously as your father heaves, clutching his chest.

“Fuck off,” your dad chuffs out.

Laufeyson snickers and sighs, “are you always so hospitable, sir?”

“If I wasn’t chained to this thing,” your dad clutches the tube trailing down his chest.

“Alas, you are,” the taller man shakes his head, “let’s not. We have a lovely dinner waiting for us. A real man might even be grateful.”

“I’m not hungry,” your father turns and drops onto the couch. “Choke on it.”

Mr. Laufeyson lowers his arm and takes your hand without a look. He drags you away from the couch. He pulls you level with him and commands you to lead him. You take him into the kitchen where Leslie stands by the stove, the radio buzzing on the shelf.

“Just gonna pop it in the oven for a couple,” she smiles, “hon, why don’t you grab some plates?”

“Yes, why don’t you,” Laufeyson urges, “we’ll sit down and have a lovely family dinner.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor

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6rookie-writer0110 · 5 months ago

Text

Trouble in Paradise slowed down

Anika Kayoko x Male Reader

Request: could you do a male deadpool reader protecting Anika

Anika finished her class and you watched her come out of the classroom. You start to follow her but you are trying not to get too close to her. But Anika pretends to take out her cell phone and you look away. But she noticed you following her for days but hasn't said anything to you. She walked towards the library and pretended to go inside. You were about to go inside but she grabbed you by your shirt and slammed against the wall.

“Y/n, why are you always following me around?” Anika asked.

She lets go of your shirt and you have one class with her.

“Oh, just enjoying the fresh air” You smiled.

“We are in school the only fresh air here is from the vent on the third floor,” Anika said.

“I really enjoy your company,” You said.

“You do know that I'm gay, right,” Anika said.

“Sure do, girl power” You winked.

“You are weird, Y/n I like weird,” Anika said.

“That’s me” You smiled.

“My girlfriend's friend would love you, Tara”

“Oh, Tara Carpenter, yah high, nice smile, good butt, yeah never heard of her,” You said.

“You are already hitting that?” Anika asked.

“Yep, please don't tell Sam,” You said.

“I won't tell Sam,” Anika said.

You and Anika went to get lunch together. You tell her how you met Tara but Tara doesn't know that you are in love with her.

——-

You live alone and you are cleaning your gun while singing to the Spice Girls.

“Colours of the world Spice up your life Every boy and every girl. Spice up your life, People of the world. Spice up your life Aah… I should be a singer” You said.

You kept singing along to the song. Your phone sends you an alert text and you start to read it. You get Anika’s location and you start to get ready, you put on your mask. After grabbing your gun, you get an Uber and you keep looking at the tracking app.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Anika is on campus and Ghostface starts to chase her. She managed to lose him and she went to the storage room to hide. She texted you that she is in the storage room hiding. You kicked the door open

“What in the earth, wind, and fire is going on here?!” You yelled.

Ghostface enters the room

“Don’t worry your girlfriend will meet you soon,” Ghostface said.

You aimed your gun at Ghostface.

“Hey fucker, don't fucking touch my fucking best friend!” You yelled.

“Y/n?” Anika

“Yep,” You said.

“You’re Deadpool?” Anika asked.

“At your service,” You said.

“Ghostface is getting away,” Anika said.

“Nope,” You said.

You pulled the trigger again, the bullet went straight through the back of his head…

“Now let's look at who this fucker is under the mask,” You said.

You take off the mask of Ghostface.

“Looks like a fucking pussy” You said.

“That’s Ethan,” Anika said.

“The same Ethan that has tried to hook up with Tara?” You said.

“Yeah,” Anika said.

You pulled the trigger many times and that made Anika jump.

“I think he is dead” Anika said.

“Wooops finger slipped,” You said.

“Ten times?” Anika asked.

“It happens,” You said.

“Y/n,” Anika said.

“Yeah?” You said.

“Thank you for saving me,” Anika said.

“Of course bestie, I would have burned the entire town down to the ground to find the killer if you had died,” You said.

“Good thing it didn't come to that” Anika said.

“Yep, now let's go get food I'm starving,” You said.

“My treat” Anika said.

“Fuck yes, saving people is the best, especially free food afterward” You smiled.

“I’m digging the red suit,” Anika said.

“It’s sooo cool, right!?” You cheerfully said.

“It is cool” Anika smiled.

You hug her too tight and she starts to laugh.

You and Anika went to a Spanish restaurant. You ordered a lot of food and you still have on the suit. When the food arrived, you and Anika started to eat but she stopped. She is speechless at how you are eating your food. You are taking huge bites and your suit starts to get dirty.

“Wow, you are really hungry,” Anika said

“Yeah, I'm always hungry. These taste so good!” You smiled

You kept eating more and she started to eat again. You shared your tacos with her and she shared her burrito with you. After a while of eating, you feel full that you want to take a nap. Later, You and Anika took food home but you didn't want to leave her side.

You didn't go home and you followed her inside the apartment.

“Y/n, you don't have to stay with me,” Anika said.

“Oh, I'm not leaving your side,” You said.

“But I texted Mindy and the others, they are coming,” Anika said.

“So?” You said.

“You don't have pajamas,” Anika said.

“Yes, I do,” You said.

“What?” Anika asked.

You go to the bathroom to change. You leave your boxers and tank top on but you put on her bathrobe. Mindy, Sam, and Tara arrived, and they were in shock at what you had on.

#Anika Kayoko imagine #anika kayoko x reader #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #scream 6 imagines #scream 6 imagine

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timetoletmyimaginationfly · 9 months ago

Text

Unspoken Love: The Meeting

Nanami Kento x Reader

Three part series, post Shibuya where our Nanami survives!

Next: One Year Later

(Song Inspiration: Need 2 by Pinegrove)

“Nanamin, how are you doing?” Yuji asked when he walked inside the library. Nanami sat there reading the daily newspaper. Once he heard Yuji, he looked up and softly smiled.

“I should be asking you that,” he said when he put the paper down. Yuji slightly blushed and took a seat next to him. “I’m doing better.” Yuji warily looked at him but the soft look in Nanami’s eye and smile was convincing enough for the teenage boy. “And you?”

“I’m still worried about Kugisaki-san,” Yuji said. “But they say that her chances of survival is getting higher.”

“Fushiguro-kun?”

“He’s recovered.” Nanami nodded, glad to hear that the students are okay.

“How about Maki-san?”

“Great! Her scars are pretty cool like yours.” Yuji suddenly covered his mouth. He hoped that he didn’t offend Nanami in any way. Nanami couldn’t help but smile at the young boy. Yuji rested his hands on his lap, his body relaxing. “Oh, I got you something.” Yuji pulled out a small box out of his sweater pocket. Nanami thanked him and unwrapped the gift. It was a new eye patch. The material was softer, something that he desperately needed.

“Thank you, Itadori-kun,” he said softly and replaced it with the old one. Nanami felt relief. It felt better around his head.

“I’m glad you survived, Nanamin.”

“Thank you for saving me, Itadori-kun.” Content silence filled the air. Nanami grabbed his paper and started reading again while Yuji played on his phone.

Yuji waved at Nanami happily when he announced his departure when the clock struck 5PM. He hoped his favorite bread was in stock at this hour. He thought maybe he could stop at the store to gather some ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

Despite his better mood, he is still conscious about his body. The scars visible on his face is still a big change in his life. He never expected to care much about his appearance. He never understood why he started to care about it now. But as time passed, his anxiety eased and his mood became better.

He walked inside, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air. He felt more content. He was happy that he was able to find this unique cafe/bakery. A cafe filled with fresh pastries and bread along with delicious drinks. Tables spread around with book shelves wrapped around the walls.

Nanami went over to the shelves, hoping to find a new book of interest to borrow. Even though he was reading title after title, he was distracted from the soft sounds of someone jumping. When he looked up, he watched you struggle reaching for a book on the top shelf.

He didn’t know what came over him. His body had a mind of its own as he walked over to you instead of walking away. He paid attention to the book that you were so close to reaching but never achieving. When you watched someone’s arm reach out for the book, you smiled.

“Thank you!” you said happily. You turned around. Sudden butterflies fluttering in your stomach when you looked at him. The book remained in his hand, his arm still out to hand it to you. You didn’t want to move though. Once you took the book, he would leave. And you didn’t want him to.

“Your book,” Nanami said, bringing the book closer to you to grab. His voice brought you out in the trance that you were trapped in. You nodded and slowly took it. A small gasp escaped your lips. It was just a small brush against his fingers yet there was this intensity that you felt.

“Th-Thank you,” you mumbled shyly. You felt your cheeks warm up. You wondered if you were blushing. If you were, was it evident on your face? And the big question was, did he feel that intensity too? You have a feeling he did, based on how his eyes slightly widened for a fraction of a second. But you didn’t want to assume.

When Nanami raised an eyebrow, you assumed he didn’t. You just thought that maybe today was just an off day for you. Besides, you did work overnight shifts and you did sleep for four hours after a consecutive fourth night of work.

“Studying to become a doctor?” he asked after noticing the book he grabbed for you.

“N-Nurse,” you corrected. You watched him nod. Silence consumed you two. Neither of you didn’t feel like walking away. Despite Nanami’s nerves and insecurities, he wanted to stay longer.

Needed to stay longer.

“Would you like to have some tea with me? Or coffee, um…” You ended up introducing yourself, the book hugged against your chest. Nanami bowed in response.

“Nanami Kento,” he said.

His heart is still racing. He never thought it would race this fast for this long. The smile on your face left him in so much shock. He was impressed himself that he was able to hide his nerves. He was even surprised that he didn’t walk away even though he was worried that you would look at him with some sort of disgust. But the look in your eyes says otherwise. Beautiful eyes that made him mesmerized.

“I-If you change your mind, I’m at the corner over there,” you informed as you scanned the area. It was slightly crowded at this point, every table filled up with customers. You pointed at the one empty table and Nanami noticed it being cluttered with your laptop, IPad, textbooks, papers, and stationery materials. With his long silence, you looked back and felt embarrassed at your mess. “I-I can tidy it up.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I was just browsing and then leaving.”

The sad look in your eyes caught his attention. If he wasn’t so close to you, he would’ve thought your were being polite with the smile that you brought to your face. Was he always this good at reading people?

“I hope to see you around,” you said. With one last bow, you left.

Nanami watched you walk back to your table. You smoothed out your skirt as you sat down and fixed the top of your socks. You rolled up the sleeves of your knitted top, getting comfortable and ready to study. He watched you flip through the pages of the book. The way you focused and how you would talk to yourself. You somehow got him in some trance. He almost forgot why he came here.

“Mister, why do you have that eye patch?” The sudden voice of a young boy brought him out of your spell. He slowly looked down and the young boy looked at him with curiosity…interest. It made Nanami blush.

“It got hurt in a fight,” he answered with a small smile.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“It looks cool. Is that why your skin looks like that?” Nanami stopped himself from frowning and nodded. “Are you hero or something? Like a superhero?”

“I guess you can say something like that,” Nanami answered.

Quick footsteps approached them and he watched a woman grab the boy by his shoulders, scolding him for leaving her side. When the woman turned to Nanami, her eyes widened. She looked apprehensive that it made Nanami nervous. Without a word, the woman grabbed her son by the hand and pulled him away from Nanami.

Nanami walked to the door, freshly baked bread forgotten. But he didn’t forget you. He took one last look at you. You were engrossed with your book and note-taking. He remembers your soft look towards him. They represented everything good for him. Nothing fearful or repulsive. Nothing that he feared from people to react with.

He would’ve loved to join you. And in the back of his mind, he knew he should. But after earlier, because of one person, he decided against it. He decided to save himself from the possible humiliation coming his way. And so he left, with you left in his mind.

He saw you for most of the afternoons out of the two weeks that passed. He never mustered up the courage to go up to you though. He never stayed for too long anyway.

Nanami would usually arrive before you, reading a book he found interesting in the shelves. You entered the cafe tiredly, usually a yawn would escape your lips when you do. You walk over to the counter and pick up your to-go order and sit at the same corner table from when he first met you. It was your usual spot.

But he sighs dejectedly and hid his face in his book. He still looks down on himself, even more now again. He can’t help but think how beautiful you are. You looked perfect.

You are perfect.

“Do you like tea?”

His head shot up. There you were with a cup in hand. His eyes traveled up to your face. You wore a soft smile, your eyes gentle yet bright. Your cheeks slightly pink, he assumed from the cold wintery temperature outside. Typically, you dressed up. Today was the first day he saw you in something comfortable and casual.

“Thank you,” he said softly. His voice was deep, it made your insides flutter and yourself blush. You curled a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You pretend to not notice, but you knew he was always around. Your nerves got the best of you. So you backed away and left him alone. The stoic expression wasn’t that inviting but his soft brown eyes were inviting that it contrasted his cold, stoic face.

“Sorry if I’m a bother,” you said quietly. “I-I’ll leave you alone now.” You quickly turned away and scurried back to your table. He watched you hide your face with your laptop. And he couldn’t help but slip out a smile when you took a peek over at him a few minutes later. Your cheeks turned pink and you bit your bottom lip.

Nanami then turned away. He hid the left side of his face with a frown. He sighed. There was no way you could have some sort of interest in him.

It’s all in my head.

Nanami brought the cup to his lips. He sighed in content from the taste of Earl Grey tea. He placed it back on the table with a soft smile. Your small and kind gesture warmed his heart. Even just for a small moment, he forgot about his insecurity.

“What’s this?” He noticed a marking on the cup that hid behind the cardboard warmer. He slid the warmer down only for his eyes to widen.

Your number.

When he looked up at you, your eyes were glued to the computer. He wondered if you were avoiding his gaze or just that focused on your studies. Nanami stood up and grabbed the book and tea. Slowly, he walked over to you. The closer he was, the more nervous he became. It was already too late to back away since your eyes followed him.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked curiously. You shook your head. “May I?” You smiled as the tension left your body. You quickly tidied up the clutter behind your laptop so Nanami could have room for his book and cup. “Thank you.” Shyly, you looked at him and smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

You looked up at him and he would look up at you. But you never caught each other’s gazes. And that was fine. Nanami noticed that your smile never left your face. The pink of your cheeks appearing every so often.

So he finally relaxed. He sat back and enjoyed the content silence with you.

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #nanami jjk #nanami fanfic #nanami kento

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cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Note

HELLO BABE !!

just wanted to say CONGRATS ON 1K FOLLOWERS/CHERRYS

Umm I just wanted to request something hmm oh yea I saw an firefighter!Miguel

so firefighter!Miguel x bookworm!Reader (fem) miguel ohara age: 32,reader age :29

(reader appearance: wears big circles glasses and usual wear oversized shirts or hoodie,and baggy pants)

Where reader was reading one of the newest book she find interesting in the huge library she come almost everyday if not working,as she sitting down in her usual spot in the library,no ones knows who put the fire,or how the fire come inside the library,as she didn't notice the fire coming,if it wasn't for miguel saving her life (reader was the one last surviver),the only thing she saw was him,and how he voice helped her through the fire,even when she thought she was going to die,she woke up in an hospital bed,the nurses said that miguel Ohara was the one who saved her,and after that she at least wanted to give him something for saving him,at first he was rude and bit annoyed by her,and telling her to leave and that he was other things that more important,but that didn't stop the poor bookworm! Reader,she would come to the firefighter place a d give them sweets and others,but she could give miguel an special hand craft scarf for him with his logo,he just grabbed it and went to his firefighters dorm room ( i just learned that firefighters have their own dorm room like their own section for them),she was an happy that he becoming more open with her,little by little miguel becoming more comfortable with his little bookworm,enjoying when she speaks about the latest series of her favorite author,loving her voice when she reads him her favorite books to him,when he get the chance too,his close friend notice that this 6'9 gaint seem to be more eager to come to work,and if you looked at his eyes there an spark in his eyes,whenever he see you with that cheerful smile

IDK I wanted an fluff but AGAIN CONGRATS ON 1K and also I fine with waiting however you like for this one,this was just an thought lingering in my head,if you want you could put this into an fic 😅

ANYWAY HAVE AN GREAT DAY

Pairing: Firefighter!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Fires and Hospitals

Summary: Food is a way to a man’s heart, they say.

Word Count: 1.4K (Not Edited)

They say it was caused by a sparking outlet.

A collection of those hot sparks strong enough to catch on the worn down fibers of the carpet, traveling along the floor and building on the glossy wooden shelves and aged pages of paper. Pages and binding glue and wood charring and giving off heavy exhaust. Creating heat that felt like you were nearing the sun naked. The rundown building and its almost non-existent sprinkler system was no match for the roaring fire.

You hadn’t seen it, too absorbed over the inked pages to notice the hazy cloud making its way to the back of the library. Your headphones playing soft tones just loud enough to block out the sound of panicked steps from the very few patrons studying in the late hours. It wasn’t until the smoke started to thicken, a sputtering cough leaving your lips. You had ignored the first few coughs, massaging your throat to try to soothe it of the sudden ache and dryness. Until it wouldn’t stop, a difficulty to breath started to build in your lungs as your arm came around your nose and mouth.

The smoke had swirled menacingly above you, a sense of clueless panic embodying your frame as an orange glow started to burn your way. You had looked frantically for a way out, finding it almost impossible in the darkening smog. You were sure you were done for, tears building up in your eyes from either the smoke or your fear. You were on the verge of passing out, knees buckling when a strong arm had wrapped around you and picking up your body effortlessly. Your vision had started to blur and darken at the edges, finally giving in when the first burst of fresh air entered your lungs.

When you had woken up at the hospital, you were glad to find you had only inhaled too much smoke. You were cleared quickly, discharged with a teasing warning to not get too lost in your books again and a small scolding about how lucky you were that the local fire department captain was there to save you. You had bashfully thanked them, already forming a plan in your head to pay back the brave firemen for saving you.

You had showed up a few days later, nervously holding a tray of baked sweetness. A kind fireman had guided you inside, bringing you to the small department kitchen to place the tray down. The firemen had thanked you graciously for the sweets, making jokes that you should get caught up in fires more often if this was their thanks. You had laughed along kindly, getting swept up in conversation with some of the younger men until someone had called out the word captain.

You had quickly looked over, seeing a tanned skin giant. He had a furrowed brow, his thick hair slightly messed up from his helmet. His eyes had instantly darkened when he had seen you start to approach. You had grown shy over his attention, muttering out a small thanks for rescuing you. His jaw had ticked then before going into rant about how irresponsible you were, how you should be more observant about your surroundings. A flaming flush had overcome your face as the rest of the crew had stopped their idle chatting at the sound of their chief’s booming voice. You had fidgeted nervously, pulling at the sleeves of your hoodie and resisting the urge to reach up and adjust your glasses as everyone watched you get chewed out.

When he was done, you had meekly agreed and added in a softer tone that you had left some homemade treats in the little kitchenette for him and the rest of the crew. He had instantly felt bad, here he was (rightfully) repriming you like a five year old when all you wanted to do was give your thanks and give the underappreciated firefighters something good to lighten up their day. He didn’t get the chance to apologize when the firefighter who had brought you in gently guided you back out. Miguel had to stop himself from snapping at his second in command when he had passed by with a pat on the shoulder and a little ‘ try be a little nice to the public, yeah?’

He had gotten that chance the next week, when you had come over during lunch time. He had been in his office, looking up from his paperwork when hurried steps ran down the hall. He had been curious, thinking he might have missed an alarm. He had followed the excited recruits, finding himself in the kitchenette where you had stood at the table. You stood with a wide smile, making quick conversation as you dished out plates of lasagna. It was still steaming, and plate after plate found its way into your hands to be served some Italian heaven. Miguel’s stomach rumbled at the mouth watering aroma, hesitantly grabbing his own plate and following the lineup. When he had reached you, your smile dimmed a bit before returning. You had shyly filled his plate, earning a small thanks from him before he went to find a spot to enjoy his food.

He had finally gotten his chance to apologize as you were beginning to pack up, stacking your now empty trays on top of each other and trying to not let them drop as you made your way to your car. Miguel was quick to follow after you, grabbing some of the trays for you and helping you place them in the trunk of your car. He had apologized for his behavior quietly under his breath, adding a thanks for the treats this week and last week. The smile you had given him made his heart skip slightly, standing there as your car drove away.

From then on, it became routine. Every week you would come with something new to feed the large firefighters, befriending the city heroes with home cooked meals and sweets. Everytime Miguel heard the rush of footsteps outside his dorm or office, his head would perk up and he found himself discarding whatever he was doing to go to the kitchen. On lazy days after you finished serving out the food, Miguel would sit with you at the table. He would let you drone on about your day or a book you were reading as he filled out paperwork. Even with the work in front of him, he paid every ounce of attention towards you. He would pause when writing, looking up at you to watch the ways your eyes shined or you added emphasis to your words with your hands. He would ask small questions just to prove he was listening, and you would give him an animated response.

His favorite visit by far was sometime during winter. You had come with jugs of hot chocolate, serving it out to everyone who looked at you like you were Santa Claus. Miguel watched from afar, liking to be the last to be served so he had you all to himself afterwards. You had a gentle smile on your face, asking the recruits how many marshmallows they wanted and if they wanted some peppermint. He was completely enamored by you, the other firemen taking notice of how he was already around the kitchen around the usual time you came each week.

When he finally came up to you, you had given him a bright smile and served him his drink. The warmth that spread in his chest from the smooth liquid made him sigh out satisfied. He had stood with you, making quiet conversation as you finished loading the heavy jugs. As you were about to leave, you suddenly perked up. You excitedly go to the passenger seat of your car, a small bounce in your steps as you hide something behind your back.

“Close your eyes Migs.”

He instantly followed your soft command, his body sparking when your soft hands grabbed his own. Something soft and delicate is placed into his open palm and he closes his fist around it when you let go. He slowly opens his eyes, thumb rubbing against the soft knitting. His heart practically sings when he sees the scarf in his hold. It's the same color as his under uniform, the fire department logo stitched into one end. He gives it a soft squeeze before thanking you, wrapping his arms around your small frame.

The rest of the day he had a bright aura around him, not even minding the teasing banter the recruits gave him as he slipped the scarf around his neck as they all prepared to go home.

He simply turned to them with a small smile, shrugging off their chuckles with a: “You’re all just jealous that you don’t have a pretty thing making things for you.”

Last request before the 1K Prompts!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #cherry's requests🍒#spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #firefighter au

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quietlyimplode · 25 days ago

Text

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 30 - holding back tears

Warnings: grief/loss, dissociation

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: sometimes crying for yourself and all that you’ve lost, can be cathartic

a/n. One to go - for those that have come along for the ride, followed it all from start to finish and perhaps have been lurking in the back, thank you for all your comments and likes. I think until made to upload and post every day I forget how hard it it, how tedious and oftentimes him is much I want to keep fic to myself because it’s such a feat in putting it out there. So for those that have interacted I thank you from the bottom of my heart for encouraging this. Until tomorrow dear ones.

(Also if you’re American; please vote blue like your life depends on it, because you never know how much your politics affects everyone else’s, oftentimes our lives depend on it to)

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A response comes days after Maria takes her letter. Natasha is unsure how it got to Olivia, and even less sure how the response comes back.

The folded paper in her hand is more than a note, it’s the first piece of mail she’s ever received.

Natasha tries not to think too hard about it; if she thought about all the firsts she’s had since arriving here, then she’d probably be overwhelmed.

She can’t bring herself to open it.

There’s so much hope that hangs in the balance.

If it’s not what she expects, if Olivia can’t give her what she wants, she knows she will be devastated, the kind she won’t ever get over.

She doesn’t feel brave enough.

Not yet.

Clint brings breakfast and seems to notice something is wrong.

He asks her, but she shrugs him off, pretending to smile even as he cocks his head in worry.

They debrief and she mumbles her way through it. Natasha can’t concentrate, thoughts seem fleeting, and she worries about the ‘what ifs’ that hide under the bed.

They eat lunch in the cafeteria and Maria joins them. Natasha sits passively, not eating and watching everyone else in the room.

They watch her too. They seem to side eye her and she openly stares.

She doesn’t care enough to be subtle. If they’re looking, then she will too.

After they beat Clint in front of her, she doesn’t care about appearances and there’s no Thompson to threaten her for misstepping.

Maria tells her that both of them have a meeting and asks if she wants to go to the library.

Truthfully, Natasha just wants to be alone.

She shakes her head, and tells them to drop her back.

She’s still not allowed to be left alone in SHIELD. Probably worried about what could happen to her, or perhaps what she might do to others.

Clint gives her one last look of worry before the door shuts.

Natasha sits on the floor, across the room, staring at the bed.

What if Olivia knows more?

What if she can tell her something, anything about her past?

What if she can’t?

It feels like a battle of wills, stuck in the in-between of knowledge and not.

Natasha picks at her nails, unconsciously bites the inside of her mouth.

She hears Clint knocking and chooses to ignore it.

He calls out and she replies that she’s okay, just wants to be alone; and, to her surprise he leaves.

She’ll never get over having her own space and her requests respected.

Another first.

She stares at the bed.

She can do it.

But what if?

Natasha swallows.

She knows she’s lost time. The world feels quieter in the dark of night, even though her room has no windows. It’s the principle. Night holds a special quietness within it.

The cadence of the universe seems to be something she’s always been in tune with, and probably, has saved her once or twice.

The letter is in her hand.

She can’t remember getting it.

Just like she can’t remember why there are half crescent moons embedded into her palm where her nails have been digging in.

There’s no writing on the outside.

She can see and feel the writing.

Olivia must press hard, when she writes.

The paper seems to be stock printer paper.

Not lined.

The black pen has a shadow that she can see.

Taking a deep breath, she opens it.

‘Natasha,’ it reads.

Tears well in Natasha’s eyes.

She can’t help it and it surprises her as she swipes them away.

‘Thank you for your note.’

Natasha bites down heavily on her lip, trying to hold herself together, taking a deep breath.

‘I know. She was safe with you. If we could save all those we loved, then the world would be a much kinder place. I have so much to tell you. And likewise, I think you can fill in some gaps for me. You’re not alone.”

Natasha forces herself to take a shaky breath.

‘I’ll be here to answer all the questions I can. But first, you must make agent. Once you’ve done that, meet me in Seattle. I’m sorry that this isn’t easier, and for all that’s happened along the way. Meet me in Seattle and we will talk more.’

The letter signs off with a cursive O.

Natasha lowers the paper, feeling emotions that had been pushed down, repressed for years.

Tears stream now, and she lets herself sob.

She holds the letter to get chest.

Memories, feelings, grief, loss, pain and hope all curl in her chest and she cries.

Natasha feels her breath catch as she lets out a moan, and she lets a wail go, the sadness of losing herself, her past tied into starting a new life, even if it had not given her the safety that she had expected.

It was something.

Olivia had given her hope of something she had never even dreamed of.

Answers.

Why her? Why had it been her abandoned and sold to the red room?

She cries for her younger self, that she could never go back and save.

Memories of Yelena pushing back her newly blue hair and hugging her, telling her she’d miss the red but how cool she looked with it.

Memories of her first kill, the trial of the silent knife as she was given her first weapon, and the training they’d received turned into something vital.

She takes a breath but lets the tears continue.

Such indulgence in emotion, she thinks, as she sniffs and tries to swallow, feeling her ears block and unblock.

Reading the letter again, more tears come.

Natasha doesn’t know how long she lets herself cry, but for the first time ever, she does it without reserve, without restraint and lets herself feel the feelings that flow through her body and cries herself to sleep.

Clint knocks and waits until she opens the door.

He’s slightly earlier, worried since the night before, that she had been grappling with bigger thoughts.

He knew what was in the letter from Olivia and what it promised.

So did Maria.

They’d had a discussion as she’d walked him to the car, about Natasha becoming an agent.

There’d be a board review before the decision, where they’d have to give evidence of her debriefs, her progress and usefulness to SHIELD.

Clint was ready for it.

He’d been making Maria practice with him, giving evidence to support her, so that he was ready for all the arguments they may raise.

She even had her own.

He’d asked her why, and Maria had shrugged.

Clint didn’t know what had passed between them when he was in hospital but he knew Maria had been affected in a way that maybe even she didn’t understand.

What he did know, was that Maria knew Natasha’s worth, and even perhaps more than that, Maria knew her own worth - just how vital she was to the functioning of SHIELD.

Coulson had also been promoted.

The strike teams that had been sent after them needed to be replaced. Coulson had asked Clint if he wanted to become a part of one, but Clint wasn’t sure what that would mean for Natasha.

He hadn’t given a straightforward answer, instead asking Coulson the one question that was on his mind- What would happen to her?

Coulson hadn’t responded. Clint thought maybe because he didn’t have the answer just yet.

Clint sighs and knocks again.

Natasha opens the door; and smiles shallowly at him.

He can tell she’s been crying, eyes rimmed red and face flushed.

Speechless, he fumbles over words to ask if she wants to go for breakfast.

Nodding, she zips up her hoodie, and he realises it’s the first time she’s worn something other than the SHIELD issued clothing.

#whumptober2024 #day 30 #holding back tears #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #my fic #clint barton #natasha romanoff fic #hawkeye #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #black widow fanfic #black widow movie

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fanficshiddles · 11 months ago

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Dream Come True, One Shot

Thank you for the prompt! Hope you like it. killersweetnessqueen submitted: Loki has been dating reader for ~1 year and they were talking about their likes in a home. Reader talks about wanting an elaborate library with intricate bookcases and stairways. Loki secretly makes it happen. And surprises reader with the room. Passionate lovemaking ensues. Or doesn’t take your pick! But reader shows their gratitude for the library ☺️

‘That sounds quite similar to what we have on Asgard.’ Loki commented with a smile.

‘Really? Wow, it would be amazing to grow up with a big library of any sorts.’ You said dreamily.

You had been telling Loki about how your dream was to have your own library in your home. While you had an office that was filled with many book shelves, it wasn’t quite the same as your dream. You imagined having multiple levels, with beautiful stairways and many intricate book cases.

You were lying in bed with Loki while you chatted, head on his chest with his arm around you. He lazily stroked your shoulder, keeping your skin tingling.

‘It was quite something. Perhaps when I’m allowed back on Asgard, I can show you it.’ Loki hummed softly.

‘That would be wonderful.’ You said excitedly.

Though that got Loki’s mind racing, and Loki decided in that moment he was going to make your dream come true.

‘Come on, Loki. That would cost thousands.’ Tony whined.

‘You owe me. Or have you forgotten that already? It was your own words.’ Loki said knowingly with his arms folded over his chest.

Tony groaned and ran a hand down his face. He hated that he’d told Loki he owed him, that he’d do whatever he wanted after Loki had rescued him during a mission. Saving his life.

‘Fine… Do you have any plans for it?’ Tony said reluctantly.

Loki handed him over some papers, filled with plans.

‘Ok.’ Tony nodded as he looked them over. ‘This should be doable. But I’m doing this for her, not you. Got that?’

‘Perfect. That’s all I want, to do this for her.’ Loki grinned widely.

It did cost thousands, but to Tony that was like pocket money. He built an extension onto Loki and yours home, quite a large extension at that. One huge room with multiple levels, high floor to roof windows on one side that overlooked the countryside.

It was filled with row after row of book cases, that could slide back and fore to fit more in. There were multiple staircases dotted around the room, Loki added a bit of his magic to them so that they would move around randomly.

‘This is perfect. I can’t wait to see her face.’ Loki beamed as he looked around the place.

It had been easy enough for him to source thousands of books to fill the place. There would be enough books to read for the rest of your life.

You’d been away visiting your family for a few days, but when you returned home Loki met you at the airport and in the car drive home, he put a blindfold on you.

‘What are you up to?’ You asked him with a smile.

‘I have a surprise for you, darling.’ Loki said excitedly.

You couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for you. He sounded so excited himself, so it must be something big you thought.

When the car pulled up at your home, Loki lifted you out of the car and carried you inside, making you giggle. You could have walked with his guidance, but he thought that carrying you in would be easier. Plus, he adored just holding you for any reason possible.

‘What on earth have you done?’ You giggled as Loki carried you inside.

‘You’ll see in a moment, darling.’

You were placed down onto your feet, Loki then turned you around to face a certain way. He took off your blindfold, it took you a moment to register where you were in the house. There was a new door right on front of you, a door in the wall that was just off the living room, one that wasn’t there when you left the other day.

‘What’s this?’ You looked at Loki with an eyebrow up.

‘I thought we could do with an extension to the house.’ Loki grinned.

‘An extension? Really Loki, the house is big enough. What do we need an extension… for…’ You trailed off when Loki opened the door and motioned for you to step inside.

The smell of books instantly hit you, and when you stepped inside you were in utter awe. You couldn’t believe it. It was as if you’d stepped right into your dream, this was just as you’d imagined. Maybe even better.

‘Do you like it?’ Loki asked as he walked in behind you and put his hand on your back.

‘It’s… I can’t believe it.’ You cried, tears streamed down your cheeks in utter happiness.

You turned to Loki, he smiled softly and wiped your cheeks softly. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry, love. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry! It’s happy tears.’ You laughed and hugged him, you buried your face against his chest. Then looked around again, still in complete disbelief.

‘I’m so glad you like it.’ Loki smiled widely.

‘How did you manage to get this done in just a few days?’ You asked as you walked around, Loki loved the look of awe on your face.

After looking around and having fun on the moving stairs, which you absolutely loved, you jumped into Loki’s arms to hug him again.

‘Thank you so much, Loki. This is the best surprise ever.’ You said, muffled into his neck.

Loki chuckled as he held you up against you, his hands cradling your bum to keep you against him.

‘You’re welcome, my love. Anything to see you smile so much.’ Loki hummed.

‘What can I do to thank you?’ You asked suggestively as you nuzzled into his neck.

Loki chuckled and gave your bum a squeeze. ‘Well, what are you suggesting, my love?’

You leaned back a little and smirked at him. He carefully lowered you down, then cupped the side of your neck as he leaned in to kiss you deeply. As the kiss deepened, he then backed you against the nearest bookcase and held you against it.

‘I think you know, Sir.’ You giggled over his lips, knowing it would rile him right up calling him that.

Loki chuckled darkly and began unbuckling his belt. ‘Mmm, be a good girl and get those jeans off.’

You didn’t need to be told twice, your knees turned to jelly as you quickly removed your jeans. Loki had a wicked, mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Put your hands up above you, pet.’

You raised your hands up above you, Loki looped his belt around your wrists, binding them together. Then he hooked the belt over a hook that was just at the right height, sticking out of the bookcase.

‘I never noticed that.’ You giggled.

Loki winked at you. ‘I’ve had a few of these strategically placed around.’

You squirmed against your bonds in excitement. Loki smoothed his hands down your body, and as he reached between your thighs it was no surprise to him to find you already aroused. So it didn’t take long for him to work you up even more with his long fingers, slowly teasing your clit before slipping two fingers up into you, curling them in just the right way to find that sweet spot that he always found so easily.

He didn’t make you cum, he sucked his fingers clean before grabbing your thighs and lifting you up to wrap around him. He’d already freed his cock, hard and straining towards you. He took his time slowly pushing into you, which felt like torture because you desperately just wanted him to fuck you hard after the way he’d worked you up.

‘I can feel you clenching around me, pet. Desperate, are we?’ He chuckled as he stilled himself inside you.

You only whimpered in response, making him chuckle again. He kissed and nibbled your neck, then began moving. He thrust into you, slowly over time getting rougher and rougher. The books on the case behind you started rattling around, and a few fell to the floor.

Loki’s jaw clenched as he got closer to the edge, he got rougher. Part of you was desperate to hold him, to touch him back. Though being restrained like you was heightened everything for you. Your clenched around him and tightened your thighs around him.

‘Cum for me, pet. Let me feel you cumming on my cock, like my good girl that you are.’ He growled at you.

Your body always obeyed Loki, you came hard on his cock and he followed suit.

‘Ohhh fuck.’ He cried out in pleasure.

He pressed his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. After a moment, he pulled out of you and unhooked your hands from the hook.

You both looked down at the books that had fallen to the floor, making you both laugh.

‘Well, I think this is definitely my favourite room, and way better than I even imagined.’ You giggled and leaned into Loki again, your legs were still feeling a bit like jelly.

‘Mine too.’ Loki chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

#tom hiddleston #loki #one shot #Loki x you #loki x reader #loki fic

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klbwriting · 9 months ago

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Broken Prism

Chapter 2

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Jason dies and then comes back, tale as old as time

Jason had heard stories about what happens right before you die. You see a white light, hear angels singing, everything goes black, you see your life flash before your eyes. What he didn’t know was that the only thing that you really thought about as you lay, body aching, blood pooling around you, was your regrets. He could see the bomb ticking down nearby, 3, 2, just before the 1 it felt like time stopped, his brain trying to process everything inside it at once before clocking out forever. He processed each image going through his head, not being able to stop his dad leaving, save his mom from ODing, times he couldn’t control his anger, times when he should have spoken but instead stayed quiet. It was maddening realizing how stupid he had been over the last 17 years. But the worst, God the worst images were the ones he had of you.

Jason hadn’t stopped watching over you after that hospital room visit. You hadn’t known but he had found you, when you were working your high school job, when you were sitting in the library, wondering why that boy a few tables down kept staring at you. You would put your book away and go to speak to him and Jason would be gone. He watched you when you walked to school, forgoing getting in early from patrol just to make sure you were safe. He should have used that time to talk to you, find out your name, your interests, your heart. Why had he let Bruce get into his head and stop him?

It hadn’t taken long for Bruce to figure out why Jason had hesitated, why he had followed the girl to the hospital after the attack at the high school. He had thought at first the boy just had a crush, it was the first time he had saved someone his own age and Bruce remembered how he had followed his first rescue around for a time, wanting to make sure they stayed safe. However, it didn’t stop. After a month of Jason losing sleep, skipping trainings, Bruce had went snooping. He talked to Dick who tried to skirt they question but he couldn’t keep lying and told Bruce about giving Jason the flashcards. That complicated things. Bruce tried to talk to Jason, telling him he should stop following this girl, wait until he was older and more controlled before seeking her out. Jason had rebelled at first, claiming he could do both, that he was in complete control, until he had been following YN home from an after-school activity instead of patrolling with Dick. Batman had to fly in and keep Nightwing from getting a broken skull and not just a broken arm. Beyond the guilt he felt Jason also felt pain from getting worked over by Bruce for so long. Extra drills, extra studying, extra sparring, his body and mind were drained completely for nearly a month. He stopped following you around, held himself back. He expected to be able to get older and find you again. He didn’t expect Joker and a crowbar and a bomb.

His blood was red, he knew that, but now he wished he didn’t. As he lay watching that timer tick to 1 he wished he couldn’t see that the numbers were red. Wished he didn’t know what any of these colors were. But instead of black and white he just saw the red and when the timer finally clicked 0 he saw the brown of your eyes before seeing nothing at all.

The rainbow was back. Green, lots of green, browns and blacks, rocks, red and orange and yellow, fire, bronze, the hand currently helping Jason out of the warm, acrid water pit he was in. He stood, legs shaky, feeling a blanket being put on his shoulders, which was nice considering he was naked and now could see several people in the room. He wasn’t sure what was going on, his brain muddled entirely. He remembered pain, almost nothing but pain, but there was something else, eyes, brown eyes, when he remembered those, he felt peace for just a moment before the pain came back. “Jason Todd,” he heard the woman who had pulled him out of the pit say. He didn’t look at her, wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Her hand grabbed his chin, and she pulled him to look at her. “Jason Todd, that is your name,” she said. He stared at her and then saw green, teeth baring as he moved without thought, throwing kicks and punches, anger surging through him. He was able to get past a couple of the other people in the cave before he felt a prick to neck, then he saw nothing again.

Unlike death, sleeping allowed Jason to dream. These dreams were violent, angry, a bat diving and soaring while he tried to attack it. It hurt him, it healed it, it hurt him again. There was some kind of blue bird, diving at him, sometimes helping the bat attack him, sometimes scaring the bat away. Jason wanted to spread his red wings and fly away, get far away from the bat and the blue bird, but he felt trapped, something holding him to the ground. His cries were drowned out by the screech of the bat as it came in for the kill.

Cold water rushed over Jason, making him sit up fast, head spinning. He tried to attack again but was immediately put under by whatever had subdued him the first time. By the time they woke him up again he had realized he needed to contain whatever this green rage was the filled him. When doused with he ice water this time he sat up and looked around slowly, observing. He didn’t know why but he paid close attention to the tiny details, the way someone stood, how the cave was laid out, exits and rocks that appeared loose in the walls. He knew, muscle memory, what to do if he needed to escape.

“Jason Todd,” the woman from before said. He looked at her, the name registering this time. Yes, his name was Jason Todd. He was from Gotham. He was Robin. Some pieces were starting to come together in his head.

“Where am I?” he asked, voice hoarse and scratchy. He didn’t remember sounding like this before. He cleared his throat but still felt the burn and itch, like he was growing new vocal cords. He coughed.

“You are with the League of Assassins, my father, Ras Al’Ghul, has decreed that you be brought back and returned to the Batman,” the woman said. Jason visibly recoiled at the mention of Bat. No, not the Bat, no more Bats.

“No,” he said. The woman looked at him hard, seemingly seeing through to his very soul, before she nodded. She said something in a language he couldn’t identify to another in the room. This person approached, helping Jason to stand and led him deeper into the cave, emerging on the side of a mountain. He was guided up roughly hewn steps to a large compound on the top of the mountain. The person was silent as they showed him a room and left him, locking the door. It was small, change of clothes on a very uncomfortable looking cot, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice at the moment, so he changed into the clean clothes and settled in to sleep again, his dreams still of being a red bird with a bat on attack.

Jason spent the next five years with the league of assassins, training, learning, and carrying out missions for their creed. He moved up their ranks but never reached the top, always a few rungs down on the later because he couldn’t always control the rage he felt. If he saw green, then everyone suddenly stopped working towards the leagues mission and just started working on getting him subdued. He was a liability until he could get it under control. That was, until Ras Al’Ghul himself met with him in his study. The room was finely furnished which always itched Jason the wrong way. Why did the man who said they were working towards a greater world for all, be so rich and mighty above his league? Jason also didn’t understand why Ras kept getting brought back from the dead. Ras had been in the pit several times, he knew the rage that Jason had, had been personally training him to control it, however, Ras didn’t seem to control it as much as he mastered it. He was able to use the rage to help him reach his goals, but he told Jason to contain the rage, not use it. It was hypocrisy and Jason hated it.

“Do you know why I have asked you here boy?” Ras asked, standing behind his desk, hands folded behind his back, appearing casual. Jason wasn’t an idiot, this wasn’t casual, there was a knife back there ready to go through his heart if he would step out of line. Jason shook his head.

“I really don’t,” he said, folding his arms, defiant. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore. He couldn’t imagine why he would be. He already had seen his regrets move through his mind in slow motion, he didn’t have a lot more to add. Nothing was worse than his regret of not finding you when he had the chance, so why would he be afraid now?

“I believe it is time for you to leave our ranks,” the master said. Jason wasn’t all that surprised. He was dangerous to anyone and everyone. He still had his triggers and if he was being honest, he didn’t try to fight against them in the field. He didn’t really care who lived or died, except for children. No matter what, children had to survive. “Do you have any argument?” What was the point?

“No,” he said, letting the word fall between them. Ras nodded, unsurprised, but disappointed. Somehow, despite death and years with assassins and barely any decent memories Jason remembered that face on Batman…Bruce…Batman…Bruce. He took a breath and stopped his mind racing. Jason didn’t wait for anymore from Ras, turning and heading to get the few things he had. He found them already by the door of his room, packed and ready. Least he knew where he stood here. There was no fanfare to his departure, no one even looked his way as he walked out into the world.

He hitchhiked to the nearest town, finding the first bar, wanting to drown himself in anything he could before he found what to do next. He glanced at the TV, not really listening to what the broadcast was saying, focusing only on the two caped crusaders soaring on the screen. Batman and Robin. But…he was Robin. Batman…Bruce…Batman, had replaced him? The glass shattered in his hand, but he barely felt the cuts from the shards. He threw down the little bit of cash he had and headed out. He had something to take care. He needed to get back to Gotham.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #redhood #red hood #redhoodxreader #jasontoddxreader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #brokenprism

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akiwitch · 4 months ago

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Favorite Character Poll

Thanks for the tag, @emrowene this looks so fun! (I am a Leandros fan he’s so sad lol)

Rules: list all your main ocs and give brief descriptions of them. then, create a poll with their names and allow your followers to vote on who their favorite character is.

I’m doing the four introduced characters from Thief and Guard!

Stefan

The only leaftail in a legendary group of thieves known only as magpies, Stefan is the first person who has ever broke into the highly guarded Vault of Magical Artifacts and the self-proclaimed greatest thief in the world. After stealing a magical key and then nearly being killed by the client who asked for it, he begrudgingly agrees to temporarily team up with the now former captain of the guard to get it back.

Very temporarily, if he has any say in it.

Stefan is snarky and puts on an easy going attitude, but he’s an incredibly anxious and guarded person. He’s hiding a big secret. He insists he only cares about himself and making enough money to pay off his debts to the magpies so he can retire, but he is lying to himself.

Henrik

Henrik fought for his position as captain of the guard at the Vault, only for all of that hard work to be dashed as soon as Stefan broke in. He goes to hunt down the thief himself, but ends up saving his life. With no key to return and Stefan having enough insider knowledge, he knows it looks like they were working together, and decides they should do that to get the key back.

He has lived an incredible life, from being raised in the nomadic northern tribes following beasties (big owls with antlers I’m not good at naming things) on their migratory path, half raised by the leaftails in the area, and slowly making his way to the vault. Most of his past is shrouded in mystery, but he was on a ship once and insists a little too quickly that it wasn’t a pirate ship.

He’s blunt and straight forward. He doesn’t take crap from anyone, especially not Stefan. He does not negotiate with anyone and has an incredibly strong moral compass. Those morals do not always line up with the law.

Jayda

Jayda studied at several libraries and academies, trying to unravel the mysteries of the Rift through ancient magical relics. This is where she met her husband, Conner.

But the academic life was slow and boring, and she could never push it as hard as she wanted to, so she left to become a relic hunter. But being the smartest person in the room and her wealth of knowledge on magic and relics led to her being stuck in the outlaw city of Dracove, her slime pet Beans being held by the Erling of the city as a hostage. She enlists the help of Stefan in exchange for information on the key and the ritual it is a part of.

Jayda is impulsive and underestimates other people often enough that it’s become a problem. She’s incredibly intelligent, but sometimes lacks common sense. Or tact.

Conner

(His pic is at the bottom tumblr messed up this post so bad lol)

Wife guy.

Conner followed Jayda when she left the academies, becoming a relic hunter with her. He loves his wife. He loves their slime child.

He’s also very smart and curbs Jayda’s worst tendencies.

Conner is the calmer, more level headed of the two of them. He’s often dragging Jayda out of situations and doing any negotiating. He has an amazing memory. He probably would have been a professor if he hadn’t run off with his wife, but he regrets nothing.

And now to tag people! I tag @koala2all @kimurasato @your-absent-father @olive-riggzey @salmonandfox @ashen-crest @albatris @caxycreations and anyone else who wants to!

#thief and guard #aki writes #tag games #poll

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helloheyhihowdyheya · 2 years ago

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The Life You Build

Peter Parker x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You first met Spider-Man, then you met Peter. OR Peter looks back on the photos that built your lives, the good and bad.

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: Fluff. Awkwardness. Angst & Peter's anger (not at reader). Description of injuries.

A/n: I did a version of this for Eddie, so of course I had to do it for Peter :) He's a lovestruck idiot, and I love him. Thank you for reading <3 let me know your thoughts!

The first picture Peter had taken of you was by accident. He’d been trying to capture the opening of a newly renovated wing of the library near his apartment. Since crime had been a bit quieter lately, making Spider-Man’s activities quieter as well, Jameson had sent him on more menial jobs for The Daily Bugle.

He’d only seen you in the photos after the fact when editing them, finding you amongst the crowd with sunglasses resting on your head and a book in your hands, your smile wide with a happiness that permeated throughout the air.

The photos only caught part of your face, but he could see the excitement and wonder in your eyes, embarrassingly finding himself returning to them more than necessary. When documenting events for the paper, they often didn’t have such a happy ending — misused public resources, corrupt members in power, or something much more sinister and violent. Between that and his job of saving this city, he didn’t find as many calm or nice moments anymore, even forgetting about them altogether.

But here you were, unequivocally full of joy at something that should’ve had him smiling as well, if he weren’t so focused on taking pictures Jameson wouldn’t yell at him for. And so, he picked one of the photos in which you were off to the side alongside other joyful people and families looking at the ribbon cutting, and he put it right at the top of the story.

The next day at work, he found himself going to get coffee as usual, but maybe he’d had a lighter step to walk. A more relaxed way of drifting through the world as he entered The Daily Bugle’s office. If you could find happiness in the small things, maybe he could too.

–

The next time Peter got a photo of you wasn’t actually one he took. You did.

He’d done something menial, saving a cat from a tree, and came back to the ground, kitty in hand, to a crowd gathering around. He didn’t mind the attention, he’d gotten used to it by now, especially when it wasn’t negative. This wasn’t a mob – rather a group of people pleased to see him, including the cat’s owner thanking him over and over again. A cat owner he definitely recognized.

You’d had a rough morning, spilling coffee on yourself and creating a mess on the floor – only for your cat to walk through and get his fur drenched. Giving him a bath did not go well either, full of his hissing and your groan when knocking came at your door. Half-soaked and tired, when you opened up the door to your neighbor, your cat took the chance to book it. Shoving your head out into the hallway, you caught a glimpse of his tail disappearing out the window at the end of the hall.

Your neighbor handed you a package that’d accidentally been delivered to her apartment, which you threw inside your place before slipping on your nearest shoes. Grumbled “sorry’s” passed your lips as you passed others while racing to the building’s front door to chase after your horrible (and adorable) cat. Cool morning air of the late summer greeted you as your eyes flashed across every inch of the streets, buildings, even trash cans. But the pitiful cries of your cat came from above.

Straining your neck, you saw flashes of orange swishing in a tree near your building. “Oh god,” you muttered while racing to the bottom of it. Bark scratched against your palms as you leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. His claws sunk into the tree far out of reach for you to grab.

Calling the fire department certainly felt like overkill to get your now traumatized (read: overdramatic) cat out of a tree, and a bit cliche. Shaking your head, you told him, “Please just get down here. I will give you a hundred treats and unlimited attention.” A long sigh loosened from your lungs, hoping he somehow understood your pleas.

“Sure wish I got that kind of reward,” a soft voice laughed out behind you.

Any embarrassment heating your face seemed to drain away when you turned to come face to face with Spider-Man sticking to the wall of your building, looking right at you with those big white eyes. Words escaped you for a second as you kept staring. You’d only ever watched him swing on television, barely catching him as a speck in the distant horizon of the city’s skyline if you were lucky. You couldn’t stop staring, even as he tilted his head at you.

“Guess all I need now is the hundred treats,” he said, and you could’ve sworn he smiled under that mask. You would’ve laughed along with his silent ones if he hadn’t pointed out your incessant gazing.

“Well, only if you get him down, that is.” Your nervousness bled through your words, maybe from his presence. Probably your cat. The sweat coating your palms didn’t know anymore.

Breaths floated past your lips a little easier when Spider-Man lept up into the tree and grabbed your cat, much to his dismay. More cries came from above until they sounded from directly in front of you, webbed gloves wrapped around his middle and holding tight as he wiggled.

“Oh thank you,” you said before whispering to your cat, “And hush, you got yourself into this, Samwise.” You took him from the superhero, silently chastising him. Of course your cat would do this to you – send you out into the streets in dirty clothes and disheveled… well, everything, only to stand in front of literal Spider-Man like this. The people that had gathered only for a moment started dispersing after the excitement died down, not that there’d been much to begin with besides you talking to a cat.

“Samwise?” he questioned while brushing a finger along your cat’s forehead. Soon, soft purring began vibrating against your chest.

With a small laugh, you said, “Yeah, he’s just as sweet as Samwise Gamgee, but it seems he’s just as adventurous too. Thank you, again.”

“Of course. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right?” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck, but you doubted he could actually itch anything through that suit. Was he as nervous as you?

Though it mostly went against your judgment, you knew your friends wouldn’t believe you if you didn’t have some sort of proof that this all happened. “Okay, I know you’re probably really busy and I look completely wild, but could I take a quick picture with you?”

He looked up from where he’d been staring (and cooing) at Samwise to lock eyes with you, and though you couldn’t see any part of his face, it still brought a heat to your cheeks. “If wild means pretty, then I’d love to.”

Oh. If you hadn’t been flustered before, that sure did it. Fishing your phone out of your pocket with a cat in your arms and shaking fingers proved difficult. But you finally held it up, hoping to finish with all this and let him get on with his life – only for the sun to shine right into your eyes at this angle.

“Ah, maybe I should turn the other way…” you started but were quickly cut off by the sound of Spider-Man shooting webs from his wrist.

“Does that help?”

Looking up, you saw that he created a web in between branches of the tree – right where the sun had been shining into your vision.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s great. Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, suddenly unsure whether all Spider-Man fan interactions felt this intense. Was it just you?

You brought the phone back and focused it, though selfies were never your talent. So while you balanced Samwise and struggled to get the three of you in frame, Spider-Man brought his hand up and angled it up slightly.

“There…” he mumbled, and the body heat rolling off of him had you frozen, had you in a hold until you saw that hint of his mask moving in the camera as if he were smiling for the picture. So you followed suit, capturing a picture of you, him, and your cat he just saved all bathed in the morning sunlight.

“Hey, be sure to share that with me on Twitter, okay? If you know my page on there… it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole ‘save a cat from a tree’ thing.” He laughed again, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it quickly becoming one of your favorite sounds.

“Yeah, I know it,” you started saying, aware that everyone in New York knew about his social media presence, but… “I’m just not sure it’s the best picture of me, you know?”

That time, there was no denying the way the eyes on his mask shot up. “Well I’d be dying to know the best picture there is of you, because that must sure be something,” he told you. And you were about to respond (you absolutely were, not just stand there and stumble over your words and unable to make eye contact), but sirens began to start up in the distance.

He yelled out, “You better share that with me!” as he shot out a web, leaving you with no argument as he swung away. Holding Samwise close to your body, you let out a breath and watched as Spider-Man floated above the skyline.

And later that night, you did end up sending it to him despite how you thought you looked in it. He had stood so close to you, and your heart melted everytime you saw the way his hand rested against Samwise’s cheek – who all but adored the attention and pressed back into him. Peter had to keep himself from opening your message immediately, especially since he was in the middle of taking down a man trying to break into a store.

“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!” the man clothed in black said as he hung from a fire escape in the alleyway next door. Meanwhile, Peter stood there, hovering his thumb over your message after shooting a web over the man’s mouth.

Peter internally groaned as he began pacing back and forth. Was he overthinking this? He probably was. He ran a hand over his face before deciding to wait until he got home to open it… to play it cool – he was being really cool about all this.

Until he did open it and fell in love with a different part of you each time he glanced at it.

–

The next picture Peter had of you came from someone else, a fan of his that tweeted at him a day after he’d talked with you again.

You’d been sitting out on your fire escape, sweater on and hot drink in hand as fall quickly approached, watching the dipping sunset about to kiss the tops of New York’s buildings. And you nearly spilled it all – almost dropped the mug down on top of pedestrians passing by – when Spider-Man landed on your railing and sat down on it.

The sudden gasp threatening to come out stopped in your throat, your fingers tightening against the mug’s handle as you tried to calm your breathing.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he rushed out, reaching his hands toward you as he apologized. All of his super strength would go into internally smacking himself in the face later.

By the time you could think clearly again, you looked up at him and his legs swinging back and forth. “Not sure how you thought landing on someone’s fire escape from the sky wouldn’t scare them, but it’s okay,” you said with a breathy laugh.

“Fair. You’ve got me there,” he admitted. And before the following silence became too overbearing and overwhelmed by the traffic below, he asked, “How’s Samwise doing?”

You blinked at him, eyes wide as you thought about it. “He’s…” you paused, “He’s well. No more climbing trees for him, unless I get you on speed dial.”

The eyes on his suit narrowed for a moment before he hopped off the railing, coming to stand just a little closer to you. “Is this your way of asking for my number?”

He couldn’t help but laugh – at your own surprised giggle, at the way you hid your burning face behind your cup, and at how the skin of your face crinkled with each laugh. “So Spider-Man– Can I call you that?”

“Mr. Spider-Man, The Spidester. Any of the following adjectives between ‘The’ and ‘Spider-Man’: Amazing, Spectacular, Friendly Neighborhood, Handsome… the list goes on,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Through a smile you desperately tried to hide, you said, “Okay, Spidey, I was going to ask whether you’re this flirty with all of the citizens you help.”

God was he glad you couldn’t see the red painting his cheeks or somehow sense the warmth in his chest from your words. “Maybe it’s just the lucky ones that I help save their cats.”

“Ah, so it’s luck then?” you asked, and there was no missing the teasing look you gave him or the way your body subconsciously leaned toward his.

He felt the suit pull taut as he nodded. “Yeah, luckier than winning the lottery, I’d say.”

Pursing your lips, you considered him for a moment. And Peter had never felt so seen by someone who couldn’t actually see him. It made him want to know what went on in that pretty head of yours. Really pretty.

Your hands rose up to gesture at him, breaking him from his staring as a chilled breeze went by. “Okay, next question. Do you ever get cold in that thing? Snow’s not far off here, and your suit doesn’t look very… winterized.”

For a moment, he thought about teasing you, saying something about how you were checking him out enough to notice that about his suit, but he wouldn’t deny an audience to talk about his technology with. “For a while, it wasn’t. I wore a hat sometimes, a scarf made by my… relative – but that didn’t exactly scream ‘intimidating’ to people, so I had to make adjustments to the suit. It’s now a bit more insulated, but moving around and beating ass usually warm me up too.”

The sudden laugh you let out at brought an unmissable smile to his lips. Oh, how he wanted to make you do that again and again. “I suppose it would,” you said in between breaths. And maybe you thought better of it, but you followed up with, “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee or something? As a thanks for Samwise.”

Peter almost said yes in an instant, anything to keep you talking to him for just a little longer. But angry yelling erupted a block over, some argument he picked up with his hearing. The screaming in his head telling him to ignore it and choose you instead nearly drowned it out, but he couldn’t.

With a weight in his stomach, he said, “Raincheck? Duty calls.” You only nodded, eyebrows all scrunched up before he lept from the fire escape and off to the fight starting to break out. It was that moment right before he left that a fan caught with their phone.

It looked a little fuzzy from how far away it was taken, but it was unmistakably Spider-Man standing across from you. It’d be difficult to make out your face, but he knew it was you. The two of you almost looked domestic there, having a sweet conversation about your lives before the day ended.

The tweet came with speculations as to who you were and what he was doing with you. All of that ate away at the lump in his throat, so he found a way to get it deleted in case anyone tried finding you – but not before saving the photo himself to dream about a simpler life where you knew who he was.

–

Peter shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he did it anyway. Why? It seemed he never could think straight when looking at you, or being near you. Or even thinking about you for that matter. Sometimes, he wondered whether you had powers too, but just for making his mind all fuzzy and dull when it came to you. So against better judgment, he took the assignment The Daily Bugle had given him to interview workers about a series of recent break-ins – like the flower shop you worked at.

He’d found himself catching glimpses of you here and there while on patrol, not that he was looking for you, of course. But he just so happened to see you walk into the same shop almost every day, so he kept an eye on it to make sure you were safe as you trudged home after too-long shifts in your work clothes and uncomfortable but “work-appropriate” shoes. Not that him doing so meant anything. Right?

And he rationalized to himself that it was all worth it when he saw someone trying to force inside the building after hours while you and a coworker cleaned up and readied it for the next day. The man made his way in, shouting something to you two, a gleaming knife extending past his fingertips.

But Peter had been there, moving faster than he had in months. His vision nearly blacked out as his webs pulled the man back out onto the street, and he had no control over the hands that pressed this worthless man into the tar – wanting to push him into it. The knife had been thrown when he’d been pulled, landing somewhere too far to save this man, not from Peter. He could barely feel the writhing below him, the angry shouts of this person barely reaching his ears.

Then, he heard your voice. Something about calling 911, something about checking whether Spider-Man was okay. They should’ve asked about the other guy. But Peter loosened a breath, dropping his head for a moment before picking the man up and webbing him to the nearest street lamp. You were okay.

Still, when he turned to you, your coworker on the phone in the shop, he had to ask. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You blinked a few times, your arms wrapped around your middle. “Uh, yeah we’re okay. I’m okay, just a bit shaken up. Thank you… again.” Despite what had happened, you let out a small laugh. “We should really stop meeting like this.”

And in seeing that soft smile of yours, he was Peter again to himself. Not Spider-Man. He wished you could do that for him every day.

“How would you rather meet, then?” he asked, and if he didn’t love the flustered look you got, he would’ve been sadder about you turning away from him from embarrassment.

“Any other time than my or my cat’s life in danger. I think that’d be a good start.” You clasped one hand over the other as you rocked from one foot to the other. Only did his grin drop when you said, “We’ve, um, called the police. So you should probably head out before they get here.”

He took a bit of solace in how sad you sounded about him having to leave, so he swung away with a little hope in his heart. And really, it should’ve ended there. But he accepted the assignment to show up at the flower shop to interview people about it. Who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t work that day.

“Hi! Are you from The Daily Bugle? My boss said you’d be coming in.” You’d opened the door when he knocked on it, that brightness you always brought took his breath away in the best way.

Appropriate answers to your question would have been “Yes, I am” or “Yeah, my name’s Peter. Nice to meet you.” But he stared at you for a few seconds trying to come up with anything – the way your eyes lit up keeping him off balance and constantly teetering on some unknown cliff. He held up his camera as some sort of answer before finally breathing out, “Yes, sorry. It’s just a bit early for me.”

Laughing, you waved him off. “I get that. Come on in.” You told him your name and a bit about the place while showing him the few things inside the shop – most of it just being wall-to-wall flowers.

He followed you in, shaking his head and letting his hair flop against his face. Peter swore he tried his hardest not to stare like some love-sick fool, but he watched you lean against the counter like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. You asked, “What can I answer for you, uh…”

“Peter,” he offered as he scribbled down notes of what you’d said in between glances at you, as he didn’t trust himself to remember anything but your name that repeated over and over again in his head like a mantra. “Could you tell me a bit about what happened last night, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Subtlety, less violent this time, you wrapped an arm around your middle again as you nodded. You gave a smile, but it looked like a performance. He could feel your heartbeat.

“Of course. I and another coworker had locked the doors and began shutting the shop down when the man forced himself inside. He… he threatened us with a knife to unload the cash register,” you said, your eyes flicking between Peter’s face and the floor. “Not that we had much to hand over. But luckily we didn’t have to. Spider-Man showed up and stopped him.”

Peter felt some strange sort of pride at how relieved you looked as you continued describing the events once he had gotten there. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, your breathing evened out. Even your smile looked more real, authentic. He’d done that. Not that you knew it.

You let him take a picture of you for the story he’d write up, not that Jameson would be too pleased about anything in support of Spider-Man. But Peter wasn’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get another picture of you.

Even in black and white, the photo laid out in next week’s newspaper did your kindness justice. It somehow looked imbued within every expression you gave. You were surrounded by flowers and bouquets you had put together yourself. You belonged there, and Peter couldn’t help but feel that he belonged there behind the camera trying to capture you in as many photos as possible – keep you close to him as a picture if he couldn’t have you next to him living, breathing, being you.

And maybe he shouldn’t have, but Peter came back to the shop again and again, quickly becoming your favorite customer. Almost every time, he wanted to buy the flowers just to pass them right back across the counter and give them to you. Instead, Aunt May looked pleasantly surprised every time he came home with them, accompanied by red cheeks and an exasperated look on his face.

–

That photo of you in the flower shop, of your grinning face immortalized as the most beautiful person Peter had met – it was the same photo news outlets and newspapers used for you a few weeks later when you’d been attacked, targeted. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it anymore, not when it sat below headlines that made him sick and hateful.

His inner voice was right, the one that told him to stay away from you. That shouted at him to remember all the other people that’d gotten hurt because they knew him, because someone had found out you were important to Peter. And he didn’t really know you – had no reason to care about you as much as he did. But you’d crashed into his life at a time when he didn’t have many people to care about, especially now that he lived alone.

And he’d gotten to know what book you were reading at the moment, your favorite flower combinations to say just the right thing, the subtle way you quirked your mouth when trying to hide a smile. It’d overridden any self-preservation or reminder of what could happen to you.

Every night on patrol, he watched over your hospital room to make sure no one came near to hurt you. After, he’d spend hours tracking down the crime group that did it. That wanted to rid Spider-Man of the city. He’d almost kept the mug shots of each bloodied scum criminal he took down, who dared put a finger on you.

As Peter, he swallowed down his shame and self-hatred to visit you in the hospital – a bouquet in hand. Opening up your room door, he slipped in, letting out a sharp breath before facing you. The parts inside his chest that had hardened over these past days softened, nearly crumbled, at the way your eyes lit up at seeing him.

“Peter, you came,” you sighed out. You couldn’t move all that well, not with the bruising and the few fractures you sustained, but he could see the energy fighting in your body. Could feel it.

Holding out the flowers toward you, he said, “Yeah, of course I did.” He found himself unable to look at you long, each discolored part of your skin and wince at your body’s pain unbearable to witness.

Your hand brushed his, caressing his fingers as if to tell him it’d be okay, as you took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” Your voice barely broke the humming of the machines hooked up throughout the room, but the smile you hid behind the petals explained your feelings well enough.

He took a seat next to you, his body aching to touch yours in some way. To rest a hand on yours or kiss each bruise you had. But he didn’t, not after what he’d done. “How are you feeling?”

You gave a sad sort of laugh, one that wasn’t funny but at least didn’t bring tears with it. “Let’s just say I’m better now that you’re here.”

He knew you meant it, but it couldn’t be true, not when him being there had led to all of this. Biting back a groan, he said, “I… I wanted to see how you were doing, but I also wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes stayed glued to the tiled floor, speckled in beige and too shiny. “I just–”

“I know it was you.”

Peter Parker always had a smart remark, a witty comeback. Especially when it came to you and the joy he could pull from you. But not now. Your words froze him, sending ice through his skin and shredding down into his nervous system.

You made the first move, reaching out a hand to his knee to stop its shaking. He hadn’t even known he had been shaking his leg. But it made him shut his eyes, force even breaths through his nose.

“There was no way I could forget your voice, or how you tilt your head when you’re confused,” you told him, and his throat felt tight at the slight crack in your voice. “I forgive you, Peter. As long as you don’t say goodbye.”

You made him so careless… carefree, for once in his life. His calloused palms scratched against his face, the pressure of his fingers against his scalp like iron weights – weight as heavy as his mistakes that he paid witness to right in front of him. “I can’t.”

“At least stay with me for a little longer,” you pleaded. Your hand reached up to wrap around his wrist and pull them away, forcing him to look at you. And you smiled, the only smile that he couldn’t resist. So he stayed, holding you until he embedded his fingerprints into your skin.

–

For a long time, Peter had forgotten all about those photos – they were just wishes thrown into the wind for some future he hoped to have with you. So when you took that first picture of you as a couple, a picture of him kissing you on the cheek in Central Park, arms wrapped around one another and no world outside the two of you, how could he think about any other photo?

He’d brought you there after you’d healed, the painful memories faded from your skin. You fell asleep in that hospital bed with your hand entwined in his to find him still there when you awoke. He hadn’t said goodbye.

Peter had asked you out with another bouquet, one that you’d told him meant eternal gratitude and affection. If you hadn’t had gone through everything, maybe you would have been embarrassed at how fast you told him yes. But with the way his honey eyes melted at your answer, you couldn’t regret something like that.

That photo of that first date stayed with him all the time, printed out and everything. Peter did the same for the next one – of you both lounging lazily in his bed and morning sun streaming in through the blinds. Then the same for the one from the photo booth at the mall. His wallet soon stretched against its seams before you made him choose one to keep in there or he’d end up losing all of them somehow. The rest decorated the walls and shelves while others found their way into a shoebox he hid so it’d never be damaged.

But he never stop taking photos of you to remind himself of what he had. In the middle of cooking dinner, sauce and measuring cups everywhere, he took a picture of you, hands of your hips and trying to not look amused. But he saw you in a way his camera could never capture, so you smiled against your will. Peter even took one while swinging through the air with you, your body clung to his as you tucked your face against his neck. You’d smacked him for that one, but there was no helping him when it came to you.

The one photo he chose to keep tucked against his body, to remind him to make it home, was the one from a family dinner. It looked simple, cute with friends and family surrounding you two with wide smiles, but it’d always been more to him. There was his family, his life far away from his hidden one. The life you had given him.

@reidslovely

A/n: Thank you for reading, it means the world.

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #tasm spiderman #spiderman #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gn!reader

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the-chaotic-scilla-aster · 10 months ago

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Cuddle Puddle

My first real one shot, A good 1550 words. Did my best to keep MC gender neutral, hope you enjoy!

Thank you, @honeybadgerdontcare394 for being my inspiration mirror and just chilling with me while I wrote this

fic inspired by this pic

MC has been haunted by nightmares of the battle with Ranrok going horribly wrong and living with the guilt of her dear friends dying due to her failure. Cue the Legacy Crew coming to the rescue.

Sitting straight up, gasping for air, I look around the dorm, trying to grasp the reality that I'm surrounded by my sleeping housemates who are very much alive and well. The inkling of my nightmare is still at the forefront of my sleep-riddled mind. Any normal person would get a drink of water and lie back down.

Yet, knowing myself, I'd have better luck roaming the halls or taking care of the beasts in my vivariums. Slipping out of bed, I put my house shoes on and quietly make my way through the common room. House-elves, animated portraits, and ghosts are the only wayfaring occupants of a sleeping Hogwarts. I make my way past the Central Hall fountain as the sound of a door opening comes from behind me. Not a moment after ducking behind a mermaid, hoping that it's not Madam Scribner or a Prefect, a certain troublesome Slytherin sneaks by.

“At this time of night, I should have known it would be you coming from the library instead of Scribner herself.” I mutter just loud enough for Sebastian to hear me. A half-hearted laugh escapes as he nearly trips from spinning around.

“I was so focused on getting back to my dorm that I didn’t even see you hiding so poorly.” The Slytherin chuckles before looking at me. “Actually, why are you awake and wandering about?”

I should have expected the big brother of my friends to pick up on anything abnormal about my own wandering schedule. “For the most part, I’m fine. Just a bit of restlessness.”

If Sebastian Sallow was good at anything mundane, it was making people fidget from his unnerving stare, which is why the water pouring from the fountain has my attention because I know he isn’t buying my lie. Along with the fact that I can’t lie to save my life when it comes to him or Ominis. Damn Slytherin boys.

“You’re having nightmares, aren't you, MC?” he sighs as the sound of feet moves, and suddenly his arm is around my shoulder, and I'm being pulled against his side.

“That’s not fair! I get that I’m horrid at lying, but Ominis can’t even see yet points it out like a sore thumb in fresh snow!” I groaned as Sebastian laughs and guides me up the stairs of Central Hall.

“Either way, I take it you’re heading to the Room of Requirement?” His smirk is annoying, and the itch to zap it off his face is enticing. Nonetheless, the warmth radiating from him settles my nerves—a further tie to the reality that not only am I, but those around me that I care about are safe and very much alive.

The walk to the Astronomy Tower was mostly a blur, save for the few ducks and dodges from a certain poltergeist. I gaze at the stairs until the darkness swallows them. “I don’t feel like being alone. I don’t think my mental state can handle it.” Turning to look at the boy next to me, his face shows an emotion that I’d seen a handful of times.

“Then you won’t be. We can make it a slumber party and invite all of our friends!” Sebastian softly declares as he takes my hand and guides me to the seventh floor of the tower. Once we stop in front of the slowly appearing door, he spins around and smiles.

Taking a step inside, I smile softly at the warmth the room gives off, a home within a home. “Deek, I know it’s late, but I could use your assistance,” I say as I round the corner, seeing the sweet house elf sweeping by the hallway. “Deek would be most happy to assist you. What is it that you need?”

“I’ll head back to my dorm and get Ominis. We’ll send owls to the rest. While we do that, you and Deek can set up however you feel is necessary.” With a smile and a nod, he’s off down the stairs.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I think that should be enough. What do you say, Deek?” I ask while looking at Merlin knows how many pillows and blankets are strewn in a somewhat organized chaos.

“Deek thinks that it looks like the perfect place to spend time with friends and take a nap.” I smile while turning around at the sound of the door opening. Ominis and Sebastian are quick to enter, and while I must say, seeing Ominis in anything but his usual tidiness is odd, it suits him nonetheless. A warm hug from the Slytherin Prince and a flick to my forehead precede Sebastian, throwing his arms over both of our shoulders.

“Is there a good reason as to why you didn’t come to either one of us, or any of your other friends for that matter, about the nightmares you’ve been having? Or do you think we don’t care or love you enough to listen and help?” His face shows all the emotions his voice doesn’t.

“Neither, nor anything. I’m sorry, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust or think none of you cared; if anything, the exact opposite was true. I didn’t think they would last so long or begin to feel so real,” I say, looking at the floor. A burp comes from behind me, and a smile forms as I look behind me.

“Ew, Garreth! That was right next to my face!” Amit bemoans as his hand waves frantically in front of him. Poppy and Natty do their best not to laugh as they come through the door.

“We’ve got owls saying that a particular someone is in need of cheering up,” Poppy states as she comes over and hugs me. “The freaky thing about nightmares is realizing that they were created by your own mind. Don’t stop dreaming just because you had a nightmare.” Her embrace is warm, and I lean my cheek against the short Hufflepuff.

Natty comes over and joins in the hug, next moment I’m suddenly the center of a very large hug, laughter bubbles from my lips as I try (and fail) to wiggle around. Amit is the first to pull away and looks around “Are there enough pillows? Other than food I think we’re all set”

I chuckle as I side-eye Garreth, who’s already eating a random muffin, an innocent smile and shrugged shoulders thrown my way before I walk around the pillows and my friends. “We can always sneak into the kitchens, that is if Amit is willing to be the lookout?” A smile and an open door are all that are needed to urge the mixed-matched group of pajama-clad students to take action. Or maybe it's the mention of food?

“Are we in agreement that if a house-elf shows up, we leave Garreth or Sebastian as the sacrifice?” Ominis snickers at the harmonized ‘hey’ as we file past the portrait. Poppy is already grabbing muffins, mini mincemeat pies, and scones. Natty is in the back by the kegs, no doubt stuffing the charmed bag she’d gotten for Christmas with the mini kegs of butterbeer. I grab a couple of apples and a basket of dinner rolls. Soon, we’re heading back to The Room.

Once back in the room, a table was placed in the center of the pillows. We slowly emptied our bags and robe pockets of the food and snacks. Natty placed two kegs in the center of the table while I conjured mugs. A glance at Deek as he came to join us at the beckoning of Natty and Poppy, and the tendrils of the once-recurring nightmares quickly faded from my mind. Laughter and chatting filled the late-hour air, shortly followed by yawns and groans of full bellies.

“Personally, I am ready to pass out. I’m not sure about the rest of you.” Amit states as a yawn escapes him. A unified agreement rings among us, and we’re quick to vanish any traces of food and drink. Natty and Garreth are quick to go curl up with Amit as they quietly chatter about odd interests. Poppy and I curl up with Sebastian laid out behind us, acting as a pillow. Ominis finds my lap once I settle myself.

I spy Deek at the steps of the hallway leading to the lower room and smile softly at him as he nods back at me, a smile of his own, as he's been a pillar of strength for me since my nightmares started. A yawn slips past my lips as my eyelids grow heavy, and the tendrils of the once-recurring nightmares quickly fade from my mind.

“There's something about kindred spirits. You meet them, and for a moment, this world��no matter how ugly—makes sense. They bring a sense of freedom and clarity to the conversation, just enough to remind you of who you are.”

I love the unexpected friendships I’ve made this year. If not for them being here, I’d have lost myself in a way no one would return from. A smile paints my face as I fall asleep, knowing I’ll never be alone.

Nikki Rowe

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #spilled ink #amit thakkar #garreth weasley #natty onai #hogwarts oc #ominis gaunt #poppy sweeting #writeblr #comfort

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beeeinyourbonnet · 4 months ago

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Covetous | Chapter 18

Pairing: Nostelle

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [chapter 15] [chapter 16] [chapter 17]

[read on ao3]

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Left alone in the library with Kaz, MacAvoy did not know what to do. He tried to follow Belle’s path out the windows, but she ran off and disappeared.

After what must have been a century of uncomfortable silence, MacAvoy turned to Kaz.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, watching the window with unfocused eyes.

“Right.” He did not have to be helpless just because Belle wasn’t there. He had been to this library plenty of times and he knew the score. “I’m going to man the desk.”

“No one’s allowed behind the desk,” Kaz said, finally turning to him.

“It’s all right, I volunteer—”

“No one’s allowed behind Belle’s desk,” she repeated, widening her legs like he might attack her. He didn’t know what to do.

“Look, I know that patrons aren’t allowed, but—”

“Stop!” Kaz threw her hands over her ears. “You can’t go back there.”

MacAvoy raised both palms. “Okay, okay. I’ll just—I’ll just stand in front of it?”

She nodded, watching him warily, and lowered her hands. He rubbed his forehead, wishing he could lock himself in Belle’s office with a bottle of anything. He’d take cough syrup at this point.

Relegated to standing there, he had nothing to dissipate the discomfort or distract them. His thoughts wandered, as they usually did, to Nosty and his violence. He’d been terrified watching him go after Coach Gaston, even more terrified when Belle intervened, and then had an unexpected swell of affection when Nosty let him go.

Was he happy to see Nosty grow?

Maybe, but that didn’t change the fact that he was dangerous. Anyone could see he’d been a split-second from not stopping at all, and Belle would have been caught in the crossfire.

“So,” MacAvoy said, wishing he could sit in Belle’s chair. “Have you known Nosty long?”

“Not really.”

Why, why did everyone he tried to speak to hate him on sight? “Are you close?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m Father Joseph MacAvoy.” He offered his hand and, after eyeing it, she shook it.

“Are you Joe?” she asked.

He didn’t know how to answer that or what she was even implying with her question, but thank god because he was saved the struggle by the door opening to admit a few of Belle’s regulars.

“Afternoon, Father!” one of them called, setting a stack of books on the return cart.

“Afternoon,” he called back. Maybe this would convince Kaz that he was allowed behind the desk.

It didn’t. She just continued to glare at him with distrust until after another century or so, Belle emerged back inside, Nosty trailing behind her.

When Belle spotted the two of them standing like a police patrol in front of her desk, she paused, flashing an unsure smile.

“Is everything okay?”

Nosty stood close behind her, and MacAvoy could just see the tips of his fingers where they curled around her hip.

“Are you okay, Belle?” Kaz asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Belle smiled again. “He didn’t touch me, thank god. Why don’t I put a movie on?”

Privately, MacAvoy thought Kaz had been referring to Nosty and not Coach Gaston, but she didn’t correct Belle—possibly because she, too, had noticed Nosty’s possessive hand.

She and Kaz headed for the couches, Nosty hot on their tail, and MacAvoy, reasoning that Nosty would do the same, shifted every few seconds to ensure he always had eyes on the group.

Belle fiddled with a projector while Kaz picked out a DVD, and Nosty hovered behind Belle like he was afraid she’d be attacked if left to her own devices. MacAvoy, as he always did, wished he could have heard what they’d talked about outside. Had Belle reprimanded him? Doubtful.

Kaz curled up on the couch, and Belle left her to it, but once she and Nosty had left Kaz’s sight, she turned to him and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. Whatever she said made him scowl, but his look softened when she rubbed his elbow, and then she kissed him on the cheek—definitely no reprimands—and left him there. He stomped quietly toward the couch, taking the opposite side from Kaz as he had with MacAvoy earlier.

Belle appeared in front of him, and he flushed. He should have gone back to the desk as soon as she left.

“Would you mind the desk?” she asked. “I need to go into my office for a little bit.”

“Sure.”

She squeezed his shoulder in thanks, then disappeared off to the back. MacAvoy checked out books for the patrons who’d come in when she’d been outside, blushing when the women twice his age flirted, and by the time he settled into her chair to sit and wait, Belle was emerging with red eyes and a wet smile.

He stood, relieved when she dragged another chair over before taking hers. He sat next to her, shoving down the smugness rising in his throat like bile.

“Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He never knew how much Nosty could hear. He was always alert.

“Just a little overwhelmed.” She smiled at him, then brought up a window of clothes shopping, and he almost laughed.

“Day’s almost over, at least,” he said.

“And then I have to come back tomorrow.” She closed her eyes. “At least I know Coach Gaston won’t be coming back.”

“Has he really come every day this week?”

She nodded, then gave a dramatic shudder. “I thought about bringing you and Nosty in sooner, but I thought I could handle him.”

“I’m sure you could have. You handle him just fine.” He jerked his head toward the couches.

“It’s not the same. Nothing I said was going to make him go away, and who knows what he’d have done if I’d slapped him or something?” She shook her head. “Nosty respects me.”

MacAvoy had never considered that. It was evident in the way he watched her, the way he constantly touched her, the way he’d cooked for her that Nosty liked Belle, but MacAvoy had never given the idea that he respected her as an equal any thought. Maybe he did respect her.

****

Nosty hated to sit still out in the open. In his hovel under the bridge, he’d always had his back to a wall and his mates around him. In the library, if he could lurk between the shelves with books at his back, he could avoid anything he wanted.

On this couch, he was vulnerable, especially with an icon of his too-near past sitting one cushion away from him, eyeballing him like he might sprout an extra head at any second.

Of course, he didn’t blame Kaz for being wary. He’d certainly never been nice to her. Kind, perhaps, but his kindness always came with teeth, often a blade.

He pushed those thoughts down. Whatever he’d done to Kaz, he’d made up for by telling her about Belle. That was the best gift he could give a street rat.

After fifteen minutes of her barely watching whatever movie it was she’d chosen, Nosty couldn’t take it anymore.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

Kaz shrugged, and he clenched his jaw, sure she wanted to goad him into a reaction. He would not give in. If necessary, he could slink away and be in Belle’s office in seconds, hidden from sight. Fighting Coach Gaston had been a no-brainer, but he doubted Belle would be as sympathetic if he picked a fight with a homeless girl who looked fragile as a daffodil.

Besides, he’d told her this was a safe place. It should be safe from him as well.

“Seems like you went to a lot of trouble for a piece of arse, that’s all,” Kaz said.

Well, the cat was out of the bag on that one. Even MacAvoy, the thickest person Nosty had ever been civil to, couldn’t have seen what happened and assumed Nosty just wanted a shag.

“What of it?”

Kaz shifted to her knees, looking like she wanted him to join her, like they were old friends about to gossip. Well, they weren’t old friends. At best, he had respected her intelligence more than her friend Gypo’s, and at worst, he’d been just another man in her life to torment her.

“How long have you been coming here?”

His instinct to lie to protect himself was too strong. “Dunno. Couple months.” If someone could construct a timeline, someone could come here and hurt Belle. He was the one who’d stoked those attitudes in his blokes—he knew what they were all capable of.

“D’you fancy her?”

“Och, Karen, if you don’t shut it—”

“You do!” she crowed, and Nosty almost gaped. If he could not pretend to hate everyone around him and reasonably fool someone as exhausted and strung out as Kaz, who was he?

“What?”

“You’re blushing!” She scooted closer and he recoiled, but this did not deter her. “I don’t blame you, she’s pretty.”

“She’s not just pretty,” he said, and then almost screamed at himself. God, but he had it bad, didn’t he? Seeing a solicitor and a therapist were one thing, living with a priest was another, but now he was speaking his mind about her? Nosty, the Sovereign King of Canning Town New Bridge, was cracking.

“She’s real nice,” Kaz said. “D’you think she’d go out with you?”

He breathed. Kaz had either not noticed or not understood his arm around her waist. “Dunno, and I don’t give a fuck. What d’you care anyway? Piss off.”

Kaz wolf-whistled and he seriously considered fleeing, but King Nosty did not flee. Regular Nosty might, but that’s not who Kaz knew.

“Kaz, I’m fucking warning you.”

But his warning held no bite in this safe library, this place where he didn’t even have his knife because Kathryn and Belle had convinced him that carrying a weapon could get him locked up for good, and Kaz knew it.

“You should ask her on a date!”

“Karen.”

“Okay, okay.” She grinned, as happy as he’d ever seen her without a bottle or a needle. “I promise I won��t tell anyone. I just think it’s nice. That’s all.”

He wrinkled his nose. “What?”

She shrugged. “If even you can find a pretty bird who likes you and get new clothes and a place to sleep, then maybe I can too.”

Nosty’s heart stuttered—something it only did when Belle surprised him—and he had no words. A symbol of hope instead of misery? Was that what he’d be? He could guarantee that his boys wouldn’t think that, but Kaz was young, had been abused her whole life. She didn’t want to burn the world down, she just wanted the world to accept her. Nosty had tried to show her the world only burned, but he’d gone soft now—now, he didn’t even believe that.

“You can,” he said. “You, um—” He licked his lips, and Kaz narrowed her eyes, leaning away from him like he might revert to his old ways and pull his knife on her, or worse. He focused on his kilt, tracing one of the thin green lines with his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” The words tasted bitter as he said them, but it dissipated quickly. Was this the effect of having a bed to sleep in and regular meals? “You didn’t deserve any of the shite I put you through. I just wanted to be cruel. It was never about you.”

Kaz didn’t speak, but he couldn’t look up. Apologizing to Belle was one thing, something he wanted to do because he wanted to be with her, but apologizing to Kaz? He had nothing to gain, and everything to lose if she decided to tell Belle about him. He knew he constantly toed the line between losing Belle and not losing her.

“‘Course it wasn’t about me,” Kaz said. “You were horrible to everyone. We all hated you.”

He laughed—how could he not? With a handful of exceptions, she wasn’t wrong. Besides, it was brave of her to come here and tell him that to his face. Most people wouldn’t.

“You’re all right, Kaz, you know that?”

“You got weird,” she said. “It’s freaking me out.”

“Nah.” He leaned back into the couch. “Prison changes a man, that’s all.”

“Prison? You said you got let out.”

“Aye, but I was in long enough, and as far as everyone’s concerned, I’m still there, and it fucking changed me.”

Which was not a lie—the holding cell had left him alone with his own thoughts for twenty-four hours, giving him the opportunity to dwell on what he’d abandoned. It had also brought Belle back to him when he thought it was over, and that was it, wasn’t it?

Prison had given him the opportunity, but it was Belle who’d changed him, and against everything he’d have thought weeks ago, he was actually grateful.

****

Saturday dawned bleak and grey, a perfect representation of MacAvoy’s mood at the thought of having to prepare for his second mass in years with only Nosty for company.

Despite having nearly killed a man yesterday, Nosty had been in good spirits when they left the library. Belle took them all out to dinner, then dropped them off at the church with a promise to see them both Sunday morning.

Nosty had spent all night reading and scribbling furiously in his journal with a pen that MacAvoy didn’t recognize, which he’d had time to study because, of course, all he could do was spy on Nosty.

Now, it was Saturday morning, and though MacAvoy was not clinging to the toilet, he felt like he might be at any moment.

“Jesus, you look like a corpse,” Nosty said, refilling his coffee. MacAvoy supposed he probably did, sitting at the kitchen table with his hands around a full mug, staring into space.

“Just thinking about everything I need to do. I should have tried to hire a janitor, or at least a cleaning service. The sanctuary gets so dusty so quickly.”

“You mean, instead of asking Cinderella to scrub the floors?”

MacAvoy glared. “I didn’t ask her to scrub them, she offered.”

“You could have helped.”

“I was sick.”

“Whatever.” He set his mug on the table but didn’t sit. “I’ll clean the sanctuary.”

Surely, he had misheard him. He rubbed a finger over his ear, but Nosty was still looking at him expectantly. “You will?”

“Sure. You need to hire a cleaner, I need cash. A hundred quid per cleaning.”

MacAvoy hadn’t employed a janitor in awhile, so he didn’t know if that was reasonable or not, but it sounded a lot cheaper than a salary.

“Deal.”

They shook, and for once, Nosty had actually made his life easier instead of harder.

****

Belle hadn’t meant to sleep in so late on Sunday, but working the extra day and being so hands-on wiped her out, and all she’d done when she got home the night before was cocoon herself in bed to read and eat popcorn for dinner. She texted Nosty a few times, but he wasn’t exactly a texter, having never really used a phone before.

When she rushed into the church with seconds to spare before mass started, she was glad to see that there were almost ten people she didn’t recognize. The gay couple from last week sat in the back, and they smiled and waved as she tried to sneak in.

The woman who’d sat behind Nosty was in the same spot again and did not seem to notice Nosty’s half-panicked glance at Belle as she headed for the other side of pews. She smiled back, but they’d agreed not to sit together again, so she slid into an aisle seat near the middle, flashing her final smile of greeting at Joseph, who looked about ready to vomit. Had he been sick again this morning?

He didn’t sound sick as he led the service, and his sermon included a brief apology for sounding intolerant last week as well as a message on welcoming everyone, which Belle found much nicer than his awkward treatise on lust.

Before she could even get to Nosty when the service ended, his new church friend had sidled up behind him, so Belle made the rounds to the other three people who’d been there last week, leaving the new faces for Joseph.

By the time the couple—Gray and Archie—said goodbye, Joseph was standing by Nosty and the woman, so she headed over.

“The church looks great today,” she said, shaking his hand because she wasn’t sure if hugging a priest was normal and acceptable in the eyes of his flock.

“Thanks,” he said. “Was the sermon okay?”

“It was perfect.” She resisted the urge to squeeze his shoulder, aware of the blonde woman’s presence still.

Nosty’s hand appeared on Belle’s shoulder. “If you’re new and looking for restaurants, she’s your woman.” He squeezed her shoulder a bit harder than necessary. “She knows all the good spots.”

This was not strictly accurate, and the disappointment on the woman’s face was clear as Belle turned to her with a bright smile.

“You’re new?” Belle asked.

“Just moved here from Liverpool,” the woman said. “I was just telling him how I still don’t really know anyone but my work mates, and that’s all very political socializing, you know?”

“Sure, yeah,” Belle said. “Well, I don’t really live in this area actually, but…”

She gave her a few recommendations for restaurants she knew here, then some by her own flat, and by the time she was done, Nosty had vanished into thin air. Of course.

When they were done chatting, Belle was surprised to find a few people waiting by the confessional. Joseph cast her a panicked look.

“You can do it.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Go hear some confessions.”

He nodded, still looking on the verge of vomit, and shuffled over. Satisfied that she had done her duty, Belle headed for the rectory.

Nosty already had tea steeping in two mugs, and after poking his head out the kitchen door when she walked in, he stopped to wrap his whole body around her.

“Oh my god, I’m sitting with you next week,” he said into her shoulder, and she snorted.

“I’ll be glad to save you from your admirer.” She slid her arms up his back, but that was the best she could do when he was squeezing her like a happy little octopus.

“I really tried to be on me best behavior for you and Friar Fuck, but Jesus if she didn’t take it as a cue to keep going.”

“Nosty, I can’t breathe.”

He let go, and she plopped into a chair, exhausted from having to socialize a seventh day in a row. Nosty frowned and knelt in front of her, peering at her like a nurse about to check her temperature.

“You okay?”

“I’m beat,” she said. “I thought about coming over last night to spruce up the sanctuary, but I just couldn’t.”

“Good news, you don’t have to clean it anymore.” Nosty folded his arms across her lap, balancing on the balls of his feet. For someone their age, he was quite limber. “Joseph’s contracted me out to do it.”

A flutter started in Belle’s toes and landed somewhere near her heart. “Nosty, that’s fantastic! I’m so glad—he’s paying you, right?”

“Aye, like he should have paid you.”

She kissed him on the forehead because it was right there, and he wrinkled his nose, so she kissed him there too.

“I’m glad you’re getting along,” she said. Although, she didn’t like that when she’d complimented the church, Joseph hadn’t even mentioned Nosty.

“I’m being civil,” he said.

Joseph was still downstairs when Nosty finished fixing their tea, and it didn’t take much coaxing for Belle to follow him to the couch. She hoped that soon, she’d be able to curl up between his legs, against his chest again without any internal struggle. She didn’t know what exactly she was waiting for, but she knew she’d feel certain when she trusted him again. They were on the cusp, but a little part of her still feared he might flee, that if something happened and she wasn’t there to run after him and calm him, he would disappear into the fabric of London, never to be seen again.

“Belle?”

“Hmm?” She stared into the depths of her tea, considering how rude it would be to abandon it in favor of laying her head in Nosty’s lap and closing her eyes.

“I want to tell you something.”

“I want to hear it.” That settled it—she set the tea on the table and was horizontal before she could change her mind. Nosty preferred to talk without eye contact anyway, so this was perfect, and even more perfect when he rested his hand in her hair.

“Only because you’re like—eh—a professional.”

If she hadn’t abandoned her tea, she might have spit it out in surprise. “I’m a library professional, but I’ll do my best to help.”

He rubbed her scalp and her eyes drifted shut.

“You been working on your book?”

Was he trying to give her whiplash? “Not really.” Honestly, she’d kind of forgotten that she was working on a book at all. Maybe that was a sign that writing wasn’t her calling.

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “It hasn’t been on my mind.”

His finger trailed down her neck, and she shuddered. When he did it again, she grabbed his hand.

“I think I might like writing,” he said. “But I don’t know where to start.”

Belle could not explain her sudden urge to weep, though it wasn’t a sad weep. She swallowed twice to push the urge down.

“Have you been writing?”

His hand fidgeted in hers, so she released it, and he went back to playing with her hair. “Just journaling like you told me. It—” He twisted a piece of her hair with a painful tug on her scalp, and then jumped when she yelped—the first time she could ever remember startling him—and let go. “Well, it does fucking help.”

She closed her eyes, savoring this new glimpse into Nosty’s head. Every time he was forthright and honest, it felt like a little gift that she could treasure. She wrapped a hand around his calf since his hands were occupied by her hair.

“I’m glad.”

“But how do you go from writing about yourself to someone else?”

Belle shrugged. “I always hated writing about myself, so I don’t know if I can help you there. But there are loads of resources online I can help you find and I can pull some craft books for you tomorrow and bring them by?”

“Got the shrink tomorrow,” he said, a little more casual than usual, like he didn’t want her to notice he’d said this at all.

“That’s very soon,” she said. “Were you okay getting there yourself?”

“Aye. Wants me to see him twice a week for a bit. Says I have ‘PTSD’ or some shite.”

She didn’t doubt that Nosty and everyone he knew had PTSD, but she kept her mouth shut. She was not in charge of diagnosing him, just of supporting him.

“Well, it’s nice of him to make so much room for you in his schedule. Do you want me to bring the books by on Tuesday instead?”

“No.” He clutched at a handful of her hair, so she squeezed his calf in response. “I want to see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Then you’ll see me tomorrow.”

#anyelle #anyelle fic #anyelle fanfic #anyelle fanfiction #nostelle #nosty x belle #nosty #covetous #new update

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