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rimunagenius · 5 months

Text

It Was Doomed From The Start

ʚ pairing: Kate Martin x Roommate!reader

ʚ word count: 3.1k words

ʚ warnings: RPF!! , stalking, harassment, angst, self reflection (this topic scares me…don’t judge), fluff ofc bc it’s Kate

ʚ rimunagenius speaks: i know the title looks scary, but i promise, it’s nothing bad with Kate and reader. I wouldn’t write angst for them for this story not yet atleast I also wanted to introduce what Kate has reader under in her phone and i’ve also been thinking about adding one shots about how Kate and reader came up with the nicknames for eachother or little one shots of them before or during the events written about in the series (stuff that didn’t make it to the fic)…if i do they’ll be on the series masterlist but let me know if you’d like to see that!! anyways…here’s the long awaited part three!

Part 3

| Series Masterlist |

"C'mon, it's time to get up, sleeping beauty." There was no beauty in how you were currently knocked out in Kate's bed. Your hair is all over your face and pillow; with parts sticking up due to the lack of hairstyle before going to sleep.

You had your mouth slightly open, quietly breathing through it. You needed this sleep. You usually slept way more appealing but this—this was your well-needed catch up on weeks' worth of rest. "Y/n...y/n. C'mon. We have to get ready." Kate leaned over the bed, a hand on your hip, softly attempting to shake you awake. A string of muffled and incoherent curse words left your mouth as you pulled the comforter over your head.

Curling in on yourself to make yourself small and generate more heat. It was a pretty cold morning in Iowa City. "I don't wanna." You whined under the blanket. Eliciting a small giggle from the blonde, she crawled into the bed, almost spooning you before speaking to you softly.

"Well we have to, sunshine. We have classes, and if you still want to eat breakfast, I suggest you get up now." She flipped the comforter off your head, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. "C'mon, let's go." She gave your arm light taps before she then gripped it and started to pull you out of her bed.

"We should not have stayed up so late last night. It's your fault. I blame you.” You pointed in her face, your hair everywhere and eyes closed, preventing her from taking you seriously. “You kept doing that thing you do with your mouth." You mumbled as you now were standing right infront of your roommate, eyes looking up at her, your mascara under your eyes.

"Sorry I was having a good time. From what I remember you didn't want me to stop." She looked at you, wiping some of the mascara fall out away, giving you a bright smile before walking you towards the bathroom.

"Kate, we were drinking and you know that trick is only funny when we're both under the influence. If you would've stopped messing around, we could've finished both movies at a decent hour. I literally fell asleep in your bed and halfway through the movie." You say as you look at her through the mirror, narrowing your eyes before cleaning your mascara and whatever makeup you had on.

She raised her arms in defense, "I mean, what can I say? I'm the life of the party, baby." She said before placing herself on the counter. "Oh, and I already made waffles and yours are on the counter." She sat and watched your do your whole routine, her legs swinging a little every now and then.

"Yes?" You looked at her as you placed a refreshed coat of mascara on your lashes. You could see her staring. She's been doing that a lot lately. It made you feel warm inside and you wouldn’t lie and say you haven’t been doing it more recently also.

"Nothing. Just watching you." She smiled softly as she watched you do your makeup. A small blush casting over both your cheeks. You both knew what it was.

"Okay, creep." You side eyed her before giving her your best smile, just to prove you were being playful.

"Haha. Funny." Kate mocked you, lightly kicking her foot against the side of your thigh.

"Kate? Can you do me a favor?" You looked at your best friend, her blue eyes immediately meeting yours. She nodded her head quickly, eyes trained in yours immediately trying to read your face for anything wrong.

"Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?" She picked up on your nervous look. You sighed, looking down.

"Nick’s still weirding me out, so I wanted to know if you could walk back here to come get me after your class and take me to my next one? I just don't want to be on campus alone with him being around." You looked nervous, almost as if you had a feeling she'd say no. Of course Kate didn't, though. You still haven’t told her about not even going to report him in the first place.

"Yeah, for sure. I can do that. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah. Okay, thank you. It's just for this class and my next two and then Hannah can take me to practice later." You watched Kate's face soften.

"Y/n, you know i'd take you to every class. It's not an inconvenience. Whatever you need, I got you." She hugged you before saying a small goodbye and watched you walk inside your class while she waited outside.

You went inside and sat down, your phone pinging with a new message.

bear <3

be safe, ily.❤️

sunshine☀️💕

ilym😘

'bear <3 loved "ilym😘"'

The class went smoothly, you walked outside to see Kate standing, waiting for you. She must have left class sooner to be here on time to not make you wait. God, you were so grateful for this girl.

She walked you to every class before you had anatomy. So far, Nick hasn't spotted you, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. You didn’t want to put it past him to find you, but for right now, you were taking the win. As you finally made it to anatomy, Juliana had been waiting outside.

You and Kate had been laughing about something she said when you looked over and saw Juliana watching you both, a smile on her face. "Oh, Kate. This is my friend Juliana, the one who's helping me with the girlfriend thing." You introduced your two friends, them shaking one another's hands.

"Hi, I'm Kate. Nice to meet you." Kate greeted, a friendly smile on her face.

"Oh, I know who your are. Y/n has said so many great things about you. You're almost all she talks about in here." Your face immediately grew red. You hadn't realized you talked about Kate so much. Did you really?

Kate looked down at you and smiled. A small blush rising to her cheeks. "Does she now?" She asked teasingly.

"Yeah, she's always going on about how such a great friend you are. How good you are to her. Makes me jealous." She jokingly added, before chatting Kate up some more. You didn't know what it was but something about Juliana being overly excited about talking to Kate, Kate being engaged in the conversation, was something that made a pit grow in your stomach.

You had no idea why two of your friends talking gave you a sense of jealously. It was frankly ridiculous. Shaking the totally absurd assumptions of this otherwise normal interaction out of your head, you looked down at your phone. A new notification from a random account on instagram.

The picture less profile, what seemed to be a randomly generated username had sent you a message. Clicking the message, you immediately felt a ball in your throat form. Suddenly your knees felt like they would give up and the world would swallow you whole from right where you were standing.

maybe you should make her leave…

this won’t be good for you.

she’s not good for you.

make her leave.

it won’t be good for her either.

You looked around, trying to find who had sent it. They had to have been talking about Kate. You knew who it was, just thing to find him to justify that you weren’t absolutely going crazy and imagining this whole thing.

“Hey, you okay?” Kate looked at you, her eyes scanning every inch of your flushed face, her worry growing by the second.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine. I’m just going to walk into class.” You swalllowed before you looked around once more, suddenly seeing him. Lurking at a nearby a table, hat on, just staring right at you. He was sitting a healthy distance away, but watching your every move. Watching Kate. You couldn’t take this.

You hadn’t realized you had been staring, Kate followed your stare and saw him too. Juliana wrapping her arm around your shoulder, kissing the top of your head. You instantly regretted not being able to sell that you were unbothered, due to Kate starting to walk over to Nick.

“Kate! Don’t. I don’t need you talking to him.” You grabbed her arm, and pleaded with her.

“He’s obviously making you very uncomfortable. I thought you told someone about him already. What did he even say?” You did not have the heart to tell her that you let this man harass you for weeks just because you didn’t want to have any conflict. It wasn’t the best decision but it saved a lot of people trouble and you didn’t want to be inconvenience with this stupid thing. You could handle it. You could handle him.

“Kate, I was going to I swear. But I just forgot. You going up to him and telling him off isn’t going to make it better. Trust me. I do not want him to harass or hurt you too. ” You were getting super overwhelmed. Your eyes burning, your vision going blurry, eyes watering.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Juliana said, rubbing her arms up and down your arms. She didn’t have the first clue of what to do other than report this. She just didn’t want to do it without your permission. It was wrong, but it wasn’t her place.

“Hey, can you give us a moment?” Kate asked her. Juliana nodded and walked inside the class but not without staring Nick down before doing so.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to get all riled up over this. But you do need to tell someone, baby.” Her face dropped and immediately started turning red. She should’ve caught herself. It just slipped. You hadn’t noticed because you were avoiding looking anywhere and seeing him.

You hadn’t picked up on the name. Trying to focus on what she was actually saying instead of thinking of all the ways Nick could harm Kate. What did he mean by ‘it won’t be good for her either’ ? All you could think about was her safety.

“I’m sorry, what?” You looked up at Kate, your brows furrowing. Suddenly feeling the biggest migraine come on.

Kate’s face relaxed, sighing before grabbing your face. “I was just saying that we should go report him, and i’ll take you home. I’ll tell coach we caught something and don’t want to get the team sick. We—I just need to get you out of here. Okay? Can you do that for me?” Her eyes stared into yours, wordlessly pleading with you to choose your safety over thinking you’re a burden to someone else.

You nodded, looking behind her to see that Nick had left. He was gone. That’s when you felt a hand grab yours, fingers interlocking. Kate. Immediately you felt more relaxed, more safe. At home. No one could hurt you when you were with the people you loved and cared for. Who cared for you. The team, your friends, were your home. Kate was your home. Your anchor.

Nothing could hurt you, and you were going to do it together. Sending a quick text to Juliana, letting her know the situation, you and Kate started walking to the deans office. Kate sat with you, held your hand, and made sure you were comfortable while telling the dean everything Nick had done to you and said he’d do over the course of the two and a half years you had been here.

It was extensive. It started off so small that you didn’t notice that he slowly integrated into your life. He was obsessed with you. Stalking you. You didn’t realize until it was too late—til it got bad. You and Kate had found out he was a transfer, changing his whole major and career plan to follow yours. He had been to 6 different universities in the last 3 years due to ‘personal’ issues.

Turns out every formal complaint had been waived and disproven. You weren’t the only woman he’s done this to. It was crazy to think that of the many women, the countless evidence of severe mental disorders and psychotic behavior and harassment, he was still allowed into many other universities, was able to appeal the accusations and allowed to leave it behind him.

Kate was in better words, fuming. Her and the dean had gone at it, you trying to mediate before the dean resulted to benching her for her last season. You guys had been in the deans office for about 2 hours. Leaving just in time to send a text to Coach Bluder that you’d both be in absence at practice today.

You two had been walking, still hand in hand, back to your guys’ apartment. “Kate are you sure you want to miss practice today?” You looked at her, eyes still a little bloodshot from the crying you had done. “I can totally just go home alone and say I just didn’t feel good. I’m not on the team, you are.” She still looked upset and very irritated at the situation. She hasn’t said much since you both left. The second you spoke, her face softened. You tended to do that a lot; you changed her mood. Her mood affects yours and yours hers. And only you two could fix it for the other.

“And leave you alone? On campus where a crazy guy is stalking you and making you feel uncomfortable and unsafe? No way. I’d miss as many practices as you needed me to.” She smiled at you, squeezing your hand, before letting it go, and settling for wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you, Kate. Seriously. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” You leaned your head on her, arriving at your apartment.

“Of course. Anything for my favorite girl.” She kissed the top of your head, smiling to herself. She was grateful to have you in her life, she needed you just as much, probably more, than you needed her.

You both helped and healed things in eachother more over the last two and a half years of knowing eachother than anyone had for you both in your guys’ entire lives. “You didn’t do anything to deserve me, you know? Anyone would be lucky to have someone like you. Someone as kind, beautiful, smart, loving, caring, and gorgeous as you. Oh, did i mention you were pretty?” Kate laughed, her cheeks growing pinker by the second.

“Okay, Kate.” You laughed as she unlocked the front door, letting you walk in first. “Thank you. I appreciate you, and I feel the absolute same about you. Any girl who gets you, is the luckiest girl alive.” You smiled at her as you sat the on the couch, her in the kitchen grabbing you both water.

She smiled at you, before you turned to turn the TV on. When you looked away, her smile faltered. You looked at the tv, thinking about what she said. What you had said. You both cared for eachother so deeply. You couldn’t possibly be catching feelings for Kate. Was what you said too obvious…? You had known her for a long time, she was your best friend. That could ruin everything.

Could it? I mean, Kate thought about it over and over, watching your from the kitchen. The way your lips curled slightly when you watched the same reruns of your favorite shows. The way you always sat in the same spot on the couch, next to hers, leaving the perfect amount of room for her but also not enough so that you guys would be touching.

It was hard for the both of you to think this way about the person you have shared a space with for so long. Your roommate. Your best friend. You both needed to figure this out. But it was hard. You couldn’t possibly harbour feelings for the one person you both told yourself not to when this arrangement came to be.

Maybe that should’ve been the first sign. The sign that this living situation was doomed from the moment it was thought into existence; it was doomed from the start. How could you possibly set that boundary, silently in your guys’ head, that you guys couldn’t catch feelings. It would only have meant that you both could’ve seen this coming. I mean, neither one of you turned a blind eye to the other being attractive. Let alone, being eachothers type.

Kate brought you both the waters. Setting them down on the coffee table infront of you. Sitting down in her spot, next to you. You leaned your head on her shoulder almost instantly. Whether you had feelings for her or not, the comfort Kate had brought you was something you couldn’t describe. The need to have the feeling of Kate next to you seemingly growing worse with the feelings.

The familiarity was something you haven’t known since back home. So you essentially chased the feeling whenever you could have it. “Thank you for being there for me, Kate. I mean, truly. I already said it, but thank you.” Snuggling a little closer, bring one knee to your chest.

“Anytime, you know that. I’d do anything for you,” Her voice grew quieter at the end of her sentence. She meant it. “Besides, you’d be completely lost without me, sunshine. You need me.” She smiled when you landed a soft playful smack across her chest. She reached her arm over your shoulders, making you more comfortable.

“You’re right, I do.” You laughed before turning your attention to the TV. You both watched TV the rest of the night, deciding that you’d worry about the Nick thing more tomorrow. The dean telling you that it’d be handled very soon and quickly as possible. So, it was tomorrows problem.

As you both watched TV, you both thought over the fact you may be inlove with your best friend. It may be real and you’d both have to find a way to either move on or deal with it.

And fast.

476 notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 11 days

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Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

invisible string - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader word count: 6k chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble.

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back.

Another piece of shit.

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy.

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck.

Rafe knew that look.

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him.

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always.

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out.

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly.

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one.

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back.

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind?

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you.

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

“Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch.

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before.

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed.

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway.

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered.

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped.

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

269 notes · View notes

avatar-anna · 1 year

Note

Can you write something about reader having an ED and Harry doesn’t notice at first but then starts to notice And then eventually helps you through it?

Try To Find a Way Back

trigger warning: mentions and direct references to eating disorders. please be cautious if you find this topic triggering

so, i don't know a ton about eating disorders and what it's like for someone who has one to be actively struggling with it, and writing about something i don't completely understand makes me nervous bc i don't want to get it wrong. however, since you asked, i'm going to do my best to write this!

in case anyone is curious, this is the article i referenced while writing

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"I just don't understand what her issue is. If I was in her shoes, I'd get help. It's that simple."

"I don't know if—"

"I mean, it's not like struggling with eating makes her special. Like, everyone has body image issues and we just deal with it. Harry will probably break up with her because of all the reassurance she needs. Poor guy probably didn't know what he got himself into when he asked her out. God what a headache for him."

You backed up slowly, not wanting to hear the conversation that was so clearly about you anymore. You'd gone to grab drinks for yourself and who you thought were your friends, but now your hands were shaking so hard you worried the contents in the two wine glasses would come spilling out, glass shattering to the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, bile rising in your throat. Finding the nearest server walking around with an empty tray and, you set the glasses down before booking it out of the club.

Tears were already starting to pool in your eyes as you ordered an Uber to take you home. Phoebe was one of Harry's friends, but she'd been kind to you since the day he introduced you to her and the rest of his close knit group of friends he'd had for years. You'd been incredibly nervous. You were an outsider, not a model or a writer or a musician or an actor. You weren't extraordinarily talented or beautiful, you were just...you.

None of that seemed to matter to Harry, though. He'd been nothing but flirtatious since the moment he met you. Well, once he was able to look past his nerves. He'd been a bit of a stuttering mess at first, and it wasn't until an hour into talking to him where he really got comfortable enough to flirt, and flirt he did.

It took not one, not two, but three tries to get you to go out with him, your insecurities getting in the way the first two times. But that had been a few months ago, and now you were pretty sure you were in love with him, except now you knew his friends hated you.

She doesn't understand, you thought. It isn't so black and white. You would love to just fix yourself, to make yourself see a doctor, seek help. But eating disorders were a behavioral disease, and when you were in the thick of it, it was hard to shake. You'd told Phoebe about your struggles with your weight and eating disorder in confidence, thinking she was someone you could confide in, only to find her mocking your pain behind your back to someone else, and now you didn't know what to do.

Your phone buzzed with a text message, and you tensed when you saw who it was from.

Bubbie: hey where'd you run off to?

You: not feeling well. heading home

Bubbie: why didn't you say anything? let me take you home

Wiping away a tear, you typed out a text. In most cases, being around Harry would've brought you comfort, but right now, you just wanted to be alone. You couldn't let him see you like this, so unsteady.

You: it's ok. enjoy your first night back with your friends. kissies xx

*.*

You'd been avoiding Harry for the last week and a half. Phoebe's words sent you into a bit of a tailspin, and shame kept you from speaking to him, not wanting to involve him in your issues. Because you realized Phoebe was right. To some extent. You should've been able to ask for help, you should've been able to tell Harry how much you were really struggling, but your shame kept you from reaching out to anyone or asking for help, along with the desire to keep up your habits, which created a toxic cycle.

"It seems like this boy is doing you more harm than good, honey," your mom said over the phone. She was the only one you told about what you overheard Phoebe say.

"He's not the problem, Mom. I just—"

"You were doing so well up until you started seeing him. I just don't want you to slip again. I worry about you, and if being with that boy is causing you problems, then you need to look at the bigger picture."

Her heart was in the right place, it really was. Your mom had been there for a lot of your darkest moments and was rightfully protective of you and your health. But Harry really wasn't the problem. He'd never made you feel like you needed to change your body for him, it was quite the opposite in fact. He constantly praised the way you looked, and not because you needed reassurance or asked him to, despite Phoebe's assumptions. He just really thought you were beautiful.

"I can't just live my life alone, Mom," you said eventually, not wanting to admit more. "He makes me happy."

You heard your mom sigh, but she thankfully didn't press the matter further, even though you knew she had lots to say. She always had lots to say where your boyfriend was concerned. The last thing she said on the matter was, "Just...be careful."

Once you hung up the phone, you fell back against your bed for a few minutes before standing up and walking to your kitchen. A trip to the grocery store was in order, just based on the meager items in your pantry and refrigerator—pasta and no sauce, cereal but no milk, veggies but they weren't organic, and did you really need the family size bag of Doritos—

You took a breath, willing those thoughts away. You were fine. You were just upset about what Phoebe had said about you, nothing more. "It's just the grocery store," you murmured. "You go all the time."

*.*

The grocery store had never looked bigger. There were too many labels, too many colors, too many brands making promises of health and wellness. Your hands gripped the shopping cart until your knuckles were white, eyes wide as you carefully browsed the aisles. Everyone else was going about their business just fine. You watched as people grabbed what they needed with ease, scratching items off their lists and moving into the next thing.

How did they know which bread to buy? How did they decide on a cereal? Whole grain or multi grain? They didn't even look at the nutritional facts before putting something in their carts, didn't stop to do the math, counting calories and carbs and grams of sugar against what they already had. How could they just exist without caring about—

Your phone buzzing pulled you from your anxiety-riddled thoughts. With shaking hands, you pulled your phone out of your oversized zip-up, Harry's face popping up with the notification that he was calling you.

"H—Hello?"

"Hey, you! I feel like I haven't heard from you, so I thought I'd call and check in."

You smiled, despite the anxiousness that still had your shoulders tensed. "Sorry, I've been...busy."

"God, me too," Harry said woefully. "But I've let work get in the way far too much this week. I need to see you. Are you free tonight? I can come over and make dinner for the two of us."

The word dinner filled you with dread. That wasn't a good idea right now. The idea of anyone seeing you eat, even Harry, felt terrifying. But what could you do? Saying no would involve having to explain yourself, and you wanted to do that even less.

"I'd love to," you said, all that anxiety coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah? You're in for a treat, I happen to be a fabulous cook."

"Can't wait."

You couldn't even feel excited to see Harry. The dread of having to sit through dinner took up too much space in your mind. You tried to will it away. You liked Harry too much to let your mind get in the way of messing up the good thing you had going.

*.*

A few weeks later, and you were at Harry's house for dinner again, only this time it wasn't just the two of you.

Your date with Harry went better than expected. You picked at your food and pushed it around, shame eating away at you as you lied through your teeth about not feeling very well when Harry asked why you'd hardly eaten anything. He'd been so sweet, making you a cup of tea, laying down with you on his couch to soothe your fake stomach ache, kissing the top of your head and rubbing a hand over your stomach comfortingly.

You felt horrible for lying to him, and you very well couldn't come clean after the fact, but it was better than talking about it. The less you talked about it, the better.

Tonight, you'd been carefully picking at your food again, making sure to take bites that were big enough to look normal and trying not to look like it was making you physically unwell. Each bite was excruciating, your mind telling you not to eat anymore and that you could never exercise all those calories away. It was all you could do to not focus on all the ways you knew how unhealthy this dinner was. It didn't match at all with your diet journal and you'd have to make up for it by—

"—just so hard, don't you think, Y/n?"

"Huh?"

Phoebe smiled at you, but it didn't feel very friendly. You'd avoided talking to her all night so far, had even taken the farthest seat away from her at the table.

"We were talking about how hard it is to live here in LA," she said, gesturing vaguely to the people around her. "It feels like there's a new diet trend every week, and it's just so hard to lose weight while not looking completely anorexic—"

"Phoebe," Harry said tightly, cutting her off before she could finish.

Your grip was tight on your fork, unable to meet anyone in the eye. Did they know? You'd been careful tonight, and any of the other times you'd seen Harry or his friends recently. You didn't want their pity or their questions or their judgement. Nothing would've been worse than the disappointed look on Harry's face, or the look of disgust if he discovered the truth.

That still wasn't enough to stop, though.

"What? I didn't mean to be offensive. I'm just saying how hard it is to get to that perfect size. Y/n knows what I'm talking about. God, I feel like I can taste every calorie I eat, can't you, Y/n?"

"I—Not really," you said meekly. This was not the conversation you wanted to have right now, especially since it felt like you could feel everything you'd eaten tonight, every single bite, sinking to the bottom of your stomach.

"God, I wish I could just throw it up, you know? Then I could eat whatever I want and not feel guilty about it. No more diets, no more counting calories, I could—"

"That's enough," Harry said, voice sounding harder than you'd ever heard it. He glared at Phoebe, whose mouth was still open from stopping mid-sentence. Her eyes were wide with shock as she tried to justify her conversation topic.

"Excuse me," you murmured to Harry, standing up on shaking legs to step away from the table.

"Y/n—"

"I just need to use the restroom," you said, trying your best to talk around the lump in your throat.

You went upstairs to one of the guest bathrooms where you wouldn't be disturbed, though you locked the door to the toilet for good measure. Panic and guilt and self-loathing swirled through you, tears burning your eyes.

For weeks, you told yourself you had it under control. Your behavior was strict, but not worrisome. And effective, too, but that only made guilt and shame mingle with the feeling of success. Your jeans were loose, but you took to wearing baggy clothes so no one would notice. The scale in your bathroom got lower, but it never seemed low enough. Your stomach was taught, rib cage starting to poke through skin, but that just made you feel even worse about yourself and how quickly things escalated. It was a neverending cycle, but as you continued to lean over the toilet, you told yourself it would be just this once. Just this once and you wouldn't do it again. Just this once—

"Y/n? Can you let me in?"

Tears fell harder when you heard his voice. You couldn't let him see you like this. You couldn't face the humiliation, how disappointed he'd be when he realized—

"Y/n, open the door, or I'll break it down, I swear to God," Harry said with urgency in his voice.

Wiping your eye and then your mouth, you stood up, trembling as you turned the lock. You opened your mouth, unsure if an apology or an explanation would come tumbling out of your lips. But Harry pulled you to his chest before you could say a thing. You couldn't help the sobs that wracked your body as he held you up. His hand held the back of your head fiercely, but not harshly, the other one pushing you as close to him as he could.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've said something sooner. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't realize—I never should've—I'm so sorry."

You didn't find out what Harry thought he shouldn't have done because he rested on top of your head, kissing you repeatedly. He squeezed you so tight, as if he worried you would slip away if he didn't. You couldn't focus on anything else but your own emotions, too ashamed at being caught and guilty for having slipped so far in the first place.

"I was okay," you sobbed. "I thought I was okay. I thought—I thought I could control it."

Harry finally leaned away from you, just enough so he could hold your face in his hands and look you in the eye. "This is not your fault. Do you understand? It's not your fault."

More tears streamed down your face, but Harry's thumbs were there to wipe them away. His eyes roved over your face, searching for something, but you didn't know what. Eventually, he said, "There's so much I want to say, but I think for now...I think you should rest."

You agreed, so you didn't try to object. You were exhausted, just wanted the whole evening to evaporate into thin air. You didn't even care if Harry's friends were still in the house or not, you just wanted all the thoughts in your head—the ones still screaming at you to finish what you started and the ones begging you to let Harry help—to stop.

"I just want it to stop," you mumbled.

Harry rested his forehead against yours, breathing in deep. "I know."

*.*

"You're doing so well, love."

It didn't feel like it. In fact, you felt the exact opposite of well. But Harry was holding your hand as you walked through the aisles of the grocery store, his encouragement pushing you to take each step. "I don't think I can do this today."

"What did your eating disorder say to make you think that?" Harry murmured, causing you to grumble under your breath, but it did the trick. You took another step and grabbed the jar of pesto off the shelf.

He'd been doing that a lot recently. Ever since you came back from the treatment facility, he talked about your eating disorder as if it were a separate person, like it was a little devil with red horns talking over your shoulder and not a disease. It grated on your nerves at first because it made you feel like he was talking down to you, and because he was right. Your eating disorder had been the voice in your head and making you make unhealthy decisions. How he saw it first, you had no idea, you were just thankful he was still here, still with you on your road to recovery.

The trip to the grocery store took longer than it probably should've, especially since you only needed a couple things. But the minute you stepped inside, your body tensed up as you took everything in. It was a struggle not to turn packages over to read the nutritional facts, and even harder to put things in your cart. Today was re-introducing day, which meant eating a meal that had foods you'd actively avoided in the past. It scared the shit out of you, which was why Harry was here.

He'd been incredible, more patient than other people would be. He put up with your mother's harsh words when she blamed him for your relapse, he was there every day he was allowed to visit, and he picked up every phone call when you eventually came home. Whether it was to talk you down or talk about random things that came into his head to distract you from dangerous thoughts, he was there.

You honestly didn't know what you did to deserve him.

"How can I help?" Harry asked when you came to another stop.

"Do we really have to buy the parmesan cheese?" you asked, eyeing the aisle filled with various cheeses with a queasy stomach.

"I think you can do it," Harry said, not entirely answering the question. "I can tell you a story while I put it in the cart for you, if that helps."

"Okay," you said, not really sure if it would.

"Right, let me think for a moment," Harry said, mostly to himself. "Oh. Got it! Okay, so one time I went on this blind date, right? And I normally don't like them because my friends seemed to think I can't function without a partner, which is horribly embarrassing, and I normally have a horrible time, but I went to the bar I agreed to meet this person at, and—"

"What? You hated it?" you asked. Part of you thought it was weird that Harry was talking about a date with someone else, but it was doing its job.

Harry raised his brows at you. "I talk, you push."

You rolled your eyes, but pushed the cart another inch, trying to focus on his voice and not where you were headed.

"As I was saying, I get to the bar, and I'm like, holy shit, because I see the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life, and as I go over to talk to her, someone calls out to me, and I realize the girl I saw wasn't who I wasn't supposed to go on a date with, it was someone else. But I can't just ditch this other girl even though I'm dying to just go over to the girl by the bar, so I stay put and try to engage in conversation and laugh when I think I'm supposed to, but I just—All I could think about was the girl in this cute little mini skirt and vest and what was making her laugh so damn much."

"Mini skirt and vest...at a bar...Wait, you don't mean—You were on a blind date when we met?"

The bar in question wasn't one you frequented. It was an upscale one, and you went because your friend dragged you inside, curious to see if she could get any CEOs to buy her a drink, and you...you were just there to make sure your friend got home okay. But somehow you bumped into Harry, though now you supposed you knew why.

"Not technically," Harry said. "The date was over when I walked up to you, and, well, you know the rest. I charmed the pants off you."

You snorted. "That's not what happened."

You'd known who Harry was when before he introduced himself, it was kind of hard not to. You'd seen music videos and heard his songs on the radio and seen him on your TV more than a handful of times, but it was definitely surprising to see him in person, especially because on screen he seemed so chill and cool and cute, the Harry you met was cute, but he could hardly get a word out.

"Nonsense. I remember it differently," Harry said with a sniff.

"You were so nervous it was so cute," you said, wrapping your arms around one of his while he took a turn with the cart.

Kissing the top of your head, he said, "If that's how you want to remember it, fine. But I do remember talking to you for hours and feeling like no time had passed at all. We closed down the bar, do you remember?"

"Mmhm," you said, nodding against his shoulder. "And then you tried to take me home."

"Can you blame me? I met the girl of my dreams, I couldn't just let you leave."

"You mean that?" you asked, looking up at him.

With everything you'd been through recently, it surprised you to know Harry was still with you. This battle you were fighting was lifelong, and you wouldn't have blamed him for leaving somewhere down the line. You loved him, and it would've hurt like hell, but you would've understood. But he never did, and every time you asked him about it, he just said he wasn't going anywhere.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

"I do," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You did it, love."

"What?" Raising your head off his shoulder, you looked around. You were at checkout, all the items you and Harry set out to buy today sitting in your basket. "We did it."

"You did it, Y/n. I'm so proud of you."

Relief rushed through you. It was one hurdle, just one, but each one was a victory, and Harry was there to help you celebrate each one. It was too public to kiss him, even though you felt the urge to, so you squeezed his hand and kissed the top of it instead.

"I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he said, taking you by surprise when he tilted your chin up for a brief kiss. "You ready to check out?"

Anxiety filled your belly once more as the weight of your situation bore down on you once again. Squeezing Harry's hand again, you shook your head.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side. The warmth emanating from him was a comfort, and you breathed in deep, letting the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent flood your senses to distract you.

"Don't listen to the disease, Y/n. Listen to me, okay? How about another story?"

You nodded. "Please."

"You're going to be alright, Y/n, I promise," he said.

And maybe you didn't believe him completely now, but you trusted him enough to believe it for you until you did.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #hs angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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ireadwithmyears · 10 months

Text

address the letters: “to the holes in my butterfly wings”

pairing: Kix and GN padawan reader (platonic)

Word count, guys it’s basically 10 K 💀bc apparently I am in capable of writing anything short.

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, medical procedures

summary:

In which, the CMO of Torrent Company discovers that you, a Padawan under his care have been hiding injuries and skipping medical checks, and now must take care of you as you suffer the consequences of your actions.

Also known as

Why you should never hide an injury from Kix. he will find out, and he will drag you off to the medbay so that he can take care of whatever mess you’ve made of yourself, scolding you all the wile.

“Look what I found on my bunk.”

You’re interrupted from eating your sandwich in the Cantina when Fives plops down beside you at the table, setting down a tray of food and waving a pink slip of paper in your face.

You’re about to tell him that “Can’t you see that you’re eating and get this paper out of my face,” when your eyes catch on three words written in bold text across the top of the page.

Mandatory vaccination updates.

The sandwich, that up until this point has been the absolute centre of your attention, listen, you’re fighting a war and you have to appreciate any opportunity that you get to eat food that isn’t bland ration bars, drops out of your suddenly limp hand as you snatch up the paper, now very interested in the contents.

“When did you get this?” you ask slowly, you’re voice distracted, beginning to chew on your lower lip, already feeling the nervous coil in your stomach.

“When I came back to my bunk after the debriefing we had this afternoon. Apparently everyone got one. I bet you 10 credits that your master is going to pretend that he didn’t see it, and try and avoid it until Kix has to tear apart the ship looking for him and drag him to the medbay.” Fives chuckles.

Master Skywalker’s reputation for trying to avoid the medbay at all costs is widely known throughout Torrent Company..

“Kix is going to have a field day. I’ll give it to general Skywalker, he has some creative hiding places,” he continues, eyes lighting up at the memory of Anakin, half hazardously crammed into a supply closet, folded in an impressive, yet uncomfortable looking position as he forced his unwitting tall limbs to fit in the cramped space.

Unfortunately for Kix, your masters habit of avoiding the medbay whenever possible has rubbed off on you, though, you don’t think it’s for the same reason. Your avoidance stems from a place of fear, and, okay, a stubborn insistence that you can take care of yourself, which yes, definitely like master, like apprentice.

But that also stems from a fear. You’re determined to prove yourself, especially being a young Padawan working with those who are much more experienced than you. You don’t want to risk being taken off the field because of some stupid injury, and letting those who rely on you down, especially your master, who’s always bouncing back and getting up and ready to take on whatever is next regardless of what kind of peril he’s just come out of. You want, you need, to prove that just because you’re a Padawan, you’re not a liability, but an asset. You can be strong and resilient like master Skywalker.

So, you avoid. You dodge and you ignore and you pretend not to notice when the routine medical check dates come and go without your attendance. You know it’s only a matter of time before Kix gets on your ass about it. You’re surprised that you’ve kept it up this long. But, this only bolsters your confidence in being able to avoid another successfully.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, setting the paper back down on the table before you run off into the crowd.

Sure enough, there is an identical slip of paper that’s been placed on your bunk. But conveniently, Jedi master Aayla Secura is going on a diplomatic mission to amid rim planet in a last ditch effort to try and convince them not to secede from the republic during the date that’s listed on the page when you’re scheduled for your vaccinations.

Earlier this morning, master Skywalker had asked if you had wanted to join this mission, saying that it would give you a break from being on the frontlines, and it would be easy enough to arrange, as master Secura would rendezvous with the 501st before she departed.

This morning, you had turned him down, listing several reasons as to why you needed to stay with the 501st. Your troops needed you, diplomatic missions were boring anyways, and you didn’t think that you would be of much help to the experienced and capable master Secura, who was a formidable diplomat in her own right. You didn’t think you would be able to add anything of particular value to the conversation, at least nothing that master Secura wouldn’t be able to say much more eloquently and better.

Now though, the only thing that’s running through your mind is the fear of needles and the dread of going into the medbay and that’s enough to make you reconsider everything you had said.

When you tell master Skywalker that you’ve changed your mind, and would actually like to accompany Aayla on her mission, he’s slightly confused considering you had been so adamant that you were needed here only just a few hours ago.

But, he knows that as a Jedi, you need diplomatic experience. Experience that, before the war, would be very easy for Padawan’s to come by. He knows that you don’t have nearly as much as you should.

These are unprecedented times, though, and Padawan’s being trained during an active war is not ideal. He wants for you to be well-rounded. He has hope that your future won’t always involve war at the centre of it, and any opportunity that you get to learn how to be a keeper of peace should always be encouraged, especially during these times.

So he gives in pretty easily, and when master Secura arrives, you happily join her. When the ramp of the ship seals behind you and you’re sitting with her in the cockpit, the warm relief that flows through your bones is palpable.

“Success,” you think to yourself triumphantly.

Your triumph, however glorious it might have felt in the moment, is short-lived.

In spite of the fact that some old injuries, that you honestly thought you had done a pretty good job at taking care of yourself, were starting to aggravate you again, the unexpected joy and relief that weaved itself through the force, openly shared between you and master Secura, surrounded you like a warm blanket, protecting you from feeling the things that hurt you.

The planet you had just visited had agreed to stay with the republic, after a tense three days of debate between its political factions. The victory Was a surprise, considering how vehemently the opposition pushed to secede, but it was not unwelcome.

Aayla’s T-6 shuttle docks in the hanger bay of the much larger 501st transport. As you wait for the doors to open and the ramp to fold down before you, you’re still riding on that high, feeling, for the first time in a long time, the thrill of a success. One that you are unable to feel on the frontlines, because even when your battles result in a victory, you are surrounded by so much death and violence that in the end, you don’t really feel like celebrating.

You’ll never admit it to your master, but privately, you think to yourself that maybe diplomatic missions aren’t as boring as you thought they were. You were able to help resolve a conflict, peacefully, without even having to brush your fingers against the hilt of your lightsaber, which, nowadays, is becoming more and more of a rare occurrence. But it’s what Jedi do, or at least, what they’re supposed to do, so you have to embrace the gratitude of the experience you just had, and try and take it with you going forward.

Your thoughts are preoccupied with these ideas swirling around your head, so you don’t see him until you’re stepping out onto the ramp of the T-6, descending into the hectic and busy as usual crowds of the hanger bay.

When you do, though, you stop dead, and your heart begins to race.

Shit.

Directly in front of you, at the bottom of the ramp, stands Kix.

One look at his expression, and your stomach flips.

His lips are set in a thin, unreadable line, his brow creased as he observes you with pinpoint focus. Stern, brown eyes observe your every movement. There’s no question that the second you step off the ramp, he’s going to pounce on you like a cat seizing a mouse.

He stands at attention, body forced into an unbending straight line, such positions you mostly see on the shiny’s, new troopers who are freshly trained during their first days out on the field. His hands are placed on his hips, the position that he assumes before he’s about to give someone, it’s usually your master who you’ve seen it directed at, the lecture of their life.

“Keep moving,” your brain supplies. “Act nonchalant, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be fine.”

You feel your feet hit solid ground, and your speed picks up, all along, your brain is screaming at you to move. It’s weird how now that he’s standing in front of you, every injury you’ve accumulated over the past weeks is beginning to hit you, all comfort and protection that the force has been giving you to keep you going rapidly vanishing with each step you take.

The uncomfortable angle that your shoulder is sitting at, the pulling of stitches in your leg as you increase your speed. It throbs and aches with sudden abandon. But your fists clench, and you do your best not to falter under Kix’s unwavering scrutiny, just knowing that he’s looking for any flicker of weakness, any sign of pain that registers on your face.

“Just keep going, and maybe, you’ll be able to slip past...”

He steps in front of you, reaching an arm out to easily intercept your path. He says your name, in a tone that breaches absolutely no room for trying to ignore it.

You jump, startled in spite of yourself. He’s effectively got you cornered, and seeing that there’s no way out of this, Your nerves begin to skyrocket, raising like the sound of alarm bells in your head. You look up, eyes meeting his unwaveringly stern expression, And suddenly, you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

He looks down at you, and he must see something in your disposition that belies your true feelings, because though his face remains set, his eyes somewhat soften, and when he next speaks, his voice is quiet but firm.

“Come with me, please. I need to see you in the medbay.” Though he’s phrased it as a request, you know that it is an order, and one that you must follow.

As a medic for the GAR, and this is something that you’ve heard him say to many a complaining troopers being escorted to the medbay when they don’t want to go, it is well within his rights to exercise such authority and make these orders. Because when it comes to the health and safety of every 501st personnel, whether you’re a Jedi general, commander, or Padawan, Kix immediately outranks you.

You look down at the floor, suddenly finding the marks that are speckled across it very interesting, and mumble a defeated and quiet “Yes sir.”

When he turns, and you hesitate to follow, he lets out a gentle sigh, moving to place a hand on the small of your back. His voice is low, but reassuring as he ushers you forward.

“Come on, kid, you’re okay,” he breathes, and in spite of the fact that you’re still thinking that jumping out of an airlock would be better than this, your feet, still unwilling, but the slightest bit reassured, begin to move.

Coric giving you a subtle pitying glance as he’s reading over a patient’s chart when Kix escorts you into the medbay makes you want to vomit.

Between the two medics, Kix has the reputation of being a hardass because he’s the CMO. Make no mistake, you do not want to get on either of their bad sides. But, given the choice between the two right now, you think you’re more equipped to handle Coric, who can usually be counted on to soften the blow a bit, with enough pleading glances and apologies.

Your eyes flit to the door that you’ve just passed through, because stupidly, your brain is still trying to make the calculations that if you can just duck out of Kix’s grasp for two seconds, you’d be able to make a run for it.

Unbeknownst to you, however, both medics have been carefully observing your every movement since you’ve entered. Coric, remaining completely calm and at ease, rises to his feet, moving swiftly to stand in the doorway in several long strides. He casually leans against the frame, arms folded.

“Don’t even think about it, baby Jedi. Your master has attempted the same thing you are considering, and he has always failed,” he says, keeping his voice light and non-threatening, making it clear that you need to give up on your fantasy of bolting out of here, but also not trying to scare you off..

You’re just beginning to wonder how the kriff they were able to read you so easily, with one covert glance determining that you were about to bolt when Kix removes his hand from the small of your back, instead, fingers coming to gently grip your shoulder.

The change in his hold is obvious. He is fully prepared for if you try to run. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, in what you interpret as a warning not to.

Unfortunately, he’s just touched on an injury, you’re not entirely sure what you did, but you messed up your shoulder the last time you were on the field, and even the slight pressure elicits a sharp intake of breath that you’re unable to stop from escaping your lips, and that immediately has the attention of both medics laser focussed on you.

Kix’s anticipation evaporates and quickly melts into concern. Carefully, so carefully, he turns you to face him, keen eyes sharp as they analyze your face.

“Hey,” he calls softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Tell me where it hurts,” he says, so gently that it makes your eyes burn with shame. You look down at your feet.

“That’s uh... that’s, a loaded question,” you admit sheepishly, trying to keep your tone light and joking, in spite of the fact that now that you’re thinking about it, the list of injuries you’ve sustained without reporting to the medbay is a lengthy one, and might make Kix have a stroke.

Kix lets out a controlled, slow breath, eyes momentarily finding the ceiling as he silently begs the stars to give him strength.

“Kaysh Mirsh solus,” he mutters to himself.

You’ve heard Kix toss that phrase around the medbay on multiple occasions, and though you’re uncertain of what it actually means, he usually brings it out when one of his brothers has done something that he would consider incredibly stupid, which is often.

Coric makes a noise of agreement. “It appears that our stupidly self-sacrificing general has passed on his stupid self sacrificing behaviour onto his apprentice,” he groans. “Will we ever know a day of peace?”

Kix looks back down at you, his expression calm and restrained. “Come on, then, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” moving his hand to your uninjured shoulder, he steers you both further into the medbay.

Your eyes don’t leave the ground, but you can hear the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled shut around the cubicle that Kix has brought you to.

When an eerily familiar pink slip of paper is being held up in front of your downcast eyes, you cringe, Arms wrapping around yourself in defence

You can’t even pretend that you haven’t seen it before, because the words mandatory vaccination updates have been circling around your brain the whole time you were out on your last mission.

“Do you know why the GAR enforces these?” Kix begins, and his voice is too measured and calm.

You lift a brow, questioning. Does he seriously expect you to answer this? Isn’t the answer obvious?

“Uh... so that we don’t get sick?” You answer, uncertain as to what he’s getting at.

He nods, his face displaying a slight flicker of approval. “Yes, that is one reason as to why, and it’s an acceptable one,” he acknowledges. His frown deepens as he continues. “However, one must look at the much larger picture, at every personnel aboard this ship. The most important reason why mandatory vaccinations are enforced is so that we can avoid many people getting sick and spreading illness to the rest of the crew, so that we may remain fully functional and operational, continuing to serve and protect the people of the republic.”

You squirm beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this, and it’s incredibly discomforting.

“I would’ve thought, that as a Jedi, you would be able to more easily see this bigger picture than most others,” he observes mildly. “After all, I know, and I’m sure everyone who spends a considerable amount of time with you can see that there is so much compassion and care for others within your very nature.”

His voice is so genuine, laced with such real kindness in his tone that it makes your eyes sting. Your heart constricts, because he’s just pointed out something that you hadn’t even considered in your selfish haste to avoid this.

By avoiding your vaccinations, you have put every member of the 501st who works with you in danger.

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself, and you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at the pristine white floor beneath your feet.

Kix senses that he’s hit a mark, and his voice gentles considerably. “I also understand that you are young, and still learning to see the bigger picture and how your actions can affect those around you.”

“I, I didn’t, I was scared and I just I didn’t think about...” your voice trembles as you try to answer, tumbling out in a rush of words that race as quickly as your heart.

“I understand, and it is perfectly reasonable for you to feel that way,” he keeps his voice level and measured. “However,” he continues, and you know what he’s about to say even before he says it. “We still have to face the things that scare us. If you had simply told me how you were feeling, we would have figured out a way to navigate it.” His face is reassuring when you dare to glance up from the floor that you’ve been resolutely staring at for this whole conversation.

“We still will figure out the best way to proceed. However, these vaccination updates are very low on my priority list of concerns when it comes to you, compared to this,” and he holds up a datapad, displaying medical records with your name typed neatly across the top.

The last several appointment entries are highlighted in red, indicating that you did not attend any of them.

“Do I need to remind you that these appointments are not optional. Any member of Torrent Company who goes out on the field must report to the medbay upon return for examination, as well as attend our regular medical checks to ensure that you are fit for active duty.” It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this is a lecture that he is very practised in delivering.

You lift your head, finally looking directly at him. He’s already made you admit a fear that you desperately wanted to keep to yourself. You try and summon what remains of your dignity.

“What do you want me to say, Kix?” There’s a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Do you want me to admit that I avoided these because I had injuries that I didn’t want you to know about? Because yes, the truth is that I did.” Your eyes level with his as you try to make him understand.

“I was scared of the medical procedures, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” You snap, not particularly annoyed with him, but more annoyed at the fact that your answers sound so stupid out loud.

“But I was more scared of the fact that you were probably going to take me off the field, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t let that happen. My master was relying on me. Everyone was relying on me, and I couldn’t let them down.” You try to shrug off his concern with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Besides, I’ve been doing fine,” you say evasively.

Kix does not rise to the bate of your seeming anger. He’s much too practised and controlled to let it affect him. He also has the uncanny ability to look at someone, and see everything, read through their feelings, whether they’ve been acknowledged or not, and understand them. So, even though you’re trying to push him away, with what at first glance appears to be frustration, underneath it all, he can tell that it’s just as plainly fear.

He meets your storm filled eyes unflinchingly, levelling you with a look that is equal parts stern and unwavering, and equal parts concerned and filled with compassion. It makes your insides twist with guilt, and you want to look away, but you can’t bring yourself to as he speaks, his voice calm but steely.

“Are you fine?” he asks, an eyebrow raising as he tilts his head to look at you, his gaze clinical, assessing, even as you just stand there in front of him.

. “I already know that there’s something wrong with your shoulder. But aside from that, I’ve been observing you since you got off your transport. The way you move is slow and careful, not at all like the usual way you dash around the ship. Even now, you’re hesitating to put much weight on your right leg.” He ticks off the things he’s noticed on his fingers like a list.

“Apart from the fact that skipping these mandatory appointments have consequences. If you had kept this up, I would’ve had to bring this to our superiors, that includes the Jedi council,” he gives you a pointed look, even the mention of the high Council makes you shiver. in your experience, whenever you and your master have been summoned to speak with the council, it’s always to be reprimanded, and never good.

. “You could have been Court-martialed,” he says, knowing that his words will hit the severity of the situation home.

You falter, stepping back as you feel your eyes go wide. “Court-martialed?” you breathe, feeling the blood draining from your face.

He gently takes your arm, guiding you to sit on a bed as he continues, voice softening. “It is very clear that you are hiding injuries, and though I can understand why, in premise, You did this, the reality is that this will begin to affect your performance in battle. It will not just affect you. You will put yourself, as well as the entirety of the people you are leading, in danger. People could get hurt. You could get hurt. Because you would be putting not just yourself, but others, in unnecessary danger, your ability to be in the position of a commander could be called into serious question by your superiors, and for good reason”

As much as he keeps his voice low and calm, you can sense that he’s disappointed in the way that you’ve handled yourself. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, forcing the tears that prick at the back of your eyes to not fall. You hate disappointing people, and the fact that you’ve managed to disappoint Kix, one of the kindest people you know, makes you want to curl up into a ball and never show your face in public again.

“And that, the safety of yourself, and everyone aboard this ship, is my priority. It is much more important to me than having to report to any superior. The fact that you hold your safety, and by extension, the safety of those around you, with such blatant disregard, is what concerns me the most, and that is what I need you to understand.”

There’s a certain gravity in his voice that you’ve never heard before, but it slams into your chest and hits you like a ton of bricks. The implications of what you’ve been doing, of what could have happened to those around you, to his brothers, because of your inability to face your fears begin to swirl around your head with a rapidity that makes your heart race.

These thoughts come unbidden, and too fast for you to process. The tears, that you’ve been so desperately trying to push back, spring free and begin to fall down your cheeks, unprompted, slowly, and silently. You don’t have time to stop them from coming.

Kix knows that he’s been very direct, and very blunt with you, deciding that this would be the only way to get through to you. He hates having to do it, though. Kix considers himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and he knows that you have such a caring, gentle heart and strong presence wherever you go. So, watching you break in front of him like this pains him.

Your breath hitches in an unsteady gasp as you look up at him, tears blurring your vision.

“I’m sorry, Ori’vod,” your lip trembles as your voice breaks, wanting to curl in on yourself. “Ni ceta,” you get out in barely a choked whisper.

But he hears you, and it breaks him.

You’ve never referred to him as ori’vod before, and the idea that you consider him as such, as a big brother, awakens his protective, instinctive nature to gather you close and keep you safe from harm.

His Vod, mostly his batchmate, Jesse, calls it his mother hen instincts.

He can’t help it, though. Your voice, sounding so much smaller than he’s ever heard it, trembling and filled with tears, has broken what’s left of his resolve, and gently, very gently, mindful of the fact that you’re injured, he takes you into his arms, holding you close to him. Your head buries against his shoulder, and he easily cradles you there, feeling every sharp intake of breath as you cry.

“Oh, adika, shh,” he soothes, hand coming up to gently stroke your hair as he continues to speak softly to you. “You’re okay, I promise, everything is going to be alright. I’ve got you, we are going to sort this out.”

“Well,” he says, reading over the results of the medical scan he’s just performed. Would you believe me if I told you that a dislocated shoulder is the least of your concerns?”

Your eyes find the ceiling, and you exhale a slow breath before asking, “how bad?”

He keeps his voice neutral as he relays the results of the scan to you. “According to your last medical check, you were diagnosed with Iron deficiency anemia, not incredibly uncommon, what with our limited access to rations and food with the proper nutrients,” his brow creases as he continues. “However, preliminary scans indicate that your haemoglobin levels haven’t much improved.”

He gives you a look.“You have been taking the supplement you were prescribed?” he asks, in a way that makes you suspicious that he already knows that the answer is no.

You avoid looking at him. “I was, but they kept making my stomach feel queasy all day, so I stopped.”

Kix Lets out a long suffering sigh. “An issue that we easily could have rectified by changing your treatment plan if you had just let us know,” he scolds. “Nonetheless, I’d like to do a blood test to get exact confirmation of those levels and see how bad the numbers are so that we can Start getting them back up to baseline.”

Your stomach does a flip and you cringe silently at the mention of a blood test.

Kix continues, consulting the scan results that are displayed on a datapad. “You’ve got untreated burns on your fingers.” He raises a curious eyebrow at you and your cheeks flush.

“They weren’t entirely untreated, I put them under running water,” you try to argue. The unimpressed look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” you defend. “I was fixing one of the starfighters that got hit during our last airstrike. I got R2 to help me with the repairs but he wasn’t listening to my instructions. He crossed two of the wrong wires and caused the circuitboard to spark.”

“And that is why you should never ask R2 for help,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Those burns weren’t given time to heal, and the fact that you’re constantly wielding a lightsaber has exacerbated them. I will apply a burn ointment to them that should take away the pain and speed the process of healing.”

He fixes you with a look.

“The most concerning thing is The blaster wound on the front of your right calf. Really, vod, you should know that injuries being treated and stitched up on the field, especially when not done by a medic, always should be looked over by a medic as soon as possible, due to the unsanitary environment that they were performed in.”

“Tup did his best to stitch it,” you say, feeling the need to defend the brother who, in spite of the fact that he was not a medic, sutured you up as you took cover from separatist battle droids.

“I don’t doubt that he did. I was the instructor who took every single one of the troopers on this ship through their mandatory medical courses, and I did not let them pass without proving that they were adequately able to handle emergency first aid on the field. However, it still remains that you’ve picked up an infection, and to treat it, the sutures will have to be removed, the wound reopened, and extraction of the infected tissue, as well as a course of both IV and oral antibiotics to clear up anything that remains.”

You stare at him, your eyes growing wide with horror as he explains. “How?” You ask, alarmed.

He senses your nerves and leans forward, taking your hand and running his thumb along the back of it reassuringly. “This is a surgical procedure, performed under general anesthesia.”

You flinch at his words, and your fingers tighten around his with anxiety, needing something to hold onto.

“I know that sounds scary, especially if you’ve never been put under before. But I promise, this is a fairly common operation. Me and Coric will both be here making sure that you’re okay the whole time.” he continues to stroke his thumb along the backs of your knuckles.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, though. We’ll take care of the things that are manageable, first,” he says, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Hey uh...” you say nervously, watching with anxiety fluttering in your stomach as Kix ties a band just above your elbow, prepping you for the blood draw. The way the band tightens, restricts and squeezes around your arm Makes you feel trapped. You hate it.

“I have... I’ve had, issues in the past when it comes to these,” you say awkwardly, not knowing how to explain.

Kix only looks up at you, raising a perceptive brow. “Are you referring to your predisposition of fainting whenever a blood draw is performed?” he asks, completely unfazed.

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows in questioning. “Don’t worry, Coric already has this listed in your file. I’m going to get you to lie down when we do it.”

He has the sensitivity and grace not to mention the fact that he also knows this because he walked into the medbay to find Coric absolutely tearing into a junior medic for letting you leave too soon after you had gotten a blood draw, resulting in you crumpling to the floor in a faint right outside of the medbay doors.

At your continued staring, he adds, his voice softening. “It’s a normal reaction, that likely is exacerbated because of your low haemoglobin levels. There’s nothing wrong with you, Vod’ika.” he reassures, gently guiding you to lay down on the bed. “Now, just lay down for me, and we’ll get this over with quickly, and if you faint, you faint. It happens, no big deal, I’ll be right here regardless.”

And because you’re you, you do faint.

The needle itself is always not as bad as you anticipate it being. The Sting, though prominent, is small and quick and over before you have time to fixate on it.

It’s only when he’s pressing a cotton swab into the crook of your arm, encouraging you to keep it in place while he puts a Band-Aid over top, that you register the familiar feeling of drowsiness, vision blurring and ears beginning to ring, that always comes before you pass out.

You think that you might give him some indication, some warning, because he’s removing your hand from where it’s been pressing against the cotton round, replacing it with his own, much more steady one. Everything around you is muffled, and it’s jarring, but in a way that is too far away from your immediate concerns to really react to it.

When you come to, he’s pressing a cool, damp cloth to the back of your neck, other hand gently stroking hair away from your forehead. His voice fades back into your consciousness, a stream of gentle, soothing words as your eyes flutter open.

The feeling of the cloth cools your heated skin, and the hand gently running through your hair brings your senses back to focus, grounding you.

“Easy, adika, i’m right here, you’re safe,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, and when you react, leaning into his touch, he gives you a small smile. “That’s it, there we go, you’re back. Everything’s good,” he soothes, gently stalling your movement when you attempt to sit up.

“Not right now, vod, stay down for a few more minutes. I’ve already got the blood work running through the scanner, and we should have its results quickly, okay.” You give him a small nod, still not really having the energy to do much else. You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you come back to yourself, and when the scanner beeps, indicating that it completed its diagnostics, you jump slightly.

Kix moves over to check it as you slowly sit up. “Okay, so, your numbers are definitely not nearly where they should be he says, clearly unimpressed.

“But, Once we have taken care of your more serious injuries, will start you with an iron infusion delivered through an IV before transitioning back to pills. Don’t worry, we’ll have you on a much smaller dosage so that we can hopefully circumvent the discomfort you had in your stomach,” he says with optimism, which makes you feel slightly better about the fact that he’s just mentioned an IV. You’re not given much time to fixate on it, though, because he’s already turning away from the scanner, moving back to you.

“Let’s not worry about that right now, though. We have enough problems having to deal with the mess That you’ve made of yourself. I will do my best to resist calling you a di’kut as much as possible,” he says, hands on his hips, and in spite of yourself, it actually makes you laugh.

You didn’t realize how sore and irritated the burns on your hands were until you couldn’t hold back the audible sigh of relief that fell from your lips as soon as Kix began applying the burn cream to them. The pain instantly vanished, leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation behind. He wrapped small bacta patches around your injured fingers, explaining that it would make sure that the healing process was unimpeded by the outside environment.

That was easy, quick, painless.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a completely different matter. As soon as Kix touches it, as gentle as he can be, it flares with pain, and your muscles tense, which just makes it worse.

“I don’t know how you’ve been functioning with this for as long as you have,” he comments dryly. When his fingers press against the bone, assessing the damage with a practised familiarity, you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

“Haar’chak,” you grit out, as behind you, Kix preps a syringe with local anesthetic.

“Which one of my di’kut brothers taught you curse words in Mandoa?” he asks, beginning to disinfect the injection site.

You flinch at the cold and your cheeks flush. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I can’t tell you that, I made a promise.”

“Did you now?” he asks, fighting the amused smirk that plays on his lips. “Well, whoever it was, you might as well put your skills that they taught you to use.”

You look at him from over your shoulder, eyebrows raising in confusion.

He explains, “I need to give you an injection of local anaesthetic so that it takes the edge off of resetting your shoulder correctly. I know those aren’t your favourite , so, I am making a deal with you. Let me do this, and I give you free rein to throw whatever Mandoa insult my brothers have taught you at me, no consequences. Is that fair?”

The unimpressed look you’re giving at the syringe turns to surprise, then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face and you nod, quickly looking away from it. “Deal,” you accept, your voice still shaky with nerves but determined.

“Okay, deep breath for me,” He waits for you to inhale. “Perfect, now, on the exhale, give me that insult with all of your might. Ready?”

He waits for you to nod, then prompts you to exhale as he administers the anaesthetic into the back of your shoulder.

“Osi’yaim, that hurt, you di’kut,” what should be just a little pinch to your already injured shoulder makes you cry out the words, and you swear you can hear the familiar sound of Coric laughing from the other side of the medbay.

Your cheeks flush, you did not intend to be that loud. But you don’t apologize, either, and Kix only gives you a rueful grin, nodding in understanding.

As you wait for the anaesthetic to settle, Kix warns, “I’m gonna be honest, kid, because of how long you’ve left this injury to sit, even with the anesthetic, setting it is still going to hurt.”

You close your eyes, grimacing, before nodding with a sigh. “Do your worst,” you say, bracing yourself.

He lays a reassuring hand on your uninjured shoulder. “I need you relaxed, adika,” he says gently. “Trust me, it will only hurt more if you tense like that,” he continues, gently encouraging your shoulder downward with his hand.

“Easy, now. I want you to give me some good deep breath’s. In,” he inhales deeply, holding for a few seconds, “and out,” he lets his breath go in a controlled, slow stream of air.

He waits for you to copy, giving you a few breaths to settle into it as he prepares himself. “Perfect, just like that, keep it up, you’ve got this,” he keeps up the stream of encouraging words as carefully, but firmly, he rotates your arm, guiding your dislocated shoulder back into its proper place with one precise movement.

The sudden flare of pain, even dulled as it is by the anesthetic, takes your breath away momentarily, your vision instantly blurring with tears. When it clears,Kix has shifted to standing in front of you, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“Well done, vod’ika, you were so brave,” his words make you want to cry more, because you didn’t think you were brave. You thought that being brave meant confidence, at all times, and not letting other people see your vulnerability. You can’t fully understand it, but, now, you’re beginning to think that maybe your initial idea of bravery was wrong.

Your lip wobbles as you speak, “W what now?” you look up at him with wide, still watery eyes.

He gently strokes your hair. “Now, I’m going to get Coric, and you,” he playfully taps your nose, “are going to take a much-needed nap, if the bags under your eyes are any indication, while we take care of that leg wound.”

It sounds simple enough.

Kix explains the procedure while Coric preps you for surgery, making sure all your vitals are stable. As he wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, he tells you that that’s essentially his job while he’s in here. Throughout the surgery, he will monitor your vitals and make sure that they remain at safe levels.

“I’m going to remove the sutures, clean the wound, remove the infected tissue, pack the wound with saline soaked dressings, then bandage it back up so that it can heal. It goes without saying that you’re going to be off the field for at least a week. You’ll need to stay here so that we can continue to monitor your recovery as well as change the dressings often. You will also need to undergo a course of IV antibiotics to kill off any lingering infection. This will also give us time to get your haemoglobin levels back up with an infusion.”

Your eyes close tightly as anxiety knots your stomach. “Oh, force, a week? But, my master needs me,” you protest.

When your eyes open again, both medics are fixing you with equally stern looks. “Your master needs you to be safe, and healthy,” says Coric, frowning, as he carefully attaches a pulse oximeter to one of your fingers.

“If you want to be back on the field as soon as possible, you will take this week of recovery. If you want to argue with me about it, I will make it longer. A week is the absolute minimum,” Kix says, arms folded across his chest, wearing his signature “i’m the chief medical officer, you have no authority here,” expression.

You visibly deflate, reminding yourself that you pick and choose your battles, and picking and choosing a battle with two medics who are very competent at dealing with very stubborn Jedi would be a very stupid idea.

You can’t help yourself, and in spite of the fact that you shouldn’t, you stare as Kix preps your wrist for an IV line.

Sensing you’re mounting anxiety as your eyes nervously flit around, watching Kix’s Every move, Coric gently takes your other hand, squeezing when your eyes don’t immediately look at him. When you finally tear your eyes away from what Kix is doing, Coric is wearing a mischievous smile on his face. “So, Vod’ika, who taught you how to curse in Mandoa?” he asks, raising a curious brow.

You only scoff, rolling your eyes. “Kix already tried to find out. What makes you think that I’m going to tell that secret to you?”

“I’ve already got my suspicions. My moneys on Echo or Fives.” he gives you a wounded look, “I thought you would tell me, because I’m obviously your favourite.”

Kix uses this conversation to quickly insert the IV into a vein on your wrist. Reacting to the small pinch, your fingers instinctively tighten around Coric’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You’re definitely my favourite now,” you grumble, giving Kix a sidelong glare.

He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Vod, i’m going to run the medication through the line now. It will act quickly, and when you wake up, this will be all done with.”

You nod, biting your lip nervously. Coric notices, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey, kid, I know you’ve heard Kix say kaysh mirsh solus all the time. Do you know what it means?”

You look at him with curiosity, shaking your head.

“Well, essentially it means they are stupid or foolish. But, the literal translation is even more direct .” Coric gives you a conspiratorial smile.

“What is it?” You ask as he leans forward.

“The literal translation means their braincell is lonely,” he says, completely serious.

You feel a smile pulling up the corners of your lips and a surprised laugh falls from them.

You feel the medication beginning to enter your system, but you’re so busy laughing that you can’t bring yourself to care. “You better not be bullshitting me,” you threaten,“or I...” you let out a yawn.

“I swear to the force, I,” your eyes begin to flutter and you yawn again, shrugging.

“I’ll think about it later,” you mumble sleepily, before promptly passing out, smile still lighting up your face.

Your leg hurts.

That’s the first thing you become aware of as Kix is gently encouraging you to open your eyes.

“Come on, adika, open your eyes for me,” he says softly, fingers gently brushing against your cheek to bring you back to awareness.

“But it hurts, and I wanna go back to sleep,” you wine, blinking sleepily up at him.

“Ni ceta, vod’ika,” he soothes, fingers gently caressing your forehead in an apology. “I know it hurts, and you can go back to sleep soon, I promise,”

He glances at something that you can’t see, giving a small nod,“Vitals look good, the anaesthesia is wearing off nicely, and it doesn’t appear to have affected them too much. Let’s up that IV dosage,” Kix speaks to Coric, who moves to adjust your IV out of your eyeline.

Your leg throbs, and you let out a stifled whimper, hand reaching down, trying to at least find the source of your pain when Kix catches it in his, gently stalling your movements. “Let’s leave that alone for now, vod’ika. Coric is just increasing your pain med intake, that will make it better. Then you can sleep,”

At the continued expression of pain on your face, he lets go of your hand, fingers gently playing with your hair as he instructs, “nice and easy, adika, deep breath‘s for me, everything’s okay.”

You don’t believe him at first, but slowly, things become okay. The pain quickly fades and dulls , breathing becomes easier, and your eyes begin to flutter. All the while, Kix continues holding his vigil at your bedside, fingers continuing to gently run through your hair until you fall into a natural sleep.

When you properly wake up next, the first thing you notice is that your leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

Whatever pain meds Kix has got you hooked up to are very effective, and your lips pull into a relieved smile.

The second thing you notice, when you glance around to get your bearings, is the face of your very concerned captain, Rex, at your bedside. You blink slowly, yawning. Although the anaesthetic has worn off, the pain meds still have you feeling like you’re in a fog, and your brain is working pretty slowly.

“When did you get here?” you ask, confused.

“I came straight here after you never reported to the bridge for today’s debriefing. The general said that you would be back today, and it’s unlike you to miss or forget about meetings,” he explains, looking at you, relieved to see you awake, but a flicker of concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Osik, sorry, Rex, I got myself into a bit of a bind over here,” you gesture to the IV that you’re hooked up to, chuckling a little.

“So I heard, don’t worry about it, kid. There wasn’t much to report, anyways.” His head tilts, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.“Who taught you how to curse in Mandoa, vod’ika?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

If you weren’t under the influence of pretty heavy duty pain medication‘s, you would have restraint, you would have thought before you opened your mouth. But for Rex, it was his lucky day.

you smirk, “good old Hardcase taught me everything I know,” you say with pride, smiling fondly at the memory.

Rex carefully files that information away so that he can scold Hardcase for that once he leaves. But he carefully keeps his face neutral.

His face grows serious. “Kix told me about all the medical appointments you’ve missed and the injuries that you’ve been covering up,” his voice is stern, every bit the commanding officer that he is in front of the troops. It makes you nervous, and you swallow, looking away from him.

“I swear to the force, if you ever pull something like that again, I will find out about it, and I’ll drag you to the medbay myself, even if it means chasing you around the ship and stunning you if I have to. do you realize how much danger you were in? How much danger you put others in? That was extremely reckless of you, commander. I’m very disappointed in your actions, and it will not happen again, do you understand?”

Your hazy memory recalls the conversation you had with Kix earlier, about this very thing, and for some reason, it hits even harder seeing the disappointment, worry and concern etched on the face of the normally composed captain.

Without prompting, you find yourself bursting into tears.

Later, you’ll blame the pain meds on your inability to keep a grip on your emotions. But right now, all you can do is think about the people, the brothers, you could have hurt, the things that could’ve happened because of you, and the tears just fall down your face, streaming from your eyes, falling down your cheeks, into your ears, dampening your hair.

.“I I’m sorry Captain I I didn’t I,” you gasp out, trying to explain, but your brain is still foggy, only clinging onto the hazy images of loss and pain due to your inability to act fast enough.

There’s a reason why people are convinced that Kix has eyes on the back of his head. Working as the highest ranking medic in the 501st has trained him to be hyper observant of all of his patients, even if he isn’t at their bedside.

So, even though he’s been taking the time to update your file on a datapad, unbeknownst to either you or Rex, he’s also been watching you like a hawk, and the minute you begin to show that you’re overwhelmed, he’s swooping in on the two of you, protective mother hen mode fully activated by the tears falling down your cheeks.

He steps in front of you, broad shoulders immediately blocking your view of your commanding officer. “Captain,” he says, and his voice is still respectful, but there’s a hard edge beneath it, something stern that you haven’t heard before, even during the worst of him lecturing you.

“You are causing undue stress to my patient, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” he continues, physically ushering Rex to the door.

More quietly, out of your earshot, he says,“I have already harshly reprimanded the commander. Trust me, this experience will ensure that the lesson will not be forgotten. Now, if you want to be of use, get the general and bring him to me, please. I need to speak with him. Between you and me, Rex, I’m blaming this ordeal on him.”

Rex begins to make an objection, but Kix is already turning away, folding his arms. “I don’t care if you have to drag him out of council meetings. His Padawan is more important,” he shoots back, before quickly moving back to your side, all of his hard lines instantly fading at the sight of your tear streaked face.

He’s all gentleness and soft reassurances uttered as he cups your face, wiping away your tears. When you struggle into a sitting position, falling against his chest as your arms clumsily reach for him, his arms easily pull you close to him and you sob, trying to explain.

“Kix, I, I didn’t mean to, I never wanted to hurt anyone,” you whisper, clutching at him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, wanting to disappear, feeling his body shift, one hand splayed out, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, the other coming up to cradle your head, holding you against his warmth, sheltering you.

“Oh, adika, shh, I know. You didn’t hurt anyone, vod’ika, nothing happened,” he coos, tightening his arms around you. Lips press against your hair briefly, and you continue to cry, letting your emotions run their course as he cradles you to him, gently rocking you back-and-forth, as if you were a much smaller child.

In this moment, you certainly feel like you are, and it’s comforting, the way he holds and settles you against him , making gentle shushing noises and speaking in low, soothing tones, the words eventually losing their meaning as sleep, yet again, gently pulls at your consciousness.

The last thing you’re aware of is him gently guiding you to lie back down, another medic, you think it’s Coric, passing him a freshly warmed blanket that he tucks around you, and a hand gently brushing through your hair as you drift back to sleep, your storm settled and calmed by his words and his presence.

Anakin Skywalker had been in meetings with the Jedi high Council all day, was running on his 3rd cup of caff, and still found himself stifling a yawn every five minutes. So, when Rex silently slipped into the room, politely interrupting the meeting to request that Anakin report to the medbay, he instinctively rolled his eyes, grumbling that he would go later.

But when Rex stated that this wasn’t actually about him, and was in regards to his Padawan, Anakin was out of his seat in an instant, hastily making his excuses to the council before leaving the room, legs carrying him to the medbay faster than he ever had moved there before.

He doesn’t even stop to look as behind him, Rex calls to a group of troopers in a booming voice, “Hardcase, get Over here right now, you di’kut, I need to talk to you regarding professionalism when it comes to working with young Padawan’s .”

When he’s escorted into a cubicle, his eyes grow wide with alarm at the sight of you, peacefully asleep, but your face looks exhausted and worn out. You’re hooked up to an IV and monitors, there’s a thick bandage that’s been secured to the bottom half of your right leg.

Kix keeps his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb you, but he fixes your master with a hard look as he takes him through an overview of your current health status.

“Iron deficiency anemia, burns, a dislocated shoulder, a blaster wound that had to be surgically operated on due to an untreated infection that had grown quite severe and needed to be manually removed, as well as several muscle strains and bruised ribs that can be healed with proper rest.”

His mouth falls open at the growing list, but Kix only folds his arms, continuing to speak. “General, sir, your Padawan looks to you with the highest regard, and you lead the way by example. All of these issues could have been caught much earlier and treated without having to deal with all this,” he gestures at everything you’re hooked up to.

“This behaviour was learned, and when I pressed, I found that at the root of the problem was fear of disappointing you and letting you down,” he waits for these words to sink in, and when they do, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi general who is known for his strength and recklessness on the field, hangs his head with shame, eyes finding the floor and refusing to look at Kix directly.

His meaning is clear, you are his Padawan, and as your master, it’s his responsibility to set a good example for you, and in this regard, watching pain medication flow through the IV line attached to your wrist, he knows he has failed to do so.

“So, just maybe, the next time you decide that are mandatory medical checks are optional and you can manage on your own, maybe just, consider this,” Kix gestures to you, still deeply asleep.

Before your master can respond, not that he really has any words to do so, Kix turns on his heel, quickly exiting the room before he can be reprimanded for speaking to his superior that way, not that he really cares, anyway.

If he had stayed, though, he would have seen Anakin tentatively move to your side, gently sitting on the edge of your bed as he strokes back your hair and adjusts the blankets that are tucked around you, properly shamefaced as he looks down at you and says in a voice that is soft and rarely heard coming out of him, “I’m sorry, kiddo, this one’s on me.”

“And this,” says Kix, quickly injecting the third and final mandatory vaccination into your arm, “is your ticket out of here.”

The week of recovery has come and gone, And you have finally been cleared to head back onto the field, as long as you continue to follow a regimen of oral antibiotics for the next week, and, more excitingly in your opinion, get out of the medbay.

“There you go, you did it,” Fives, who’s been sitting across from you, happily agreeing to be your emotional support/cheerleader, ready with a damp cloth if you need it, does a little celebratory dance that makes you laugh, even as Kix, sensing that you’re feeling unsteady, gets you to lay down.

Fives gently places the cool cloth against your skin, and it’s enough to ground you, pulling you back from the edge.

“That’s it, Vod’ika, well done, you did great,” Kix says encouragingly, giving your shoulder a warm squeeze. “Now, wait 15 minutes, and as long as you’re feeling back to normal, you can get out of here,” he smiles down at you, patting your head affectionately before moving out of the cubicle.

As soon as he’s gone, Fives liens in conspiratorially, face lighting up with mischievousness sparkling in his eyes. “Hey, kid, I bet you 10 credits that I could easily sneak you out right now and we could make this 15 minutes go a lot faster,” he grins.

In spite of the fact that you smile back at him and laugh lightly, you give your head a small shake and throw a cautious look over your shoulder.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been here for a whole week, and the biggest thing I’ve learned is that Kix and Coric do, in fact, have eyes in the back of their heads. We wouldn’t even make it out of the door.”

It’s true, you’ve seen several different troopers trying to carefully sneak out of the medbay when they think that no one is watching.

What you’ve learned, though, is that the medics of Torrent Company are always watching. Nothing gets past their keen eyes or ears, and no one successfully sneaks out undetected.

You grimace, “besides, I’ve just gotten off of Kix’s bad side, and I have no desire to go back there.”

“So,” Fives says, resignedly coming to sit on the edge of your bed with a sigh. “We’re waiting the 15 minutes?”

You carefully sit up, giving him a nod and a decisive look as you lean your head against his shoulder..

“Yes, Fives,” you affirm, letting out a small sigh of your own. “We are waiting the 15 minutes.”

************************* thank you so much for reading. Comments and re-blogs are always appreciated here.are always appreciated here.

Mandoa translations. Kaysh mirsh solus, they are stupid/foolish. Ori’vod: Big Brother (in this instance) can also be used as big sister or big sibling. Ni ceta: i’m sorry. Vod: Brother/ sister/ sibling. Adika: little one. Vod’ika: Little sister, little brother, or little sibling Haar’chak: damm it. Di’kut: Fool (literal translation is underwear forgeter) which kills me. Osi’yaim: shithead. Osik: shit.

#star wars x reader #kix x reader #platonic #reader insert #gn reader #padawan reader #fives x reader #anakin x reader #rex x reader #kix #clone medic kix #arc trooper fives #captain rex #Anakin Skywalker #the clone wars fanfiction #platonic imagine #tcw fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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tiredofthehumanlife · 2 months

Text

less haunted more hookup

part one

barbie dolls: gn!reader x anthony lockwood

word: 4.6k ish

summary: you and Lockwood are just fuckin around with your little almost realtionship and its just shennaigans

warnings: lots of talk of sex, i didn’t write like an actual sex scene bc im tired but its talked about a lot, mentions of Lockwood’s dick, hes being an ass, also mentions of Lockwood eating you but its not mentioned if it’s pussy or ass so we’re chill, its not that cray cray its just you guys being kinda goofy, mentions of eating (food), you love pancakes, adventure time reference, George is just scandalized by everything really, that's pretty much it I think

Within a couple of hours, you and your team were able to find the source and contain it. You were helping Lucy pack up in the downstairs library. George was fixing the knocked-over table in the kitchen. Lockwood was upstairs, fixing the mess he caused with his fancy sword movements. You helped Lucy shove the heavy iron chains back into her bag.

“So, what exactly took you two so long to search upstairs?” She asked with a grin slowly creeping onto her face. You grimaced and shrugged. You kept your eyes on the chains, knowing you couldn’t possibly look her in the eye.

“Lockwood trapped himself in the bathroom.” You said. It was a reasonable lie in your eyes. He once somehow ended up locking himself out in the backyard. He had to climb over the fence to get to the front door from the neighbor’s yard. Lucy hummed with a sarcastic tone.

“Sure he did. I’m completely positive you two weren’t getting handsy up there at all.” Lucy said, dragging out her sarcastic claims. You felt your lips twist up at the fresh memory of Lockwood staring up at you from the ground. You shrugged, zipping up the bag.

“I can assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lucy’s shock had a five-second delay where she added up your grin, avoidant eyes, and obvious lie. She let out a quiet gasp, her hand flying up to her mouth. She leaned forward to whisper.

“Are you being serious?” You pressed your lips together, throwing out a one shouldered shrug. She gasped again, only this time louder. You gave her a small smile, pretending like you had no idea what was going on.

“What are you gasping about in here?” You turned around to see George standing in the doorway. You shrugged, Walking out the Libaray to drop the bag by the door.

“Can’t tell you, it’s a secret.” you heard Lucy say in the library. You had a light smile, happy your secret was safe with her.

You’d tell Lucy every small detail of your conversations with Lockwood. She’d lay on her stomach over her bedspread, kicking her feet in the air. The air between you and Lockwood had always been different than with your other roommates. When you first moved in it was more awkward. You just didn’t click like you did with Lucy and George, there was something weird stopping you both from being able to converse properly. Eventually, the awkwardness settled and then you were touchier. Lockwood rubbed your shoulders, you’d walk with your elbows hooked together, and you leave totally platonic kisses on each other's foreheads.

As time went by, Lucy asked you for more details in private. You kept it short and sweet, not wanting to give away too much of Lockwood’s personal life. Lucy loved the sweet gossip. Two of her friends were getting hot and heavy on the job? Not to mention, the obvious crushes you both had for each other. It was juicy and terribly annoying. You both were so ditsy. You avoided the idea of the other liking you back like a deadly plague. Lockwood would stare over the edge of his mug at you, making you suppress a grin hiding behind your toast. Every time you two were in a room together the tension was so thick Lucy couldn’t breathe.

Then it was the problem of Lockwood’s unspoken lust that quickly changed into the secret you three two shared. How could you two possibly slip back into your regular touchyness when Lockwood’s fingertips just had to brush your palm while handing you the salt and all you were thinking about was that haunted house again? Now it was just, a heavy waiting period. It was certain you both were itching to get back to taking off each other’s clothes, but you just didn’t want to say that because what if Lockwood thought you were weird?

You could still gaze at the other though.

Lockwood would stare at you over his breakfast. He always paired you two up on missions. You’d rest your hand on his shoulder when you set his food in front of him, and his hand would find the back of your knee. Lockwood smiled up at you while he thanked you. He’d dry off the dishes while you washed them, his foot pressed to your ankle. He was thinking about you at night again. Only now he had real material, real memories to lull himself to sleep. He knew exactly what your moans sounded like, and exactly what you tasted like. With time passing, your flavor started to slip away from his tongue, leaving him wanting all over again.

You missed his eyes staring up at you. You missed the light making his eyes look even more warm and inviting. You just wanted to feel his hands running over you again. It kept you awake, staring up at the ceiling with all the unspoken wishes running through your head.

You weren’t sure what broke the camel’s back. It could’ve been a compliment on your good work on the thinking cloth. It could’ve been the look of his hands as he stirred his tea. It could’ve been after you returned from hours researching in the library you found your bed made, a small box of chocolates, and a note hidden under the box with his signature. It could’ve been his hand brushing your back when he had to squeeze between you and George. Whatever it was, after everyone had settled into bed and you could hear Lucy’s snores you were flinging yourself out of bed.

You tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones. You were 85% sure Lockwood would be staying up in the library, and you were 76.5% sure he wouldn’t mind kissing you silly. Sure enough, the light was peeking under the library door. You steeled yourself, taking a deep breath, before pushing open the door.

Lockwood looked up from his magazine, the corner of his mouth tipping up just slightly when he saw you. You made some joke but it didn’t really matter what you said; he’d invite you in anyway. You slipped through the small talk quickly, you were on a mission to get his tongue down your throat. You were pretty sure he saw through you. Lockwood tilted his head and had a particular shine in his eyes that reminded you of the dark house. Eventually, you were leaning over the edge of the couch, getting closer and closer to Lockwood’s personal bubble. He must’ve caught on to what you wanted, knocking his nose against yours.

You got what you wanted, his tongue down your throat and eventually he was settling down onto his knees in front of the couch and tugging your pajamas down. Even though everyone was asleep, you stayed quiet. And eventually, after your chest was heaving and Lockwood was pulling away, you begged Lockwood to let you return the favor. He was definitely more interested in giving than receiving but with your pretty hands rubbing circles on his hips, he wanted more. You were swapping places in no time. Lockwood was obviously nervous, rubbing his hands down the sides of his thighs.

He relaxed greatly once your warm mouth wrapped around him. He was smothering his face with a throw pillow to stifle his moans within a few seconds you were on your knees in front of him.

Once you were both redressed, you slipped right back into your extremely friendly ways. You said goodnight as Lockwood settled back into his chair. His cheeks were still bright red but he ignored it as he reopened his magazine to where he left off. You muttered something about seeing him in the morning. You stayed true to your word, you did find him in the morning. He was passed out in his armchair, magazine left open to the page you saw him open last night in his lap. You threw a blanket over him before going to find Lucy.

She was just as excited as you, gasping when you explained the shenanigans you two found yourselves in last night. The second time seemed better than the first and it sparked an even stronger flame within Lockwood. He was getting more brazen and desperate. The first hookup seemed to satiate him enough to realize secrecy with most of your friends was important. The second seemed to drag him to the edge of insanity, he was itching for another moan out of you and another taste of you.

The second George and Lucy would leave, he was pushing you towards the closest room. George would leave the kitchen in the early morning with Lucy still asleep and he was lunging over the table to pull you into a kiss, dropping back in his chair the second he heard George’s footsteps. It was like he just needed to feel you touching him to get through his day.

Once George left to go read a newspaper for research in the Library as Lucy was training downstairs. Lockwood wasted barely a second before he was pressing you against the kitchen counter to slip his tongue past your lips. You pulled him closer by his button-up, enjoying the feeling of his hand on the back of your neck. He knocked his hips against yours, making you sigh into his lips. You heard the Library door squeak down the hall. Lockwood pulled away from you, swirling around in a fancy motion to lean against the fridge and pick up his tea off the table. He grabbed the front of your shirt, yanking you towards him. Lockwood pressed his lips to yours over and over again, cutting it quite close to George seeing you two before he gently shoved you away. You slid on the floor because of your socks, bumping into the table. Your hit to the table made the glasses tink. You quickly settled into the nearest chair, resting your chin in your palm to seem natural of course.

“You guys are not going to bel-“ George glanced up from his newspaper, looking between you and Lockwood. He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you two look like that?” You glanced back at Lockwood to see him quirking up an eyebrow as he sipped his tea. You looked back around at George, shrugging. The door to the basement opened, and a very sweaty Lucy appeared. Her bangs were sticking to her forehead. She swiped away at them, letting her forehead breathe a little. Lucy looked between the three of you. George turned to her.

“Why do they look like that?” George asked. Lockwood let out a scoff.

“What on earth are you talking about George? Are you coming down with something?” Lockwood asked. Lucy’s eyes flicked to yours. You suppressed your grin, giving a small shrug. A small smile grew on her lips, looking back at George.

“They look normal to me George. Come here let me feel your forehead.” Lucy stuck her arm out to George. he narrowly avoided it, swinging his arms around to swat her hand away.

“Don’t touch me with your sweaty hands.” Lucy dropped her arm letting George stand up straight again. She looked over at you to raise her eyebrows. In the kitchen? You gave her a shrug, pressing both your hands to your cheeks, feeling your face warm. You both looked back to George to find him pointing between you two.

“You know something.” George declared, pointing at Lucy. She held her hands up in surrender.

“what exactly would I know?” Lucy said. George shrugged swinging his finger between the two of you again. You and Lucy shared a glance.

“That. See you guys have a secret.” George said, jumping when you and Lucy saw each other. You shook your head. Lucy crossed her arms over her chest as she shrugged.

“No, I don’t think so. We don’t have secrets, it is disrespectful to leave your roommates out of something.” You said, tilting your head back to look at Lockwood upside down. “Right, Lockwood?” He smiled at you before looking up at George.

“Yes, incredibly disrespectful. Which is exactly why I told you guys about that rash.” Three groans met his comment. You sat up straight, grimacing at the memory.

“You’re disgusting, truly. You’re a terrible pain to be around.” You muttered, trying to get the nasty taste out of your mouth. You heard Lockwood hum behind you.

”I know, baby.” He whispered it into his mug, the petname came as an afterthought, but George still jumped at it. His arm flying out to point at Lockwood. George looked over at Lucy for reassurance.

“See? Baby, he said baby. When has he ever called anyone in this house that? They’re being weird.” Lucy shook her head.

“Nah he uses pet names all the time,” Lucy said, sitting down at the table with you.

“Oh yeah, he called you darling a thousand times, George.” You added. George scoffed. He huffed before throwing the newspaper on the table and storming out. You and Lucy both turned to face Lockwood. He looked between the two of you before taking the hint and leaving. Your secret was able to slip past George and, under Lockwood’s knowledge, Lucy for weeks. You started to wonder what exactly you two were doing. You never clarified if this was all a friends-with-benefits thing or if you were just dating secretly. You really needed to talk to him about it but every time you were alone he was kissing until you couldn’t see to Tuesday. You told Lucy all about your feelings and Lucy decided she was going to get you two an empty house if it was the last thing she’d do.

One morning George declared to the breakfast table he was going grocery shopping. You and Lucy shared a look before she jumped up out of her seat to volunteer her services. George was confused but decided he didn’t care enough to ask more questions. Within a few minutes, you went from being surrounded by three roommates to just one. You glanced up from your plate to smile at Lockwood. You both sat in silence while you picked at your food. You heard the gate close, Lucy and George were officially gone. Lockwood hummed before his fork clattered onto his plate.

“Livingroom?” Lockwood asked. You looked up, gently setting your fork down next to your plate.

“Livingroom.” Lockwood shot up from his chair, letting it stick out. You stood up, snorting at him scrambling out of the kitchen. You leaned over the table, snagging a sausage off his plate before moving towards the living room. He was standing next to the door, he stuck his hand out towards you. You placed your hand in his. Lockwood tugged you forward, letting you press your body against his. You smiled up at him as he leaned down to meet your lips. He turned around. Your back was towards the living room as he pushed you inside.

Lockwood led you to the couches, letting your legs hit the edge. You finally pulled apart so you could lay down across the cushions. He settled on top of you, pulling you into a kiss again. Even with Lockwood's weight on top of you, all you could think about was where you stand. You thought about Lucy giving you the blessing of an empty house for way more than just another hookup. You gently shoved his shoulders. Lockwood pulled back, tilting his head to the side.

“What’s the weight of this?” You whispered, feeling like the decorations were staring at you as much as Lockwood was.

“What like the couch? Um I don’t know probably like-“

“No, what we’re doing. The sex and the kissing, what is our relationship right now?” Lockwood pressed his lips together. You let your hands settle on his shoulders, tracing the stitches of his button-up. He pulled himself up more, using his arms to hold himself up.

“You know, I actually didn’t plan on having this conversation with a hard-on.” He avoided your eyes, looking around the living room. You hummed, it wasn’t exactly news to you at the moment. You traced a circle around the top button on his shirt.

“It’s okay take your time.” Lockwood sighed at you. He dropped his head, making his face out of view. You rubbed the back of his head in support.

“You’re so hot. Just give me a little okay?” You hummed again, giving him his moment. You tried to be supportive by rubbing his back, reassuring him.

“It’d actually be a great help if you stopped touching me,” Lockwood muttered, his face still out of view. You dropped your hands away, letting them dangle over the edge of the couch. After a few minutes, Lockwood looked up to meet your eyes again. You smiled at him.

“We can be whatever what you want.” You grimaced at Lockwood’s response.

“You had like an extra five minutes and all you come up with is ‘whatever you want’? That’s embarrassing.”You said ignoring the awkward position with your arms dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I was a little focused on something else,” Lockwood said, squinting at you. You rolled your eyes.

“You can’t double-task?” Lockwood shook his head.

“Don’t be mean to me otherwise you’ll have to wait another five minutes.” Lockwood said, a teasing grin showing a peak of his teeth. You glared at Lockwood.

“I’d smack you if I still had access to my hands.”You muttered. Lockwood grinned at you.

“If you want to date, we can date. If you just want to be boss-employee with benefits, I'm okay with that.” Lockwood said, smiling down at you. You frowned.

“But what do you want?” You asked. You would’ve tucked his hair back behind his ear because it was dangling in front of his face making it hard to see his eyes. Lockwood shook his head.

“I want to be married with four cats right now, but I’d settle for a date or two,” Lockwood said. You pressed your lips together to stifle your grin.

“Right, well, since you feel so strongly about this I suppose we could get donuts or something sometime.” Lockwood’s smile quadrupled at your sentence.

“Yeah?” You shrugged in response. He leaned down and quickly pecked your lips before pulling back. “You can touch me now.” You smiled brightly, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders. You pulled him back down, meeting his lips fully. Lockwood was quick to meet your tongue, already missing the taste of your mouth from being just a few minutes apart. When you felt your lungs screaming for air you pushed him off towards your neck. He dipped down leaving soft kisses on your clavicle. Lockwood pulled back.

“We should probably tell our friends huh?” You grimaced at him.

“Lucy knows.” His jaw dropped open. He thought he was the sneakiest person on the entire planet.

“for how long?” Lockwood asked. You grimaced even more.

“Day 1.” Lockwood looked at you even more shocked.

“How?”

“She put it together but after that, we’d gossip about it.” Lockwood sighed. He shrugged.

“We should tell George then.” You nodded. He met your lips again, his hands traveling down to the waistband of your pants. Just as his hand was slipping past the elastic of your underwear, you heard the front door open. Lucy yelled something about being home. You both shot apart. Lockwood landed in his armchair, leaving a magazine over his lap. You laid on your stomach, picking up the closest book. You held it up to your face, tuning the page like you knew what you were reading about. Lucy and George’s head poked in, the both of them joining you. George raised an eyebrow at you.

“Since when do you read about beekeeping?” George asked. You glanced down at the cover of your book, sure enough, it had a tiny bee on the front. You shrugged.

“I wanted to branch out my knowledge. Is that okay with you?” You said, glaring at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. George left the room and headed to put away groceries. Lucy looked between you two. She readjusted the bags on her arms the handles cutting into her skin.

“how’d things go?” Lucy asked. You smiled.

“Good.” You said, closing the book about bees. You tossed it back onto the coffee table, you weren’t branching out your knowledge.

“Could’ve been better,” Lockwood muttered. Lucy’s head shot towards him, thinking he was insulting you. “Kinda cut short.” He added, turning the magazine page still settled in his lap. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, it went well.” Lucy settled, giving you a short nod before hobbling out of the room with the weight of all the grocery bags on her arms. After George scolded you and Lockwood for leaving your dirty plates on the table, the day passed quickly. You helped Lucy put away groceries. She told you all about how she wanted to rearrange her room, needing a change of scenery. You helped move her furniture all around the room, hanging up new pictures and curtains. It took so long by the time you were done you both just wanted to eat dinner and go to bed.

With the exhaustion of the day’s heavy lifting pushing your body down into your mattress, you conked the fuck out. You slept like you cuddled up in a fluffy cloud. You had beautiful dreams of ponies and cupcakes it was lovely. Waking up was slightly less enjoyable. You were halfway off your bed, head dangling over the side. Most of your blankets were thrown on the floor, one singular corner draped over your ankle. You didn’t even know where to look for your pillows. While you were sitting up, looking around the room, and trying to calculate how on earth your pillow ended up across the room, you caught a whiff of George’s best breakfast.

He’d cut cooked bacon into small bite sizes and add them to pancake batter. It was your favorite breakfast of his. You kicked off your last bit of blanket and dashed down the stairs. Lucy was parked in one of the chairs at the table. Her eyes were closed and she was holding on to a cup of tea like it was the last bit of life source she had access to. George was standing by the stove with a pan and a bowl of batter sitting next to him. You rushed over to him, tightly wrapping him in your arms. He groaned muttering about the hot stove. You held onto his chin, smacking a kiss to his temple.

“I love you, George.” George grimaced. George turned his head to glance at you. He pulled his hand away from the handle of the pan, shooing you away.

“You’re going to get burned, go away,” George grumbled, turning back to face the stove to hide the smile you knew he had. You hummed sitting down at the table next to Lucy. She gave you a half grin, more focused on her drink. You looked around the table, noticing a lack of Lockwood and furthermore a lack of his cup. You knocked Lucy with your elbow and pointed at his unofficial official seat.

“Asleep, in his bed no less.” You gave her an impressed look. He didn’t sleep much and if he did it was mostly in his armchair. You hummed. There was a silent agreement between you three that if Lockwood was asleep you didn’t wake him up unless it was certain you were all going to die. You would’ve come down the stairs quieter if you knew he was asleep. You cringed at the memory of you running down the stairs. A herd of unicorns would’ve been quieter than your excitement.

Eventually, George’s stack of two pancakes grew and grew until he was out of batter. The last bit of it was made into a mini pancake, which he gave to you once it was done. You heard movement upstairs. You waited patiently. You helped George set the table. You set out the syrup and butter, before straightening the forks next to each plate. You settled back into your chair just as George was setting the pan in the sink.

Lockwood entered the room, in his comfy clothes. He glanced around the room.

“Good Morning.” You muttered, biting into your mini pancake. Lockwood’s eyes settled on you. He smiled and made a beeline for you. His hand ducked under your chin, gently pushing it up. Lockwood greeted you with a soft kiss before moving to the other side of the table and settling into his chair. You looked over at George when the pancakes didn’t join the table. He should’ve set them down by now. George’s jaw was hanging open, his eyes unwavering on you. He was holding the plate of pancakes, about to set them down on the table. Lockwood’s hands slowly reached towards the plate, gripping onto the sides.

“What the fuck?” George said, astonished you two kissed so casually this early in the morning. Lockwood slowly pulled the stack of pancakes away from George’s hands, setting them on the center of the table. Lucy’s fork lunged forward, pulling two pancakes onto her plate. George kept his eyes on you while his hands fell limply to his sides.

“What what the fuck?” You asked, handing Lucy your plate. She added a few pancakes to your plate as George pressed his lips together in annoyance.

“Since when were you two a thing?” George asked, turning towards Lockwood. Lockwood glanced up from his plate, his cheeks full of pancake. He swallowed at a speed that made you worried about him choking.

“Well officially, less than a day. Unofficially, a couple of weeks.” Lockwood answered as you thanked Lucy for filling your plate. George scoffed.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” George asked, obviously scandalized by this news. You shrugged.

“Well technically speaking, it was supposed to be a secret but Lucy figured it out before we even put a name on it.” You muttered, taking a bite of bacon pancake. George scoffed at you.

“It was a secret from me, basically is what you’re saying?” George asked. Lockwood let out a sad sound, his hand shooting out to hold onto George’s wrist.

“We weren’t dating or anything, we were just hooking up. I assumed you wouldn’t want to hear about that, so I didn’t tell you.” George grimaced, wiping his hand on his pant leg.

“Alright gross, you’re right. But next time something big happens you guys need to tell me.” George muttered, scooting his chair further away from Lockwood’s. You nodded.

“I don't know if I’d call it big, huge might be more accurate,” Lockwood whispered, giving you a cocky grin across the table. Lucy’s fork clattered against her plate.

”Shut up.” You said, grimacing and looking down at your plate. “Dickhead.” you added, wishing he would’ve slept longer. You looked at Lucy to her pressing her hand to her mouth like she felt nauseous.

“I’m eating, Lockwood,” Lucy said. She glared at him.

“So was I,” Lockwood muttered, taking a sip of his tea. You groaned at him, flicking water drops at him.

“Bad Lockwood.” You said, flicking more water at him. George hid his face behind his hands.

“I miss when this was a secret,” George muttered. Lockwood shook his head, patting George’s shoulder.

“I don’t,” Lockwood said, winking at you across the table. You shook your head at him.

“Get your harlot hands off me.” George shrugged Lockwood’s hand away. Lockwood hummed, returning to his pancakes. You looked back at your plate.

George grew accustomed to your new relationship, and Lockwood learned to stop sharing private details at the breakfast table. You started to enjoy the small shows of affection Lockwood added to your routine. He’d say hello with a kiss. He’d flop down next to you on the couch to lean against you. Lockwood started to sleep more with you dragging him up the stairs. Apparently, a boss-employee relationship wasn’t as scandalous as you thought it was.

#lockwood & co #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x you #lockwood netflix

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b0xerdancer-writes · 5 months

Text

The Warrior with The Poets Heart.

Tamlin x Fae!Reader

Summary: Before Tamlin was a high lord, he wasn't even the heir he was just a boy with a lot of brothers, who made him heir when they all died. He had fallen in love with a girl, who had showed him a book that reminded her of him. It left him with a reason in life after Amarantha messes it all up.

Prompt: Poet/Warrior

Warnings: War, graphic violence, blood, Amarantha

Word Count: 4,086

Notes: A bit smaller but I feel I conveyed my goal in this. A bit late bc the minimum editing I did went on longer than I expected. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Human Fae War had exhausted Tamlin more than he'd like to have admitted, he didn't like swords yet here he was brandishing one, he favored his time reading and writing poetry more even though war time poems were less than proper.

His brothers had all been killed by rival troops, his father had named him heir shortly after the news reached both of their ears; he had been in the med tent getting checked over for a nasty slash when he had heard, his father had bitterly told him that he was heir now and needed to act as such. He was relieved when the war came to its end.

He had sought his usual comfort when he returned to Rosehall with his father paid him no mind, while Rosehall had a fairly good sized library a major portion of the books were kept in his father’s study, he never wanted anything to do with that room really but he guess he had too now. He had read all of the poetry collections within the halls of the estate, his recent comfort had been sneaking off to the nearby village where a small female ran a neat little bookshop. It had shelves of poetry he had never read, and Tamlin had been fascinated how it survived under his nose without him knowing.

He had only found out about it because one of the servants found him wandering around the estate looking for some poetry book he hadn't read yet and stumbled into the servants quarters to see if they had any, and a small lesser fae with dragonfly-like wings had directed him towards her friend's store. Needless to say she didn’t disappoint, and the store had quickly become one of his favorite getaways.

He had saddled up his horse and rode into the village, the familiar cobble path turning into dirt the closer he got to the village; he slowed his gallop down as he entered the busy streets, greeting back the fae that greeted him as he swerved through the crowds on his way to the familiar 2 story cottage at the end of the shopping district. Ivy grew up from the building and around the small handrails for the three steps up to the shop's porch, he tied his horse to the small post she had put out front when she noticed him struggling to tie his horse to the ivy covered railings and headed up the steps.

The familiar chime of the bells hung from the door handle announced his entrance and a voice yelled from the back room. “Be right there! Please feel free to look around!”

“It's just me Petal, looking for more poetry.” Tamlin called back, wandering around between the shelves.

“Oh! Tamlin! I ordered something in for you!” She rounded the shelves and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the sitting area near the checkout. “It came all the way from Day, but it's one of only 15 copied all over Prythian.”

Tamlin followed after her with a grin on his face, their relationship had steadily grown since his first time in the building; he had been awkward and shy looking around but she offered to help him, when he said he was looking for some poetry books he had yet to read she lit up dragging him to a shelf of books that was all poetry. She had asked him if there were any poets he preferred and when he shook his head no she began listing off her favorites on the shelves. He had gone home with only one book, one she claimed was her absolute favorite and was so passionate about that he just had to read it.

“You ordered me a book all the way from Day Court and it's a limited edition? How much did that cost you? I need to compensate you for that darling.” Tamlin mused with a small chuckle.

She tensed her entire face burning red. “No-no that's not necessary Tam, really, all I ask is that you also allow me to read it.”

Tamlin smiled at her gently. “Of course darling, anything you want.”

“We could read it together?” She mumbled softly.

“If you'd like to, I'd be more than happy to do that. Any excuse to not be up in Rosehall right now, father has been driving me up the wall.” Tamlin groaned dramatically and she chuckled.

She ushered him to sit in a chair and brought him a gift wrapped box, eagerly passing it to him she rocked on her feet as he ripped the nice emerald green paper off; inside a neatly bound book with gold embossing was nestled.

“The King of Poets?” Tamlin read off the cover.

“I got to read it a long time ago, my father had a copy, I sent it to be restored in day court for you. The main character reminds me of you.” She mused back.

“Oh Petal-” Tamlin held the book tightly in his hands. “If this was your father’s I can’t possibly take this from you.”

She smiled softly and sat beside him. “I want you to have it. You’ll see why.”

Tamlin looked over to her brows furrowed. “You sure darling? I know how much this must mean to you.”

She nodded. “It's not your normal poetry book. It's got small sections that read like poetry, when the main character is writing it himself. But it's a good book.”

“Then we will for sure read it together.” Tamlin nodded, pulled her into a side hug and with a blush on his face pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I can close the store for the day and we can go upstairs and I can make us some honey tea while we read?” She offered

“I'd like that.” Tamlin nodded.

“Go ahead and head up then.” She stood and smoothed her skirts out, she busied herself with closing the front of the store.

The stairs welcomed him up them, decorated with ivy and faelights; if downstairs was cozy, upstairs was cozier. It was kept dim, dark wooden floors with beige walls she had decorated with plants, tapestries, paintings, and hanging faelights; the room was covered with her own personal collection of books on tall bookshelves, in the center of the living room was a dark green padded couch, furs and warm blankets tossed over the back. The old wooden coffee table was in the center of the sofa and two matching chairs, it was littered with small plants and books and in the corner a matching desk was stacked with papers, a journal, and writing utensils.

He plopped onto the sofa, and pulled one of the warm blankets over the back into his lap; the steps creaked as she climbed them and he watched her with a soft adoration on his face, these were his favorite moments now. They had started about two months ago, she had invited him upstairs for tea after weeks of the two sitting in the downstairs reading area and reading different books in silence together.

She carried up a tray with two cups on it, and sat it on the coffee table; she curled up into his side as he took a drink from the sweetened tea. He pulled the blanket over her lap and wrapped his arm over his shoulder to tuck her further into his side.when she had fully nestled into his side he began reading aloud, the book was a good 25 or so chapters; small in comparison to some he had read but for the story it was trying to convey Tamlin deemed it the perfect size. Hours had passed and the sun was setting in the sky by the time Tamlin reached the last paragraph.

“-Even though he had to brandish his blade to defend us, his people, his poets, we knew that in his heart he would have rather been lost in his work writing or reading. But even with a poet's heart he stood and fought for us, and even though he lost we commemorate him now and memorialize him in this book. Understand this reader, one does not need the heart of a warrior to stand up for those around you that you care for, you can have the heart of a poet and do just that.” Tamlin read aloud.

He looked down to find her asleep against his chest and smiled; she had known his struggles, had known how he felt about being heir now. His heart wasn't in it he had told her once, he didn't have a warrior's heart like the rest of his brothers; no, he had the heart of a poet, of an artist if you added in his prowess with the fiddle. She wasn’t good with words conveying her message; He knew that, but she always found a way to explain it to him with a book. The character in the book was more like him than she had made it seem, for more reasons than one.

He set the book on her coffee table, wrapped the blanket around her and carried her through the upstairs into her bedroom; setting her on the fluffy bed he moved to the desk just outside of her bedroom door and began to scribble a letter to her on it. He brought the cups down to the kitchen and washed them in the sink, tipping them upside down on the small rack beside the sink; he hummed a soft melody while he cleaned and organized.

Eventually he slipped out the front door and used his magic to reseal the wards, untied the horse and set off back towards Rosehall and the estates grounds. He could face the challenges that came with being Heir now, he thought the war had taken its toll; he hated the mindless slaughter but he'd do it again if it meant protecting his people, protecting her.

The next morning she awoke groggily, dazed and confused about how she ended up in bed; remembering how she had fallen asleep surrounded in Tamlin’s scent, pressed into his side, warm, cozy, and with his voice lulling her to sleep. Really there had been no better way to fall asleep in her book. She dragged herself out of bed, finding his note folded neatly and waiting on her to open it.

‘Darling,

Thank you for the wonderful book, as always you know just what to pick; believe me you have conveyed your message my dear.

I understand now what you meant when you said the main character was similar to me in more ways than one. Not only was he blonde and green eyed or in love with a female who worked in the village nearby, but that I am a warrior with the heart of a poet.

Like the King in the book I didn't want to join the war efforts, but I did to protect the people of my court. I too was anxious about taking over my duties as heir; but you Darling, have helped me with that. I believe I can face them now with no anxiety knowing I’m doing it for you and for my court to make this place better than I will be handed it.

If I ever have to go to war again, know that I will brandish it in your honor. My father has asked me to assist him with a task as his heir, I will be gone for only a day or two but will return to you as soon as I make it back. If you would do me the honors, I would like to begin courting you upon my return.

With much love,

Your warrior with the heart of a poet.’

She smiled softly, a warm blush creeping to her face. She fully intended to agree to the courtship and would inform him so. She busied herself with getting ready for the day, and then opening the shop; it had most definitely picked up business since Tamlin had started swinging by.

The days while he was gone passed quickly as long as she busied herself, if not with work in the bookshop it was with writing her own poetry collection. She had only started writing the collection after she had met Tamlin; she had written about 43 of them now, one for every visit.

It had been late in the evening when he returned, he hadn’t even changed yet but he came knocking at her door, she had pulled him into a deep kiss.

“Well I guess that answers my question then, come up with me yo Rosehall. My father wants to meet you, he has agreed to let me court you but he would like to meet you first.” Tamlin had cheered happily, pulling her back into a kiss.

“I’d love too.” He helped her up onto the cream colored mare and jumped on behind her, his chest against her back.

The journey back to Rosehall was taken slower than when he had rode into the village; there would be gossip they both knew as they rode through town, he had one hand on her side and the other on the reins as they walked back to the grand estate. As they passed by shops, restaurants, homes, and the tavern people had been whispering either side of the path; neither seemed to care as they were caught up in their own conversations.

Dinner at Rosehall had gone off without a hitch, Tamlin’s father had approved of her and their relationship. They had spent the night celebrating with good drinks and eventually Tamlin’s father had dismissed himself to his room for the night. The two had stayed up for several more hours before they both agreed to head to bed, they dismissed the idea of sleeping in different rooms and he pulled her into his bed; she had borrowed one of his mother’s chemises to sleep in and he simply changed into loose trousers. Rosehall was quiet as the others' scent lulled each other to sleep.

A commotion had startled Tamlin awake, it had come from the opposite side of the wing; he had a gut feeling on what it was about, the scent of Iron hung in the air. He held her close, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a growl rested in the base of his throat; she clung to his arm, her heart pounding in her chest.

His door slowly creaked open as the air began to crackle with magic; Rhysand, who he had once called friend, stood there with a look of pity on his face. “I’m sorry.”

Tamlin had grabbed the dagger from his end table and extended it towards Rhys. The two slowly exited the hall where the commotion continued, a yelp and a thud followed by a scream of agony was the only thing that ended up keeping the boys from eachother’s throats. She had ran to Tamlin the second the males both looked down the hall and turned pale, Tamlin lowered the blade and tried to cover her eyes but it wad too late and she had seen the bloody scene in the center of the hall.

Tamlin’s father was in his beast form, a giant golden wolf like creature with grand elk horns, was slumped against the wall; black oozed from the giant gash in his neck, obvious signs that fae bane had been wad the heavy sickly sweet scent that hung in the air. Across from him was a busted railing, all three had rushed forward to find Rhys’s father collapsed against the ground and impaled on some of the splintered wood; she had cried out and buried her face into Tamlins side, she should have never seen such a thing, not his little poet.

Both High Lords had twitched as the air began to crackle, they both knew what that unfortunate sound was. The males both nodded to each other and Rhys headed down the main staircase, he loomed over his father both dressed in black leathers; she watched as he stared blankly as the Night Lord wheezed his final breath, an eerie rattle that left blood seeping from the sides of his mouth. The magic in the air sharpened and separated, half ringing in her ears and around Rhysand as he absorbed the powers of the Night Lord.

The newly made night lord simply nodded at Tamlin and with a snap of his fingers the body of his father as well as his blood was gone, Rhysand turned and left the estate without another word.

Tamlin moved towards his father, who lay in beast form on the floor; the great golden hound blood gushing from the massive slit across his neck, he tried to get up and move but ultimately collapsed and blood gushed faster. Tamlin kneeled on the floor beside him, they both knew there was no coming back from this wound; there was a sorrowful understanding between the two as Tamlin dug the dagger into his fathers head, the magic buzzing loudly before his own body absorbed it like Rhys’s had.

She had witnessed so few had seen, the passing on of a High Lord and the exchange of powers; not only had she witnessed it once but she had witnessed it twice and both experiences were different, one had sent an electric buzzing through her body and the other had left a butter taste in her mouth and an ringing in her ears.

Tamlin stood and squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to see this love.” He sighed, “let’s get you back to the room, get you in a bath and then i'll clean up out here, join you in the bath, make us some tea and we can try to get some sleep if you want love?”

He had put himself between Rhys and her, had brandished that sword for her; another moment she would add to the books.

The courtship was easy and quick, the two eventually were married and she busied herself around the manor; Tamlin dealt with high lord duties so she could work on the bookshop, she had bought a new building lined the walls with shelf upon shelf of poetry and sold the old one. ‘The Poets Rest’ it had been named.

Lucien had found his way into their hearts and home, her husband had taken him in and defended him from his family; she had helped the fox-like male mourn his lost lover only able to imagine what it would be like if she was in his shoes, they all grew into close friends.

Then Amarantha came, having fallen for the blonde male in front of the entire court and other high lords; Tamlin’s wife, his beautiful flower, had stood her ground and challenged the redheaded general. Amarantha had denied the fight, claiming he would find his way into her hands.

The masquerade ball, she had been gifted a golden doe mask from her husband and Tamlin’s a mimicry of his beast form. Amarantha offered the two one last chance after she had taken Lucien's eye, the doe masked female trying to comfort their red-headed friend as he writhed in agony; Tamlin had stepped up in front of the two to ask what it would take for her to leave them alone, he declared he had no intention of leaving his Rosebud for her.

Amarantha hissed back a simple “We’ll see.”

Then the plagues came. Their masks bonded to their skin and panic arose, fae screamed, scratched, and ripped at the masks on their faces. She had seen many bleed out from the sheer panic, she had sought out the comfort of Tamlin only to be tipped from his arms by the red-headed general.

In the panic Amarantha had manage to hide the doe masked female that Tamlin had loved, he had thought he truly lost her and it led to him playing long with Amarantha’s plans. He led the human girl along, threw tantrums over her when he needed to, some tantrums were fake and some were real; he had learned to direct his rage and sorrow for not being able to protect her towards the human girl, all Amarantha had said to him in the aftermath was that if he played along he might have a chance to see his dear sweet wife again but the human girl couldn’t know of her. Their wedding portrait had been bitter to take down into the vaults, covered by a black cloth.

Then came the day he had to admit defeat that he just couldn’t fight anymore and just wanted to join his rosebud on the other side, but before he could declare his stance Feyre had been dragged into the throne room. He had done as Amarantha had requested now all they had to get through was her trials. Amarantha had given her a riddle and Tamlin knew the answer to it, the answer was Love, it had been a poem he referenced in his vows to his darling rose, yet he couldn’t open his mouth now if he had any chance of finding his lover.

Feyre had been illiterate her entire life, but when she had been tossed in the jail cell the night before her final trial she was surprised to find the hall of cells wasn't empty; a female was in the cell across from her, she looked frail and weak behind the golden deer mask.

After the guards had left Feyre had called out to the female who looked up from the book she clasped, a tattered thing with gold embossing, to ask her about the riddle.

“It's in reference to a poem.” The female had looked down into her lap, sadness deep in her eyes.

“What was the poem about?” Feyre had asked quizzically.

“A poem about Love. The answer to your riddle is love. How bittersweet it is Amarantha has picked that for you.” The female chirped back sadly.

Feyre nodded, finally able to take in the golden mask on the opposite female's face. “You're from the Spring Court.”

“Indeed I am from a small village south of Rosehall.” The female replied. “Now if you would excuse me, I'd like to go to sleep.” The female stood from her stool and curled up onto the creaky old bed.

Feyre followed her shortly after into sleep.

Then as she rested in the cell the next morning, the doe mask had fallen from her face and the bars in front of her shattered. The curse had been broken but at such a bittersweet cost, she hobbled through the halls of the mountain till she found the throne room. Amarantha lay dead in the center of the room, a circle of high lords kneeled around the human girl; except for Tamlin as Feyre’s bones snapped and reformed into those of a high fae.

Feyre coughed and wheezed in pain as she sat up from the stone floor, everyone had expected Tamlin to kneel beside her and comfort her but when they looked up at the male he was staring at the sickly fae female clutching a golden doe mask and a worn book.

“Rosebud?“ Tamlin had choked out.

“Tam.” She had sobbed back.

He had been silent and still the entire time he was under the mountain but seeing her there, seeing her alive, had awoken the part of him that had slumbered since her disappearance and he set off into a sprint towards her. He wrapped his arms around her, spinning her, and broke into a sob himself.

“I’m so sorry, love.” Tamlin had choked over his words barely able to breathe through the tears.

“It's okay Tam. I get it.” She pressed the worn book to his chest.

Tamlin had looked down at the clothbound book and thumbed over the gold embossing. “You always were good with getting your words out through books and poetry.”

“You did what you had to do to survive, my sweet warrior, Even though your poet's heart was screaming not too. You made it out Tamlin, it's okay now, we can go back to us. You don't have to be that warrior anymore.” She soothed.

“First we have to get you back to Rosehall and nursed back to health.” Tamlin had whimpered dropping his head into her shoulder.

“Then take me home and protect me Tam.” She crooned to him and ran her free hand through his blonde hair

Taglist: @tamlinweek

#acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #tamlin x reader #tamlin acotar #tamlin

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rubra-wav · 7 months

Note

Omgg, I need a Rosie x fem!Reader fic, where she introduces you to Alastor like her partner 😭💕

Rosie x introducing reader to Alastor

A/N: Today is Rosie day apparently bc I got 2 reqs I'm gonna be (hopefully at least) getting written abt her today.

I'm really sorry I just realised you said fic on this one, lmk if you'd like me to write it as a proper fic 💀

Cw: Sfw, Fem reader, slightly twisted fluff, cannibalism, kinda messed up relationship origin story haha

- When Rosie had brought out the tea set with a mixture of treats for Alastor and herself, and different sweets for you, you could feel yourself getting anxious about the meeting to come.

- You'd been dating the overlord for a little while now. With the 7th month approaching, Rosie wanted you to meet one of her longest friends.

- Wanted to solidify that you were her girlfriend more permanently.

- The public eye wasn't on you at all luckily due to you living in a town surrounded by ravenous cannibals who would protect you with tooth and nail due to dating their leader.

- However, during the time you'd been together, Rosie continued to receive suitors, which was uncomfortable for both of you.

- So she figured that she would start trying to make an effort to tell people she was in a completely monogamous relationship, one person at a time. Starting with her good friend Al, naturally.

- You truly didn't mind, but it was a little bit nerve-wracking meeting another overlord. Especially one who was long time friends with your lover.

- Rosie noticed you fidgeting nervously with your hands, looking down at the table set out before you.

- She let out a soft sigh and put down the box of tea bags she had been fussing with the choices of, walking to stand behind you and place her hands on your shoulders.

- "You'll be fine, heart! He's gonna love you. Maybe even half as much as I do!" She chuckled as your slightly unsure face peered backwards up at her.

- She leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead, prompting you to relax and smile softly.

- As she did so, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat behind the two of you.

- You two turned to see the very recognisable Radio Demon standing there looking somewhat uncomfortable at the display of affection. You didn't even hear him approach the outdoor sitting area.

- "Good afternoon, ladies." Alastor recovered quickly as Rosie moved to properly greet him with a big hug, and you rose from your seat with a somewhat strained smile.

- As the two cannibal overlords embraced, you got a stab of being out of place... inadequate in comparison. I mean, you were just some nobody dating the (essentially) mayor of cannibal town, you were surely out of place in such company.

- You were knocked from your thoughts as you felt your hand taken and shaken, Alastor leaning down to get a closer look at you with an elated grin.

- "And you must be (name)! Brilliant to meet you darling, Rose has told me so much about you, it really is a pleasure!" He exclaimed, shaking your hand so enthusiastically you thought you might fall over if he kept it up.

- "Y-yes! It's very nice to meet you Al-" you startled, before correcting yourself. "Alastor! I mean. Sorry!" You apologised profusely for addressing him so informally.

- The man shook his head with a staticky bark of laughter. "Nonsense! Anyone who's this close to Rosie I see as a friend! Do feel free to call me Al, darling." He let go of your hand, finally ceasing the relentless handshake to go and take a seat at the table, musing to himself the whole way about how fun this was going to be.

- Rosie laughed softly at the surprise on your face, wrapping an arm around your lower back and guiding you toward the loveseat across from your grinning guest.

- Afternoon tea with Alastor went along swimmingly despite your prior stress about it.

- The whole time, your fingers were laced together with Rosie's as the three of you laughed and conversed cordially.

- "So, do tell me, how did you ladies meet one another?" Alastor asked, taking a sip of his tea with his red eyes flicking between the two of you.

- You laughed awkwardly, looking to Rosie with a slightly hesitant expression as to whether you should tell the truth exactly or not.

- Rosie shrugged, somewhat hesitant about it as well.

- You gulped, recollecting it all. "Well, my Rose and I met under.. inopportune circumstances." You said slowly, voice raising an octave at the end.

- Alastor put down his cup of tea with his eyebrows raised expectantly. "Oh~?" He looked all the more curious now.

- You took a deep breath, and Rosie chuckled next to you. "Well," Rosie picked up where you left off. "It's kind of funny now, but wasn't at the time that's for sure. She stumbled into the town's walls with a bleeding knee and the cannibals converged on her, trying to take her as a gift for me. It was my birthday the day afterwards, you see." The cannibal explained, talking with her hands as she told the story.

- Alastor looked at you in surprise. "My, that would have been quite a strange situation for you (name)."

- "it... sure was, yes. They brought me to her gagged and wrapped up in a big pink ribbon." You thought back in some unsureness. "They wanted to cook my heart particularly for her birthday meal, but wanted her to actually approve of me before serving me."

- Alastor laughed loudly at your words, shaking his head as he fought to compose yourself. "And what, she decided you looked like you tasted bad?" He looked at Rosie for more context, to find her shaking her head with a somewhat irritated look on her face.

- "Not at all, she looked far too good to eat. People like my husband belong on a platter, not those like my heart," Rosie looked to the side down at you with a fond smile. "I knew that even before we spoke."

- You blushed and smiled warmly at her, squeezing her hand as you looked lovingly up at her.

- "The second I looked into those big beautiful black eyes of her's, I knew I wanted to be with her. Weird I know to be on someone's literal chopping block and thinking that way." You chuckled, looking back at Alastor with a grin.

- Alastor grinned right back at you, expression softening slightly as he leaned his cheek on his palm. "Yes, however I'm glad to see that Rosie seems to be so happy with you. You two make an excellent pair from what I've seen."

- You and Rosie chuckled, agreeing with him. Definitely.

Helpppp now I kinda wanna write a prequel part 2 for their meeting aaa. I could call it 'Eat Your Heart Out or Give You Mine.'✨️😭

Or sumn like that.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rosie #rosie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rosie headcanons #hazbin hotel rosie x reader

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yjhariani · 1 year

Note

hii, i've an idea. can you write something about the 141 team trying to fast for one day bc reader is also fasting and they're curious abt how it feels etc. thank you in advance :)

“I was thinking maybe we all try,” Soap said.

“Try what?” Ghost asked.

“Fasting,” Soap answered.

“Never once I thought such an idea would come out of you, Soap,” you chuckled.

“It’s not a bad idea either,” Ghost commented.

“I’m an amazing friend, how could you say that?” Soap protested. “Are we doing this or not?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in,” Gaz nodded.

“When are we gonna do it?” Soap asked.

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Ghost said.

“Excuse me, tomorrow is cleaning day, my guys,” you pointed out.

“So, what? If you can do it, then, I can do it,” Ghost stated.

“Yeah, why not?” Soap supported. “You’re doing fine, we’ll do better than fine.”

“I already said I’m in,” Gaz shrugged.

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’ll wake you up for suhoor and you’ll eat and drink before dawn. After that you practise chastity, you can’t eat, drink, or smoke until dusk.”

There was a pause where everyone was looking at Ghost.

“I can survive without smoking,” Ghost said. “Been trying to quit anyway.”

“You said that like twelve times already in the span of one year,” you said.

“Still trying,” Ghost said.

Soon the time came. It was not that hard getting them out of the bed. However, getting them to wake up took a little bit more time and a lot of food.

The mess was not as full as how it would have been for breakfast, but still more people than it would have been any other month. Mostly, the people here were the ones who participated in Ramadan with their friends who were challenged to fast or simply curious to know what it felt like, maybe as a sign of respect to their friend.

It all went quite well, but after all it was only the beginning of the day.

Dawn came a few minutes after everyone was done eating and drinking. Everyone was oddly in a good mood. Maybe you were in a better mood than most of them because yesterday you did this all by yourself.

Then, fast forward to about hours later, it was about midday, and you were mopping the barrack floor with Ghost’ help. Gaz was asleep in the most uncomfortable position. Soap was nowhere to be seen, but Price did tell him to wash one of the cars.

“Hey, LT,” you called.

“Shut up,” Ghost said, more harshly than he intended.

“Okay,” you said as you turned around, hiding a smile—knowing that Ghost would be snapping at everyone soon if you kept pushing to talk to him.

Sometime later, you walked outside and found König holding up a hose downwards to Soap who was sitting underneath it, face up, eyes closed.

“Is he okay?” you mouthed at König.

König gave you a light shrug for an answer.

“Soap, are you okay?” you asked.

Soap opened his eyes and saw you.

“I’m,” Soap said, but he got water poured into his mouth and he moved his head off the water to talk to you, “I’m fucking thirsty.”

“Dude, you don’t have to force yourself. That’s literally part of the religion. I mean, that’s referring to sick people, pregnant and breastfeeding people, and elderly, but, really, you don’t have to force yourself,” you said.

“No,” Soap whined.

“Well, a lot of kids fast only up to midday,” you brought up.

“Why, because I’m a big baby?” Soap questioned.

You looked at König who slightly tilted his head in amusement.

“I’m just gonna leave you to it,” you decided.

About three hours before dusk, everyone was miserable. However, at least the cleaning was done.

Everyone sort of had their own way of killing time. They had way less energy than usual, but still kept themselves busy.

Around the last hour of fasting, everyone was a little more spiritful again. They were excited about iftar and a lot of the conversation you were having was food related.

The four of you ordered a lot of food and plated everything in the common area of the barrack. There were warm drinks, cold drinks, savoury snacks, sweet snacks, portions of meals, but seemed to be lacking some water that no one realised would be necessary.

Hours came down to minutes before dusk. Everyone was sitting around the small coffee table where you put the food on. You put your phone on the table as well, waiting for it to announce the time to break your fast.

Your phone soon blared out as a sign that it was time to break your fast. Right away, the four men around you went to take their drinks and food and chugged everything in. However, they took a pause when they noticed that you only had one cup of warm beverage in your hands and you silently prayed before taking a sip. They slowed down then.

Regardless, after drinking a little bit of liquid and eating barely a few finger foods, everyone just sort of sat there and looked at each other.

“We’re never gonna be able to finish all these, are we?” Ghost questioned.

“Not even half,” you chuckled.

“This morning, I pissed seven times in the span of an hour because I drank three jugs of water,” Soap said, “and I’m still fuckin’ thirsty at noon.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #könig x reader

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viviandroidcardigan · 2 months

Text

Absolutely massive (4k+) outline of a fic I'll never write! Extra clunky bc it used to be a twtr thread.

YS/HJ/SH omegaverse

tw: sa, pregnancy

YS, HJ and SH established omega trouple who are very much childfree. For HJ it's mostly about prioritizing his career, YS is still trying to establish boundaries with his very proper, very conservative family and figure out what he wants outside of what he was constantly pushed into before he snapped and left and SH carries a lot of trauma from his own miserable upbringing (single teenage mother, thrown out by her parents for getting him out of wedlock became abusive and neglectful and eventually died leaving him with very strict and spiteful grandparents that he went no contact with as soon as he could) and he is determined to break the generational trauma by never becoming a parent.

The three of them have been together for almost a year and have a very stable and loving dynamic.

Until one day YS goes to visit his family to their rural town, who insisted he must be present on some stupid family function despite him being in the middle of a work deadline and in pre-heat. And it went for longer than expected but he was hopeful about catching the last train back to the city and tried crossing the fields to get to the station on time and just like that some random alpha in a rut caught and assaulted him.

YS didn't catch the train. He woke up in the field at sunrise, barely remembering the night before bc apparently the rut of his rapist triggered his heat to start on early but now it was all gone and he never had it gone so quickly so it only added to his confusion and dread and he just wanted to get home so that's what he did, suddenly very happy that he kept postponing moving in with HJ and SH bc the work commute was too far from their place. YS got home and finally had his

little breakdown in the shower. He didn't know what to do, he didn't even see the attacker enough to identify him and also he knew well enough that omega in heat had very little success in pressing charges. And his family would make such a mess of everything and would tell him it

was his fault for even going out alone at night. He couldn't fathom how to tell his partners either.

And he did have a work deadline so for the next week or so he buried himself in work very carefully not thinking about anything until he had a horrible idea and sure enough, his test was positive. YS had a larger breakdown bc he was slowly psyching himself up to telling HJ and SH about everything but now he would have to admit to this as well and to his absolute dismay he realized that he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. He abhorred the notion that his omega instincts will kick in one day as his parents kept telling him but apparently it was exactly the case.

But now he really couldn't tell HJ and SH. They were very clear on their position but also he hated the idea that if he told them everything they might force themselves for his sake and

he couldn't take their choice from them like it was already taken from him.

YS arranged a dinner, as they were messaging him non-stop, the work deadline cope out going only so far to postpone the inevitable and they could immediately tell that something was wrong.

So YS just straight up asked them about their thoughts on having children and if those changed at all. HJ shrugged bc not really but also it wasn't a hard no for him. Maybe some time, years down the line, when he is better established in the industry, bc if he ever were to have kids, he'd want to be present and not constantly away in the studio. SH shook his head with a serious expression, hasn't changed: no, never. YS sighed and was like, I think it's a goodbye then. I love you but it's something I'm planing to pursue soon so....

They are hurt and confused and ask if his family got into his head while he was visiting but YS is barely holding on as is, he can't really talk anymore. He hoped that there was a way to keep them and the child both but now he knows how foolish that idea was. They keep asking him questions but he is far far away and eventually they stop and they go to their respective homes and at least he didn't move in.

HJ and SH keep messaging him but YS is self-isolating and grieving the relationship. He doesn't think he can manage to stay friends with them, a constant reminder of what he have lost. He can't really tell his family either, sure that they will either force him to abort or worse. He has a recurring nightmare that he resorts to asking for help and his family marries him off to a local alpha who is his rapist but there is no way for him to know for sure and he is forever trapped wondering and not knowing if he is succumbing to insanity or it's a reality that he cannot escape.

There are also worries about the future as his research makes him realize just how dire the situation is for single omega parents in their conservative society. He either has to pay for everything out of pocket which is A LOT or apply for governmental aid but then lose his job bc he has just decent enough income to make him not eligible. But entering the benefits program he will have "single omega parent" on his file forever that is almost sure to guaranty he never gets hired again for any serious job as a "promiscuous omega". Not to mention all the medical things he had no clue about but now has to go through.

For the first month he barely manages to get out of bed at all, spiraling into a depression visible enough that his boss allows him to start working from home. And YS feels so bad about using that kindness to hide the reality of his situation but what other choice he has. Especially when morning sickness kicks in HARD.

YS goes to all his medical exams and works overtime and compartmentalizes so hard he is barely conscious at all as time both crawls and flies.

And then just past the third month his manager request an old project from him, something he always knew will come in handy so he had it saved on a flash drive he cannot find. Until he remembers HJ using it to transfer some work files to home computer and figures out where it is.

YS comes in the middle of the day, when no one should be home and hopes they didn't change the code (they didn't) but just as he locates the drive, sleep-rumpled HJ comes out of the bedroom. They stare at each other until YS blurts out "why are you here?" "Launch party ran late".

YS figures out that HJ finished the project he was working so hard on when they broke up and something that he looked SO much forward to, as he loved HJ's music but didn't allow himself to listen to it all this time in hopes to get over him quicker. It really didn't work at all.

HJ looks at him guarded and before he asks, YS explains that he needed the flash drive for work and apologizes for coming without a notice. HJ asks why he stopped answering their messages. "I though, we were at least friends". And YS knows he has to leave bc he always knew he was hurting them but he cannot face it rn when he is barely holding on.

But HJ waves his mumbling attempts at answer and says they have a box of all his stuff that he left behind. It's a pretty big box, he left his whole life behind here. But as he stands up, HJ looks him over and sees the small but noticeable bump he already has. HJ notes bitterly "you moved on fast, huh. Well, congratulations." And YS doesn't know what to say but something must be on his face bc HJ looks away and apologizes, fiddling with his sleeves, says he is hangover from the party.

YS wants to congratulate him on the release as well but he really can't do this anymore so he goes to grab the box but HJ is like woah-woah, what do you think you are doing, it's very heavy! YS just shrugs and says he will get it to the elevator and call a taxi. But HJ frowns at him and says he will get it down but he knows that YS lives on a third floor of a house without an elevator. HJ is like can your... ugh, partner, pick it up for you. And YS is thrown by this conversation enough to say the truth: no.

HJ frowns harder, what kind of a shitty alpha lets his pregnant omega lift heavy things, even if he is working or whatever, that's not ok, he should be able to come and help. And as YS cannot find a response to that HJ insists that he will get their car and drive him home and get the box to his place. YS tries to argue but there is no point when HJ already decided everything.

They get in the car and now HJ is worried about him enough to get over his bitterness and unexpected jealousy and starts pestering him with questions and YS just gives up and says there is no partner in the picture at all.

That gets HJ even more worried and riled up. Wtf? He got omega pregnant and dipped?? YS is probably heartbroken! He must have been SO in love to break it of with them so abruptly and change his whole stance on kids just for the guy to leave him?? Any hurt HJ was still harboring

gets totally overflown with indignation. Who DARED to leave YS and in that position too? It also dawns on him that YS was probably going no contact bc of all this mess, bc of the embarrassment.So now HJ is determined to mend their friendship. He still cares and SH does too.

They will do all in their power to support YS on this path. YS makes a weak attempt to refuse the offer but really, he is at the end of his rope as well and it doesn't take too much to cave in and accept it. Especially when SH calls him later to assure that he is very much on the

same page with HJ and he can and should lean on them. That's what friends are for. And it brings YS a lot of relief but also opens all the wounds that really didn't heal at all. He misses them and loves them and needs them but now he must be satisfied with their friendship.

HJ and SH come back into his life with vengence. SH immediately proceeds to deep-clean YS' apartment, something that he really couldn't muster the energy to do for... a while. HJ volunteers to drive him to all the doctor appointments even when YS insists that it's entirely fine.

But it does make a difference not even comfortable transportation wise but just having someone there, waiting for him in the car. Hospitals are weird. No one is straight up mean to him but as he did tell the doctors everything he feels like they are treating him like a child.

He has to keep rejecting suggestions that he should bring his parents along. They don't explain him stuff either because when HJ starts pestering him about this or that factoid he read about online, YS is lost on most of them. His first trimester was him moving on autopilot. It turns out that he really needed someone caring around bc YS can finally feel himself unfreezing a bit. But with that comes the onslaught of feelings.

Yes, SH and HJ are there for him but they don't have the time to visit more than couple days a week and also inevitably leave.

They hug him hello but obviously never kiss and one time SH does peck his cheek lulled by familiarity he apologizes for "overstepping". They have new inside jokes he doesn't understand. YS is thrown from elation of their presence to devastation of their loss even more sharp when

they are right there, close enough to touch.

For the first time he starts doubting his decision. Is it really worth it, some random baby against his entire life? He could have had it. Maybe he still can. If it was just out of the picture. He still cannot contemplate abortion but In his darkest moments, silently sobbing into his pillow in his empty apartment, he thinks... maybe if he miscarried. Would it be so bad? They say that unbonded omega, with no alpha pheromones around, with a traumatic conception, he is in a slightly higher risk group. So maybe…

Until one night he wakes up in a puddle of blood and SCREAMS in horror. His whole ride in the ambulance that HJ called him, bc YS was only able to call him, he keeps saying he didn't mean it. He doesn't want the baby gone! He didn't mean it! Please!

HJ and SH still in their pj's run in just as the doctor finishes explaining to him that everything is fine, things like this can happen and he just should go double on his vitamins and come more often for check ups and avoid stress and they will let him go after getting an IV. YS is relieved but still very shaky so he dives into a hug HJ and SH envelop him in, murmuring comforting things and rubbing his back.

In retrospect he understands the kind of a picture they make and can hardly blame the nurse who comes in with an IV. She is an older alpha that always fusses over him. And YS is too out of it to participate in a conversation when she asks how long they know him and SH says that's it's been almost two years. The nurse looks surprised and then delighted as she says"I know it's not my business and some ppl are weird about relationships between omegas, but I'm so happy to know he has you! You can't imagine how many partners leave the omega who got pregnant from a rap3, as if it's their fault. You are great for staying and you can come with him for the check ups, we are quite progressive here!"

She leaves and YS is completely rigid not able to breathe, with his face still smushed into SH shoulder. Hj makes a raw wounded sound but SH only hugs YS tighter and says "Not now. We will talk about this later."And YS hopes that later means never but he is off the hook for now so he just clings on.

HJ and SH take YS to their place after that and he is so grateful that they are not asking more questions so he goes along with them and let's them push him into a shower and into the softest pj's and into their bed where he just drifts off right away.

Next morning YS wakes up and even though he is dreading the conversation, it was also the best sleep he had in months, surrounded by their scents, so if there was ever a time he

was even halfway ready, it was then.

As he emerges from the bathroom, there is a tasty breakfast. SH and HJ look terrible like they haven't slept at all and maybe cried all night so even if YS didn't want to talk he felt like he owed them honesty for all the stress he caused them.

So after breakfast they move to the couch and he tells them that yeah, it's what happened when he went to the countryside.

"Did someone in your family..."

"What? Oh no. It was a random alpha. I was in the fields alone at night and he was in a rut. I haven't even seen his face. It was so sudden and then, I was in pre-heat and it... kicked it off all the way, so I barely remember anything at all."

The fact that assault made his heat start early is something YS can't really think about, it makes him hyperventilate and make all the sounds and vision go dark and muffled so he doesn't dwell on it.

Just like he can't think how the existence of the baby instantly put him in the protective mode. It's not as much a decision he made as some nature's great imperative working through him, moving the axis of his entire being, sprouting love and care where there was none while he was still very much aware how alien and rapidly occurring those feelings were.

In many ways his own reactions, no doubt fueled by massive hormonal changes, feel even more violating and YS tries his best not to think about that either. He is intent on not thinking or feeling anything at all but that's so much harder when he has to explain things to them.

HJ keeps fidgeting with his sleeves "Why didn't you tell us, you know we would-"

"Stay with me? Yeah. I know you would. That's why I couldn't do that. The choice was taken away from me and I couldn't do that with you too. I wanted to know your honest opinion and you told me."

HJ is frowning but SH nods at him. "It was your call to make and you did and we can respect that. I understand why but I just wish you didn't cut us off so suddenly. You know that we misunderstood the situation badly and went through a heartbreak. You know we still... l- care."

They talk it out some more. And YS has to clamp down on his feelings hard when SH reiterates that they are friends and won't abandon him. Bc tiny part of him was hoping for more but also there is a relief that they don't just fold their lives around him, even though HJ is still

not saying much until he insists that YS stay with them until he is in the clear with doctors.

And so it's decided and YS starts living with them. HJ takes it upon himself to research everything pregnancy related when he realizes that YS has no clue about his own condition.

As the one with the most flexible schedule he also takes it upon himself to drive him to all the appointments and start going with as well and not correcting everyone assuming they are partners.

YS doesn't quite know what to do with all of that so he quietly allows himself to be

taken care off. Also HJ starts BUYING stuff. Some special pillows and clothing when he found out YS never got anything like that and vitamins and more and more. As always buying shit is his way to deal with anxiety and after some initial reluctance, YS just lets him.

It's different with SH. It's almost like there are two different ways he treats YS. If they just watch a drama or talk about work or anything like that, it's almost like it was when they just started dating. SH is smiley and teasy and affectionate. Cooking all his favorite meals.

But as soon as anything pregnancy related comes up, he becomes very distantly polite and reserved. YS knows that he is not comfortable with the whole thing and especially how HJ hyperfixated on his research and how many things start getting delivered and filling up their place.

YS tries to do the right thing and move back to his apartment as a month later he is pronounced to be in great health but the truth is he IS terrible at taking care of himself and more so in a current state. He is still spacy and missing big chunks of his day.

They know it and HJ insists that he stay with them and so he does, slowly turning their living room into a nest, without even thinking. YS is very aware that SH doesn't ask him to stay but he doesn't object either so YS defaults to once again latch on to what they are willing to give him. Guilt and dread always close to the surface in his heart.

Until it all blows up. HJ orders a fancy high-tech crib and he is struggling to assemble it, refusing help from YS who could clearly see all the ways he was doing it wrong and so giggling in his hands, when SH comes back from work.

SH looks over them and asks what is that. And HJ mumbles something about scrapped metal and YS explains it's a crib. SH is like... a crib... to be put where? HJ pauses and looks up alarmed by his tone and he is like well, it wasn't decided yet.

And SH's expression darkens bc

Wasn't it? Wasn't it decided, considering he is assembling it right here. Next to the nest. And that's the first time either of them acknowledge that YS has built one on the couch. YS looks at it in panic bc it is right there, with their hoodies and towels and plushies mixed in.

HJ stands up and asks SH what is his problem and SH says nothing but HJ insists and so he starts quietly saying that maybe he would have appreciated being consulted on decisions like this, maybe they could discuss things about changing their apartment or LIFE for that matter but

Clearly HJ is too busy being happy and playing house with YS and apparently his opinion is not really necessary on it. Not like HJ asked his opinion on anything recently. Not like they even had much of a relationship by this point that didn't revolve around YS and his pregnancy.

And YS starts grabbing some of his things, determined to leave asap. HJ is not even saying anything, he is silently crying. SH looks at YS tired and defeated and says to not be stupid and put things down and it's that moment that YS breaks and starts screaming at him.

That's exactly what he knew would happen. He KNOWS SH hates the idea of parenthood. He knows it brings up his terrible childhood. That's what he was trying to avoid all along! They brought him back and now he ruined their lives just like he knew he would! SH tells him something but he can't hear and can't even fight a hug SH locks him in.

Can't fight being tugged to the couch into his nest. SH is there still hugging him and then HJ is there too and it's the first time they lay in his nest and YS can't help crying harder at how right it feels.

They don't really fall asleep but it takes a long time until anyone can speak. HJ is the one to start and he apologizes to SH for not seeing how he was hurting, for hiding away in his research and purchasing frenzy so that he could ignore all the fundamental issues they were dancing around. Like the one where he really loves YS and absolutely wants to be a part of his life forever, especially as a partner if he is allowed to. And YS has to clutch his hand and nod.

SH then apologizes to YS bc he didn't deserve any of this. It's not even that he hates the idea of parenthood. He is just terrified. He is nowhere near to being ready, he won't do a good job, HJ is so much better than him at this already, they would make for a great family and he doesn't see where he would fit in there. YS and HJ both try to assure him and it's not like he doesn't know that many of his fears are just that but it doesn't make them less real.

But he does want to be with YS, with both of them, baby and all.

They all agree that they need therapy and do they need it! It takes months of active work for them to even scratch the surface, mostly for YS.

They decide to restart their relationship for the third time. Starting with going on dates, doing silly (but also very serious) proper courting, slowly reintroducing intimacy. They manage to get back to having a s3x life for a while until it's too much work for the heavily pregnant YS and while he is afraid of birth he kind of also can't wait for that to happen so they could go back to it.

And he is not really 100% ok but he is getting a little better every day and he actually starts believing that he has a life full of love ahead of him to get there.

End.

#ateez #yeosang #hongjoong #seonghwa #plot bunny

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ashsostrange · 1 year

Text

i’m (not) sorry to say, but miles is better off by himself.

idk if i’ve ever written a post this long, but i got energy tonight. y’all have been sucked into the black hole of shipping, so let me ground you and remind you of this amazing thing called being single. i’m gna talk ab margo and gwen, but mostly gwen bc she’s obv miles’ (main) love interest. i’ve said more than enough about why miles and gwen don’t work/make sense. if you wna be enlightened then feel free to click the links.

thoughts on ghostflower: here!

reblogging a moot's post w/ added thoughts: hereee!

i love ranting so let’s get it! 😛

i don't have much to say about margo bc sadly, she's barely there. what i will say though is that as cute as miles and margo would be together, there’s one more movie left lol. the third movie’s gna be busy as hell. there’s literally no time for romance, and to rush miles and margo (two people who just met) into liking each other in, like, a three hour timespan would just be terrible writing. plus, we all know she’s there for some bs having to do with miles nd gwen, which is literally soooooooo very lame, words can't describe. one, where are you finding the time to cram in jealousy/all this angsty romance mess when miles’ dad is ab to die and the universe is ab to collapse bc of a nigga that looks like the lovechild of a cardboard box and a cow?? two, is this really all margo is here for?? to make gwen jealous or “help miles realize he’s in love with gwen” ?? shameeee, like summer said. 😐 i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: margo could be SO much more than a disposable love interest!!!

gwiles/ghostflower fans, i’m going to tell you something that will make you upset. i said i was coming for you and i meant it 🗣️‼️

before you yell at me and push smoke out of your ears, i need you to put your right hand on your chest and close your eyes. you feel your heartbeat? good. now, count to three while taking deep breaths and remember that none of this shit is real so you’d look stupid af trying to attack me. 🙃 some of y’all are getting TOO comfortable being unnecessarily disrespectful and ion like that lol. don’t try it here bc i’m on another level of not gaf!

listen, even if (when?) gwen and miles team up to save his dad, it won’t change the fact that gwen was keeping some hefty info from miles, yo. she was smiling in jeff’s face and cracking jokes like she didn’t know he was bout to die. y’all gotta be so very real with yourselves. you wouldn’t wna date, let alone be FRIENDS with someone who kept something that big from you, regardless of the circumstances or lack of ill intent. one of the most important people in your life concealing the fact that you’re about to lose another important person in your life is insane.

i’m aware that gwen didn’t tell miles about his dad because she genuinely thought it’d cause mass destruction if he saved jeff. thing is, even if miles knew that, i think he’d still feel betrayed. that’s 100% valid because this is his dad we’re talking about. he just lost his uncle not too long ago, too. i wouldn’t blame miles if he never wanted anything to do with gwen again. i wouldn’t blame bro if he got sick to his stomach every time he saw her. it’d be justified, bc if he never followed her that night, then he wouldn’t have had the chance to save jeff.

my point is that you can be a “good person” and still fuck up bad enough to make someone never wna speak to you again. miles is a sweetheart so he’ll probably forgive gwen. my thing is, miles forgiving gwen doesn’t mean the two of them are obligated to be friends again. they can handle it maturely, go their separate ways, nd never speak again. it’s really not even gna hurt y’all cuz it’s the last mf movie anyway??? 😭😭

if it isn’t clear by now, i don’t want miles and gwen together at all. they have no business being around each other frl 🙃 not as friends and definitely not as lovers. like, sure, that one scene where they’re swinging/talking on the bank was my absolute fav. it was cute. i shipped them before i really thought about it. that scene is still my fav, but my adoration for it isn’t gna stop me from keeping it real.

i really don’t care what anyone says or how in love they think these two are, this isn’t a “forgive and forget” situation. if the writers truly wanted gwen and miles to be involved romantically, then not only should they have structured their dynamic better, they shouldn’t have made gwen the person she was in this movie. love, love, LOVE redemption arcs because it’s a reminder that we're human and we're flawed, but you can’t redeem yourself from that. sorry. (not) i say miles should leave that girl alone 🤷‍♀️ leave all potential girls alone ffs.

in conclusion, it’s okay for miles to be single. he's 15 anyway, it's not like he'll die without a girl. i’m the suckiest sucker for anything to do with romance, but characters in film/animation don’t need to have love interests for a project to be considered good. if you feel like it does, then maybe ts you’re watching just sucks, lmao. a girl and a boy can be friends without one having feelings for the other, or both of 'em having mutual feelings. (in the media idk ab irl..) it’s time to stop forcing ts. please.

and it’s okay y’all, i promise you. it’s okay if miles and gwen don’t end up dating. it's okay if they reconcile and stay friends. it’s okay if they reconcile and don’t stay friends. though unlikely, it’s also okay if miles doesn’t forgive gwen at all! resolutions like these go to show that you can “forgive” someone without letting them have access to you anymore. that’s what miles needs to do. straying away from the “happy ending” everyone is expecting would be nice. it’d be a different approach and a realistic way to complete the franchise. (i’m not just saying this bc i love angst)

but before the gwiles (ugly ass ship name btw) fans start throwing up and telling me to end my shit, it’s 99% unlikely that anything i just stated will actually happen. we’re more than likely getting a kiss between miles and gwen, nd that’s bc the writers are probably high off the same dope they were on when they wrote gwen sneaking in thru miles’ window, j for his parents to be way more calm about it than any other normal parent would be. i could say some more about certain scenes but that's for another night.

miles doesn’t need to be with anyone. especially not gwen when it comes down to it.

oh and i HATE peter b. fuck that nigga. he was nun but an extra in this movie and i know he’s an opp in the next. 🙎‍♀️

that’s all! if you read allat then thanks, cuz i wrote a lot. if you're feeling angry, then go for a walk. this isn’t a place for any typa criticism bc i am right, therefore, i am not requesting confirmation. 🙌 i said what i said. have a good night.

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my-castles-crumbling · 1 month

Note

hi Cas ! how are you ?

I'm struggling in the romance department right now lmao so I thought you might have some advice :(

Basically there is this girl I really REALLY like. We met through a friend three years ago, but in person only a year ago. Seeing her in person literally changed me I never liked someone this much like I was BEWITCHED or something. We only spent two days together and we only had one kiss, but I never managed to get her out of my head.

I never saw her again because she left to study abroad for a year. Now she's back in my country but we live a bit far away so I haven't seen her. When she was abroad we kept talking and flirting etc. But at one point she told me she had met somebody and that she wanted to try with him. It ended up not working and she reached out to me after some time, so we began talking (and flirting) again.

The thing is, for a few weeks now I feel like she isn't exactly flirting with me anymore. Except she kinda is. She is a writer and she has a writing instagram account where she posted poems that are clearly romantic but also clearly not about me. At least I really don't think so. It feels like a knife in the heart everytime. To be noted that usually if not always she does write about personal things that are really happening. So I'm pretty sure there is someone else in her mind. Which is fine because we didn't promise each other anything. But she is still replying to my stories etc and saying things that could pass as friendly but only if we didn't have history you know ? Like she's making lesbian jokes (i'm also a girl).

So the mixed signals are killing me. I also don't understand bc she said something about the guy before, but she didn't say anything this time. I feel like maybe she .... keeps her options open. (which is fine btw, I'm just unsure if she's still into me or not) I can't exactly ask her because we don't talk a lot (I'm so bad at keeping in touch if I have nothing specific to say yk?) and I don't want to come off as intrusive.

I would really like to see her in person so maybe we could talk and/or I could understand better where her heart is at. But being so unsure I don't want to propose a date or something bc I feel like it would be really out of the blue right now, and one of us would have to take the train and sleep at the other's place, so it feels like a lot and something she could refuse easily so I really don't feel comfortable doing that. I want it to be clear that I'm still into her bc I don't know if she is aware of it (it's obvious imo but I know she has confidence issues and at one point she thought I didn't care) but I also don't want to come off too strong and scare her away, and/or get rejected (not sure my heart could take it right now😭)

So I'm thinking maybe an outing with friends (we have several in common now) but again it is complicated bc everyone lives far away. Also she doesn't talk to one of them anymore, and that friend coul take it very badly if she's not invited so that would be a whole other mess (but honestly that friend is annoying and quite toxic and has a lot of issues so... I'm trying not to think too much of that)

Anyway I'm really lost, I really don't to give up on her, like it hurts a lot to think about, but also I feel like maybe she isn't as invested as I am. I would 100% take a train to the other side of the country to see her but I fear she isn't even thinking about that. Maybe I'm paranoid though. Also I think it's not so bad if someone isn't completely in it from the beginning, like some people are more guarded and careful than me and it's okay.

I don't know if you'll be able to help me, but I'd really like to hear your opinion on this. Thanks a lot <3

Hi!!! <3

What you said at the end is exactly what I was thinking though- maybe she's just guarded or nervous? I think you should try to give little hints or like...idk suggest meeting somewhere maybe? See how she reacts? Maybe she's just as nervous, if not more nervous than you. If she's iffy about it, it'll make it clear to you that she just wants to be friends. But if she jumps at the chance, then that's your sign. And even if you can't meet in person, maybe try being a bit more forward? I know it's scary but like...you have to know! You don't have to all-out ask her out, just be a bit more flirty and see if she reciprocates. You said you've kissed in the past so in my opinion, that means there's hope, you know?

Good luck! Naming you train anon.

#ask #asks #ask cas #train anon

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Note

Oooooh so excited and congrats on your achievement! Can I request 11🍟 with Matty?

— thank you so much! imma be real with you, i don’t write angst SUPER well i don’t think, so this is kind of new to me— i’m also trying to keep them shorter bc i don’t have enough time in the day BUT i really tried my best so i hope you like it xx

— prompt:

🍟 11. ‘i can’t even look at you.’

— warnings: sad matthew, swearing, mentions of blood and beating the shit out of bad guys

[grippingbeskar’s 2k night out celebration!]

“Matt?” You wander into his apartment, tired and ready to pass out in your bed. You weren’t meant to come over tonight, but after the shitty day you had, all you want to do is see your boyfriend and fall asleep.

There’s a crash from the kitchen, and the sound of glass shattering has you sprinting into the next room. Christ— has he hurt himself? He was always so capable you almost half forgot the man couldn’t see; had you left something on the floor last night? Put something out of place that could of caused this?

You turn into his living room, the blue and red lights of the opposing billboard glowing brightly into the room. You see the shattered glass, and there’s blood. Not a lot, but enough to tell you someone’s hurt. Your heart lurches in your chest as you walk further around the corner, seeing a faint trail illuminated by the streaming glow of colours.

It’s not the first time you’ve found blood in his apartment. You’d come over to cook dinner for him as a surprise one night, and it was impossible to miss. Gauze, bloodied and discarded in the trash can, bandages and scraps of medical equipment you didn’t recognise all over the place. It was like someone had set up a triage unit in is living room.

You were worried, of course, but you were also starting to connect the dots. Hanging around Matt, his behaviour was more than suspicious, and once you started dating, it only made you pay closer attention. At first you’d thought he was cheating— constantly disappearing at night, never telling you where he was. Not answering his phone, appearing again with bruises and vague apologies. Then, you saw the blood, and you started to put two and two together.

You met Daredevil once. A cold Tuesday night seven months ago, you were walking home from work and a man tried to grab you off the street. Then, there he was, dull red armour head to toe, and a helmet with little horns on the top. He beat the living shit out of the guy, and then spoke three words to you. ‘Are you okay?’ You hadn’t forgotten it since then, and when you’d gone to press charges, finding a lawyer through your friend Karen’s firm, that’s when you’d first met Matt.

It was the voice that gave him away, really— but when you started getting closer, the clues started to pile up. How he was always able to tell when you were hiding something, always knew when you were sad, or were crying, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. You’d heard the vigilante was famous for his ability to read people—to know things about them, things they’d never told anyone. If you were right, he could be doing those very same things to you, and you wouldn't even know it. You tried your best to push the thoughts aside. Ignoring the occasional lateness and unexplained absences - Matt was incredible. Loving, sweet, completely devoted. It was impossible, wasn’t it? The guy was blind… although, he was probably the most capable person you’d ever met, blind or not.

You’d given him a chance, too. After the night you first saw the mess in his house, you’d given him a chance to tell you— to be honest with you. It wasn’t so much that he was going out and doing… well, God knows what Daredevil does at night. Of course you were worried about him, but it was the constant lying that you wanted to end. You had shown him every part of you, and you don’t know what you’d do if he kept hiding himself. You knew you were in love with him, but how can you love someone when you only know half of them? Even if he wasn’t Daredevil, he was hiding something, and whatever it was, it was big.

Of course, he denied it. And you had tried to let it go, but it just got to you. He didn’t change, just kept making excuses for why he’d disappear, why he never showed when he said he would. Why he’d missed your birthday, and then shown up at 3am with a broken nose. Then he would swoop in and be the kindest, most attentive partner you’d ever had—making you forget all about the missed party as he spent hours making you scream his name as he ate you out like a man starved.

All of this is rushing in the back of your brain, but you put one foot in front of the other, and follow the blood down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Wait.” He calls out. Matt.

“Matt! Are you okay? What happened?” You tried the door, but it was locked.

“What are you doing here?” The tap turns on and he swears, a hiss of pain muffling through the door.

“I wanted to see you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, baby I’m fine. Just give me a second.”

“You’re hurt, Matt. Let me help you.” You try the door again and nothing happens.

“I’m fine.” You can tell his words are panicked— rushed, and he drops something heavy and metal on the ground.

“There’s blood everywhere out here.” He swears again. “Matt. Open the door.”

“I’m fine, just let me—“

“Matt, open the door.” He’s bashing around in the bathroom like a caged animal, and your stomach is mixed with a sick feeling of worry, and an even sicker one that you’ve been right all this time. That he’d lied to you. “Please.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“Go outside. Now.” You can hear the clatter of pill bottles falling into the sink and he swears again. You whack your hand against the door, and walk out to the kitchen, to where you know Matt keeps his tools.

Snatching the screw driver you know fits into his door lock, you stomp back down the hallway. You can hear him on the other side, telling you to wait, to go back outside and he’ll come out, but you were past waiting. If he wasn’t going to tell you, you were going to catch him in the act.

The lock gives, and you slam your body into the door. It swings with no resistance, and the first thing you see is Matt’s bloody face, head hanging low over the sink. His nose was broken, you could see it from the side angle, and the knuckles of his hands were split as they cling to the edge of the porcelain white sink.

Then, you see the one thing you knew you would, but wish you didn’t. The helmet, still a dull shade of red, the one with the little horns on the top. It was the same faded colour that matched the rest of him, still clinging to his body marred with blood and rainwater.

“Let me explain.” He chokes out, still not looking up at you.

“No.” He’s standing straight now, walking over to where you’ve frozen in the doorway. He reaches out a hand and you step back. “You lied to me.”

“Sweetheart, I couldn’t—“

“No. You could. Don’t give me that shit. I practically handed you an out on a silver platter three months ago!” Tears were brimming in your eyes and you tried to blink them away. His hand came up to your cheek, brushing the one that escaped with his thumb. You step away again. “That’s how you always knew.”

“Please, just—“

“You always knew if I’d been crying. It’s because you’re him, isn’t it?” He was breathing faster, a panicked look set on his features. “You always knew. You said you knew that I liked you, before you asked me out. I could never figure out how. Even Karen couldn’t tell— but you could.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Did you know if I lied to you? The newspaper says Daredevil can tell when you lie. By listening to your heartbeat. That’s how he— that’s how you figure out who’s who.” He takes another step forward and you back into the wall. “Tell me. Right now. Do you listen to me, know when I’m lying? When I’m scared or angry or turned on? Do you listen to it?”

“I—“

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Yes.”

“Ever since I’ve met you, you’ve read me, so you always know exactly what to say?” He nods, shoulders slumping forward a little. It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever looked to you. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s not like how you think.”

“What’s it like, then? Do you not listen to my heart beat to see if I’m lying, because you don’t trust me? Have you not lied to me for months on end, even when I asked you to your face?” He takes another step toward you, and you slide out from the wall. Distancing yourself.

“Please, just wait.”

“I can’t even look at you.” You whisper. “All the things I told you! Fuck, I’m such an idiot. You were sitting there, letting me tell you all these things and I didn’t even know you!” Your laugh is dry, and the last few words come out thinner— sadder. He doesn’t need to read your heartbeat to know you’re crying.

“You do! You do know me. Better than anyone!”

“How?! You lied to me, constantly!” You start walking towards the door, and he’s coming after you, at your heels. He doesn’t reach out and grab your wrist, knowing it would only make it worse. You hate that he knows you so well.

“Please. Just let me talk for one minute.” You stop, not turning around. he’s so close to you, you can feel his breath on the back of your neck, and you try not to shiver. “I— I wanted to tell you. More than anything. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I did. Fisk is... I can’t protect you if I let you see this. If you know, it only brings destruction. To the people I... to the people I love.”

Your eyes shut. You hadn’t said that to each other yet— even though you had been in love with him for months. He takes your silence as permission to keep talking.

“I didn’t want you to be caught in this. The things I do... I never want you near that. Any of that. I want to keep you safe— wanted to keep you safe. This was the only way I could do it. But I swear, on everything; this is the most real thing I’ve ever had.” He leans his head forward, resting on the back of your shoulder. “I messed up. I know. I keep messing up and I can’t...”

“I had to break that door down for you to be honest with me.” You can feel tears on your shoulder. “You thought it would keep me safe?”

“Yes.”

“And? Am I safe?” He lifts his head, sucking in a breath.

“Are you asking if you’re safe from them, or from me?” He steps away from you, and you turn around.

“If I know, am I safe here?”

“You are always safe with me.”

“I know.” You walk forward, your finger tracing along a small cut on his cheekbone. It was already starting to bruise. “I know I am.”

“Please don’t leave.” His head drops against your chest, and his arms weakly link around your lower back. You can’t help but bring him closer, run your hands through his hair, press your body to his. “I know I messed up but I—“

“Just tell me this.” He nods under you. “Do you do it on purpose? The listening thing?”

“I can’t help it. Everything is... loud now. I try to ignore it— when you came in to the firm that day you were just... I remembered you. What your heart sounded like. That’s one of the only times I’ve really listened. It’s why I’m always playing music, I just can’t not hear it.” Your fingers thread through his hair, putting a little pressure in the places you know he likes. You had thought it was more of a conscious thing— that’s how the paper always described it, anyway. Hearing it from him, though... you can’t imagine how much that would be.

“I don’t want you to lie. Ever again.” He kisses your neck, murmuring against your skin as he kisses his apology, pressing it into you. “I’m serious. I know you want to... keep me safe, whatever that means, but if you lie to me again, I will not look back.”

“Okay. Okay, I— Fuck, I swear I never want to lie to you. Never again.” His mouth brushes against your jaw, moving slowly higher. Tentatively.

“And tomorrow morning, when I ask you something, I want you to answer. Honestly.” He leaves your skin to press his forehead to yours.

“I love you.” He answers, and you kiss him. It’s slow, and everything else ceases to exist. Your anger is swept away with every swipe of his tongue, the worry melting into the slow pace of his lips against yours.

“I love you.” You say into him, and he drinks in the words, tasting their sweetness, their soft meaning. You pull back, and Matt is breathless, chasing you with his mouth. “You said something, before...”

“Ask me. Anything.”

“You said you only listened to my heart for two reasons. When I got to the firm. What’s the other thing?” Your eyes flutter open in time to see it— despite the cut on his cheek he grins down at you, one of his hands coming to the side of your face.

“Why don’t I show you?�� You giggle as he peppers you with kisses, leading you towards the bedroom. Your heart was already racing, and for once, you knew for sure he could hear it, and kissed him anyway.

#grippingbeskarsnightout #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x y/n

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