#i had to write this three times bc I kept messing up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sillyuin · 19 days ago

Text

Mission: Love letter

Genre: fluff and pinch of humor.

Pairing: Jeonghan x female!reader.

Warnings: Firts person P.O.V, some cursing, Stayc's Sumin appears briefly just because.

- Yuin’s note: Let me get this straight. I wrote this long ago but didn't posted it bc I'm really insecure about it. However, here it is after all. I am cringe and I am free. Lowkey is a experimental fic, so let me know what you guys think.

🎵 Now playing: Blush - Wooah

“Just tell him how you feel, it’s not that complicated.”

Yes, it sounded simple, but only when he said it.

After all, it wasn’t about Joshua or his complicated feelings; it was about me, being unable to express my feelings and breathing at the same time. No wonder why.

Even though he was just a human like me, he was Yoon Jeonghan, a.k.a. the crush of basically half the campus, a.k.a everyone’s favorite, including me. Handsome, smart, cool and with a smile that could melt even the coldest hearts.

My elbows were propped on the table as my chin was resting in my hands, maybe that would somehow help me think (spoiler: it didn’t). I had already finished my slice of carrot cake and the huge red tea I had ordered, maybe out of anxiety or because it was almost dinner time and I skipped lunch. Joshua, on the other hand, was taking his time to savor his snack.

“I wish it were that easy,” I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “I tried once and we know what happened.”

“Ah, yes,” Joshua covered his mouth as he laughed, even though he knew how mad I get about that story, “I’m sorry, but honestly… It was hilarious.”

“Josh!”

“Just try not to trip on your way to the bathroom... Again.”

“You’re a jerk, and you know it,” I said, still pointing an accusing finger at him, but he kept stifling his laughter. “Bro be serious!”

“Alright,” Joshua cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat, giving a more serious appearance with his serene face. “How long have we been friends?”

“Since…Middle school?”

“Very good! Middle school. Tell me, in these… Ten-like years of friendship, have I ever lied to you?”

I snorted. We both knew the answer to that question.

“In serious situations,” Joshua added.

“…Never.”

“Then,” he leaned forward a bit over the table to get closer to me, his eyes fixed on mine in a way that it was almost scary, “Why don’t you believe me when I tell you it’s not that complicated?”

I swallowed hard. How could I argue? He sounded very convincing, still, I refused to agree with him.

“It’s not that easy,” I stammered, “I already messed up once, and now it could be twice... Or three...”

“This time it won’t be at a party, full of people… And definitely no alcohol.”

“I thought it would help me be more extroverted!”

“To be an alcoholic, maybe.”

Talking to Joshua didn’t seem to be helping as much as I thought, and I was starting to lose my patience. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask for his advice, even if he and Jeonghan were roommates.

Joshua took a breath and gently wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. “Thanks, I haven’t laughed that much in a long time,” he said. With that, he cleared his throat and adopted his serious posture again. “Listen, Y/N, if you’re so worried about that, why don’t you write it down?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like a love letter?”

“Yeah. If your problem is speaking, then write it.”

“Josh, I’m not in high school” I was disgusted with the idea and it showed. “What would Hannie think if I gave him a letter to confess?”

“You know what I think?” Joshua raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “You think it is indeed a good idea, but you don't wanna do it because you’re scared”.

I was ready to fight him when my phone started ringing. My roommate’s name showed on the screen. She told me how she had left her keys inside the room and was locked out; I could barely understand due to her nervous explanation. I had to leave Joshua to go help her, however, at this point I guess it was a relief.

As I hung up the phone, I noticed he was looking at his phone screen with a wide, satisfied smile on his face, and it was somehow chilling.

“Done!~” he put his phone aside and took a sip of his drink.

“…What’s done?” I asked, fearing his answer.

“Tomorrow you’ll have breakfast with Jeonghan,” Joshua clapped softly, which seemed more like blatant mockery than a celebration, then emphasized his next sentence with the sasiest voice he ever made: “He’ll be waiting for you at nine, at our usual spot. So I recommend you start thinking about your outfit; on your date.”

“Joshua Hong, what the hell did you do?!”

He took another sip of his drink, unmoved; it was his song of victory. I had no more excuses. No words could express how upset I felt, but at that point I couldn't back down without feeling guilty. I was cornered.

Joshua looked at his wristwatch and made a fake expression of astonishment, “You’re late and Sumin is waiting for you.”

I gave him one last blank stare and quickly grabbed my backpack, before leaving I left some bills on the table.

“Next time I’ll let you starve.”

He laughed mockingly. “Oh, don’t forget to wear a cute blush too!”

“Dear Jeonghan, I hope this letter finds you well…” No, it sounded too formal.

“Hey Hannie, how are you? I hope I’m not being inopportune…” No, it sounded too fake; I don’t talk like that.

I didn’t even know how to start. Just thinking about Jeonghan reading this letter made my mind a complete mess; I felt like my chest was going to explode. I didn’t know a confession could be so problematic. Even worse, it was already past ten at night: I was running out of time and hadn’t even written the first line.

What could I do?

Then, my roommate’s voice burst into my room, pulling me (for the better) out of the hole it was in my head.

“I’m buying some snacks, do you want me to bring you anything?” she asked.

“Yes, please, and…” I paused and shrugged a little in my chair, “Sumin, can I ask you for help with something?”

She nodded several times, expectating.

“I need to write… a love letter” I took a deep breath, “And I don’t know how…”

“Ah! Finally!” she interrupted, way too happy. “You’re finally going to confess to Jeonghan!”

I remained silent and expressionless, but the blush on my cheeks could be seen from across the city.

“Yeah… I need help writing the letter.”

“I’ve never written a letter, not that type,” Sumin crossed her arms, her thoughtful gaze wandering around the room. “Shouldn’t you just write what you feel?”

Damn it, Joshua said the same thing. I felt that it wasn’t enough. Maybe she understood from my devastated expression that it wasn’t helping.

“Oh!” She looked at me, smiling. “Tell me, what do you like most about Jeonghan?”

Where to even begin? It wasn’t just his pleasant voice, or the elegance he radiated with his mere presence. Jeonghan was much more than a flawless hair and an enviable sense of style.

It was about the way he always found me, even in a room full of people, and made me feel part of something. In how his bright smile can comfort me after a tough day. In the comfortable moments of silence that could last minutes or hours. And I could go on talking about him for hours without stopping…

“That’s so sweet!” Sumin exclaimed. “You must write it!”

Were those just my thoughts, or did I actually say it? Damn it.

I sighed, distrustfully. “Don’t you think it’s a bit… cheesy?”

“But, you are cheesy!” Sumin laughed as I wondered if she really thinks before speaking. “And we all love you like that. Everything will be fine.”

Sumin’s words gave me a little encouragement, so I took a deep breath and resolved to write no matter what. I thanked her and went back to my computer; I’d have time later to transfer it to a more presentable physical sheet.

“I’m getting your snack now,” and before leaving, Sumin turned around to add: “Oh, and don’t forget to put on some nice blush tomorrow.”

“You’re the second person who tells me that today… Don’t you have anything else you want to share?”

Sumin smiled awkwardly and that said a lot, but I had no time to argue about her involvement in the mission: love letter. For now, there was a lot of work to do. I was resolved to confess to Jeonghan, and now no one could stop me.

It was almost nine in the morning and I had been waiting for ten minutes at our spot, a small fountain on the boulevard two blocks from my building. A thousand scenarios were running through my head all night long. I felt a tension I had never experienced, and my restless hands playing with a lock of hair was perhaps the smallest of my problems.

However, all of them vanished for a moment when I saw him approaching in the distance. Jeonghan was coming towards me, and I could only stare, admiring him: his angelic face, his gorgeous hair, the beautiful outfit he had chosen… Could somebody like me meet his standards?

His voice brought me back to reality, and I was aware again of my numb body. I tried to disguise the nerves attacking me, but I was never good at pretending, not in front of him.

“Y/N! Good morning,” he said, trying to catch his breath, “I’m late, I’m sorry.”

“D-don’t worry,” I stammered, “it was my fault, I arrived too early.”

“Is something wrong? You sound a little down,” he stepped closer, looking straight into my eyes. “Are you feeling well?”

I took a step back and cleared my throat.

“Of course! Couldn’t be better,” of course not, but he didn't have to know. “Should we go?”

We walked for a few minutes in complete silence. I thought of many ways to start a conversation, and all of them were discarded before they left my mouth; no idea seemed good enough.

On the other hand he was too quiet, more than he usually is, and a terrifying thought struck me. Maybe he didn’t want to be there? Could Jeonghan be doing this just because Joshua asked him? I sighed and immediately felt his hand resting on my shoulder, making me jump slightly.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, of course…” I tried not to sound distracted. “…What you said.” But I was convinced I sounded like an idiot.

“So, where do you wanna go?” he smiled, and I could tell he was a bit confused.

I quickly looked to the side and there was an empty bus stop, so I asked him if we could go talk for a moment. We sat down and I took a breath before speaking, clutching the small bag that was resting on my lap with both hands.

“Jeonghan,” I paused briefly before continuing, his eyes locked on me were somehow intimidating, “…there’s something I want to give you.”

And as I reached into my bag to pull out the letter, he placed his hand on top of mine.

“Wait,” he said firmly, “I want to tell you something first.” I felt almost as if my entire body had paralyzed.

He sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat, a soft smile on his lips.

“We’ve been friends for a while, and we made a lot of happy memories,” he suddenly stopped speaking and swallowed. “You’re a valuable person to me and… I would like you to continue being… that special person for a long time.”

“Of course,” I said without hesitating.

“Really?”.

“Of course! After all, we’re friends.”

He fell silent, but then he covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. At that point, I wasn’t understanding a thing, and I think my face completely gave me away.

“Y/N, I’m trying to tell you… that I like you.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I’ve liked you for a while and…”

“That was my line!” I interrupted. Apparently, I spoke too loudly because he froze in his spot.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “—Excuse me?”

I pulled the letter from my bag and placed it in front of him. Jeonghan looked at it, blinking at me several times and his mouth fell. I just couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, my cheeks were burning so much that I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.

And as if everything I was feeling in my stomach wasn’t enough, Jeonghan began to laugh in such a charming way …For a moment, I was convinced I wouldn't live to tell.

“Are you serious?” he asked, taking the letter and looking it over. Was he nervous? Was he uncomfortable enough and couldn’t speak? I don’t know.

I kept my gaze down, as if I were guilty of something, and after breathing slowly a couple of times, I gathered the courage to speak.

“I didn’t know how to express it… So I wrote you a letter.”

“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever given me!” he exclaimed. I felt my heart skip a beat. “You put so much effort into it, and I just said it like that, now I feel bad.”

“No, it’s okay!” I nodded several times; he just smiled. “But… Is it true?”

“What thing?”

“That I… You like me that way?” I looked away. It felt really silly to ask, but I still couldn't believe what was happening.

I felt his hand cupping my jaw with a gentle touch, forcing me to look at him. His gaze was so kind it felt unreal.

“And why not?” his fingers played with a lock of my hair. “You’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t fall for that adorable flushed face?”

Joshua’s words echoed in my head. Have these two talked about me in the past? And how much?

“Also,” he added, tucking my bangs behind my ear, “you’re attentive and with the purest heart I’ve ever seen. Just look at this cute letter!”

“You… You really think that about me?” I whispered, still incredulous.

“Since we met. So, tell me,” he cleared his throat. “Would you like to have a date with me?”

Jeonghan extended his hand to me, and I accepted it, nodding at his invitation. My hand rested against his, and he took it, as if it were made of glass, leaning in to place a small kiss on my knuckles. Then he made a movement with his head to tell me that we could leave, and so we continued on our way, fingers intertwined and taking our first step into this new chapter of our lives.

“By the way,” I said halfway, “please read the letter when you’re alone.”

“Why?” he asked playfully, “Too cheesy to handle?”

“That sounds very familiar,” I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. He looked at me like a culprit and smiled, trying to hide it. “Tell me, does anyone else know about this?”

“well, maybe I talked about one, or two things, with someone…” His wandering gaze spoke for itself.

“Hannie…”

“I didn’t say names… Or anything about a plan…”

“So there was a plan involved!” Embarrassing wasn’t enough. I felt like a complete idiot.

“I’ll be honest, nobody mentioned a letter, you really surprised me… And,” Jeonghan shrugged, “You’re a… little obvious.”

“... What do you mean by “a little”?!”

Jeonghan let out a poorly disguised chuckle and put his arm over my shoulders, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

“We can discuss it later, it’s our first date, I’m starving, and I can’t wait for you to tell me all about theis letter…”

“You can read it later!”

“No, tell me! Tell me now!”

196 notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 10 months ago

Note

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 sweetheart!kook reader. 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 was 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, 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 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, his hands busy, and 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 screaming her throat out, 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, 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 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 breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, making a point. She stood there, watching.

Rafe had lost 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. “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. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, making his eyes sting. Things had never gotten bad enough to this point before.

He would’ve rather taken a beating instead of turning homeless.

Rafe walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back.

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 closer now, leaning forward, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension 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, what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours.

You 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.

“I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, hope, probably. 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.

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… 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.

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readychilledwine · 1 year ago

Note

hii!! i’m in love w your writing!!❤️❤️❤️ can i please request one where it’s azriel x reader. Feyre sees azriel wearing a ring on his left finger and asks,

” i’ve seen you wear that ring forever azriel, what does it mean? ”

” it’s my wedding ring ”

and her jaw drops bc she didn’t know he even had a lover.

” who is she? do i know her? what is she like? ”

he smiles faintly and says

” her name is y/n, she’s my mate and wife and she isn’t a warrior like us, she works at a library downtown. you don’t know her, only rhys and cassian do. we have a house in the outskirts in velaris. she is very sweet and i love her more than anything, our daughter is- ”

” YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER ????? ”

he nods and tells them all about her, he asks if feyre wants to meet reader and their daughter and feyre smiles and nods. He asks reader in the mating bond if it’s okay to bring her, nyx, rhys and cassian to dinner. reader says yes and azriel tells feyre he’ll pick them all up tonight before leaving to help his wife prepare. Reader meets feyre and become friends instantly, nyx and their daughter become friends aswell.

” how did i not know this?? this makes so much sense now. How he never sleeps here and he’s gone for days sometimes but not on missions. ” feyre asks rhysand.

”don’t worry i didn’t know for a long time either, Az is a very private person, he is extremely protective of his family. i’m glad he told me at all. either way he’s still a mystery sometimes, i learn new things about him all the time and i’ve known him for over 500 years” rhys says and laughs knowing your perfect for his brother 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️😭🥹😍

Haven

Warnings - none

A/n - I played with this for a while, rewrote it several times, and then made something that met in the middle of what came to mind, but still stuck with the request. Hopefully, you love it, dear 💜

Feyre had been in Velaris for 5 years. 5 long years and she had yet to figure out why Azriel kept a simple black band on his left ring finger at all times.

The two of them were on the couch, Rhys across from them, as they looked over maps of a few of the Illyrian Camps that had been recently renovated. The new cabins, mess halls, and dorms were a huge success, and figuring out the same layout for the remaining few was a huge topic of interest for the three smaller camps.

She glanced at the ring one more time before tapping it. Rhys and Azriel both looked at her, brows raised. "So, not magic," she muttered to herself. She tried spell cleaving it, "And not a ward or shield."

Azriel blinked at her, brows knit in silent question. Rhys had his hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Leave it to his wife to provide entertainment without knowing it was needed. "I-" she sighed. "You wear this ring all the time. I'm trying to figure out why."

Both of the males chuckled. "Probably the same reason you wear your wedding ring, Feyre Darling."

The High Lady made face, tapping the ring again. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. I would know if Azriel was married."

"Evidently not, my love."

Feyre and Azriel held eye contact, the male then going back to the maps. "Since I have extensive time in Steppes Peak, I think it would be easiest to move the mess hall here, at the base of the mountain, maintain the warroom in the carved out cave, and build better dorms here," he pointed to an empty part of the map.

Rhys nodded, drawing it out on the empty map he had. "I'm sure y/n will agree with whatever you say."

"Okay, stop." Feyre crossed her arms, pouting slightly at the two of them. "Azriel isn't married, and making up some name to make me feel stupid isn't kind."

Azriel sighed. He leaned back while dropping the scent ward he kept on himself at all times. He watched as her face fell. He knew his scent, chilled air and cedar, was the predominant one in the mateship, but now a soft floral scent, something like lavender and warm honey clung there softly.

"I've been married for longer than you have been alive, Fey." Azriel patted her hand. "I have a daughter older than you and another younger than Nyx."

He watched as her face fell, a small amount of hurt flashing across it. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paused, looking at the sleeping heir in his craddle. "We could be having play dates. I could have a friend who understands."

Guilt settled into his face as he pulled her into him. "I torture people for living, sweet sister. I execute people on your orders. I imprison people with a flick of your wrist." He tilted Feyre's head up. "Y/n has no combat training and refused to learn. She likes to sit at home writing poetry, baking, and cuddling our children. I do not bring her around or introduce them to anyone to keep them safe." His face held the ghost of a rare smile. "I think I've brought her to meet Rhys and Cassian once."

Rhys nodded. "I've met her once here and several times behind your back in town. Especially after my first niece was born."

Feyre kept her gaze on Nyx. "He could have a friend," her voice was distant.

Azriel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead as he did. "I'll be right back." Rhysand's smile grew wide. Folding the maps and putting them away. He moved to the liquor cabinet, bringing down one of his more expensive wines.

Azriel reappeared with you and both daughters in tow. Your oldest ran to Rhys, jumping on him and holding him tightly, her wings fluttering with joy as she did. "Hello, Amara," he nuzzled into her hair. "Missed you so much, baby girl. Cassian is on his way."

He walked with her in his arms to the table, setting the wine down and then carried her over to Feyre. "Would you like to meet your aunt?" She allowed Rhys to set her down and turned toward Feyre.

There was little question she was Azriel's. She was the beautiful artists dreamed of painting. Soft classic features framed with inky black hair that fell in gorgeous curls. "Feyre, this is our niece Amara. She's 56. She was my favorite suprise when I got home from the mountain."

She smiled shyly, keeping close to Rhysand. "Hi."

"Hi," Feyre didn't know what came over her, pulling the Illyrian female close to her and holding her. "I'm so excited to meet you."

Amara wrapped her arms around Feyre, returning the gesture. "Me too. Mom and I have been BEGGING dad for a while. But you know how the bats are."

The door slammed open, rushed loud footsteps and a panting filling the hall. "Where's my baby?!"

Amara pulled away from Feyre, smiling softly before moving away from all of them. She was rushed by Cassian, lifted up into his arms as he spun her.

Feyre looked to her side, noticing Azriel next to her, holding a swaddled bundle. "This is Iris. She's a month younger than Nyx." Azriel wouldn't look away from his daughter and her peaceful sleeping face. "I fear the day she loses her chipmunk cheeks."

Feyre looked around the room, trying to find the reason this was happening and felt her heart shift when she saw you, arm wrapped around Rhysand's bicep, looking at Nyx.

You were wingless, long dark hair braided back. Soft leggings and a sweater that was a few sizes too big covering your frame. Cassian had moved next to you, bumping you with his arm and smiling down at you. "He's so beautiful," your voice was a melody, a soft echo that brought calm to the room. "And so sweet. Look at those rosy cheeks."

Rhysand pulled you away, moving you back to Feyre. He handed you to Azriel, arms out expectedly. "Don't make me command it."

The shadowsinger placed his youngest in Rhysand's arms, hands shaking despite the trust between them, "Be careful with her. Please." Rhys nodded, moving over to Cassian. "Feyre, this is y/n, my wife and mat-"

Feyre didn't allow him to finish, hugging you instantly, tears lining her eyes as she did. "Please tell me we can be friends and cry about our babies together."

"I didn't realize that would even be a question. Of course we will be friends, and of course we will cry about all of the things. Our mates don't get it. Cassian, though, Cassian will join us."

The warlord stuck one finger in your direction. "Let me love them in peace, y/n."

You leaned into Feyre, "Has he cried while holding Nyx yet?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. Big illyrian baby."

"The worst, aren't they? Rhysand, did you want me to make dinner?"

The High lord looked at Azriel, a small look of guilt on his face, "Please."

You squeezed Feyre's arm, kissing Azriel as you moved towards the kitchen. "You know where to find me if she needs me." He nodded.

Azriel moved to Cassian, watching like a hawk as the general snuggled the small babe in his arms. Amara was sitting by Nyx a look of love and adoration on her face as she sighed.

"She's perfect for Azriel in every way," Rhys stroked Feyre's hand. "I was nervous at first too when he brought her home. I was even more nervous when his fears manifested in the form of being deeply private with her. But she is perfect for him."

Feyre nodded, watching as Azriel glared as Cassian due to the loud squeak his baby had just let out.

"His girls are beautiful." Rhys hummed in agreement. "Y/n is beautiful."

Feyre moved to Amara's side, sitting next to her and smiling as her niece started asking questions.

She didn't realize it until now, but this was the missing piece. The part of the puzzle that had sat empty despite every thing around it being done. You and your girls were that lost center.

Now she just had to convince Azriel to keep bringing you around.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #send asks #send anons #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #girldad!azriel x reader

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glubglubgurgle · 22 days ago

Text

honey crisps (chapter 8)

calebmc college au! aftermath of the party :3 and they celebrate their confessions at home

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 end

pairings: caleb/unnamed afab mc

tags: college alternate universe, FLUFF, calebmc are both freshmen, AU where they both have parents lol..., childhood friends to lovers, fake dating/practice dating/practice kissing/practice more...?, SMUT, caleb third person pov, caleb yearns as usual, jackson wang party, SEX!!!!, p and v sex!, oral (f and m receiving), premature coming (like usual hehe) makeout in car, car kisses, elevator kisses

word count: 3.9k

a/n: sorry for the wait !!! ive been so busy hngh but thank u for being patient. i hope this was a good for chapter for u guys, pls lmk if the...smut is smutting bcs i wanna start writing one shots and stuff. MAYBE aahhh i hope u guys like it ily mwah

ping list!!: @mcdepressed290 @st4rlight707 @auroranavi @plzdonutpercieveme @ippilulu (it wont let me tag u TT) @honeycrispangels @kiyadeleine

CROSS POSTED TO AO3

chapter 8

The party wined down and people were drunkenly leaving. Caleb was shocked as to how attentive Jackson was, along with the help of Gideon. He recalled how he said the two weren’t close, but they worked together perfectly, making sure everyone had rides settled and sober drivers. Other people ended up in his extra rooms, passed out drunk from Gideon’s concotion.

Caleb took a few shots here and there, but he kept it to a degree to remain sober enough to watch over her. Which happened to be perfect since she ended up drinking until she, too, passed out on the couch. It only took her half a cup of the mystery mix and two shots before she started saying she was sleepy. The jacket he brought came in handy and she was wrapped up in it and asleep in two seconds. Once the living room emptied, he got up from sitting beside her on the couch, and started to help cleaning.

Gideon came over to him with a huge trash bag, helping him with the stray cans on the tables. “Wonder what’s gotten you in such a happy, helpful mood.” A smirk was evident through his voice even as Caleb was faced away from him. “Thank god the lights were darkened earlier, if I saw a full view of your guys’ lovey dovey looks at each other, I might’ve hurled.”

He rolled his eyes, tossing cans into the bag. “Please, weren’t you too busy talking it up with all those people earlier. You were a hotshot tonight.”

“That’s because hotshot number one had a girl wrapped around him the whole night. You finally had the balls, huh?” Gideon punched his arm. Despite it being playful, Gideon was strong and he winced slightly. Caleb took a mental note of asking to workout with him next time. “Kind of…she confessed first.” He sheepishly answered, recalling the events in the laundry room. Her words rang in his head, dissipating every worry he had.

“Someone had to, I was getting sick of watching Caleb picking up his phone every three minutes in class to see if she texted back.” Jackson intervened. He also had a plastic bag in hand, cleaning as he teased Caleb. “I don’t know how you still managed to ace that pop quiz we already had yesterday when I swear you weren’t even paying attention.”

Caleb shrugged, “I can multitask…worry myself to death about her and be a star student.” He answered smirking, stealing a glance at his lover on the couch. “I guess I didn’t have to worry too much…”

Gideon and Jackson glanced at each other before rolling their eyes.

The three managed to clean up the house rather quickly. Despite there being multiple people and many of them drunkenly dancing most of the night, the only mess were cans and bottles littered on tables. Caleb was surprised at the etiquette of everyone invited. Jackson offered them all a room to stay the night, but only Gideon took the offer. He handed Caleb the keys to his car and told him that he’d pick it up the next day.

They helped Caleb open the doors for him to carry her sleeping body into the passenger seat, and once she was buckled in, the three said their goodbyes. A playful wink and teasing jokes about having a good night were exchanged as Caleb got into the driver’s seat, earning bashful scoff from him.

It was almost three in the morning, and the roads back to their home were nearly empty. She softly snored beside him, still fast asleep. Caleb would glance over every now and then, admiring her being lit up by the yellow streetlights he drove by. He reached over to hold her hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb.

“Mm, Caleb…” She muttered in her sleep, adjusting her head on the seatbelt.

The domesticity warmed Caleb’s chest. As he held her hand, driving the two of them back to their shared home, it made it easier to picture their future together. The future he always envisioned, the one that once felt like a faraway dream, was suddenly a reality he could realistically work towards. And he could do so without a criminal record.

He thought about how Gideon lied, and although he wanted to be angry, he was right. It was a push he did need. He chuckled to himself thinking about the many ways he had to get rid of him, but he was glad he was able to keep having a friend like him.

They were lucky to find a parking spot on the street near their apartment. Caleb unbuckled his seatbelt once he put the car into park, and then reached over the center console to unbuckle hers. As he pushed on the button, she turned her head from facing the window to facing him, still asleep. The sudden movement that brought their faces close to each other made Caleb hitch his breath. Their noses almost touching each other, her breath tickling his lips, alcohol still slightly evident in it. Caleb accidentally let the seat belt go from the sudden closeness, making the buckle hit the interior of the car with a loud thump.

She slowly stirred from her sleep, she squeezed her eyes before blinking them open. It looked as if she was trying to make out the scene in the dim lighting. And then her eyes met with his, a small smile instantly growing on her face. “Hi,”she softly muttered.

He mirrored the same expression and he reached his hand up to move the stray hairs away from her eyes, tucking locks behind her ear. “Hey,” he muttered back. “How are you feeling?”

Her own hand reached up to hold onto the one holding her face. “I don’t know what being drunk is supposed to feel like, but I think everything was funnier and then I just wanted to sleep. I don’t think I’m drunk anymore…” Her eyes flickered from his eyes down to his lips. “So if I asked for a kiss…”

Caleb instantly received the message she was sending in between the lines and leaned in for a quick kiss. A soft peck on the lips just to tease her. Once he pulled away, “Now come on, let’s go in-”

He was cut off by her pulling him in by his necklace into an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue darting into his mouth to mingle with his tongue. The contact made the two of them moan into each other’s mouths. She swiftly swung herself over the middle console, straddling him on the driver’s seat. Her butt accidentally bumped into the steering wheel causing the horn to go off, abruptly pulling the two away from each other with a jump.

“Oops,” she giggled, before leaning into the crook of his neck. She pressed her body onto his, sucking on the skin right below his ear. She grabbed the hand that was on her face and dragged it down to her waist, and then she shimmied out of his jacket, tossing it to the side.

Caleb bit back a moan but failed. He could feel her smile against his neck when the noise came out of him. His grip on her waist tightened as he reached down to the side of the seat to adjust it flat, having the two of them in a more horizontal position. The movement earned a giggle on his neck, her breath tickling his earlobe.

She put a hand beside his head and held herself up to face him. Even in the dark, she looked like a goddess to him. He couldn’t tell if it was her glowing or the lights from outside. “How would your friend like it if he knew what we were doing in his car…?” She asked, smirking down at him.

He let out a breathy laugh before holding onto her hips with both hands, making her grind down onto his clothed erection. He bucked into her, moaning, maintaining full eye contact with her. Her eyes fluttered slightly, and she bit her lip, suppressing her own noises. “You started this…you’re so- fuck!” Interrupted again with another roll of her hips, stronger this time. “You’re driving me crazy… God, you’re crazy.”

Her skirt was rode up her hips, revealing red underwear just slightly. And it drove Caleb insane. He reached up with one hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down for another kiss. Hungrier and messier. Their teeths clashed and tongues nearly weaving together as he tried to swallow every essence and noise coming out of her. Her hips continued to relieve the pressure in his pants, and he wanted everything to come off in that moment. And then her hand trailed down to his pants, trying to touch the zipper.

He broke from the kiss, “As much as I want to take you in this car,” he attempted to talk steadily, yet he was breathless and shaky. “I would much rather have our first time on a bed. And-” He grunted as she gave up on his zipper, her hand caressing the skin below his belly button, her hips rolled onto him again. “Ngh. Fuck, I want you so bad, baby.” The new name made her twitch on top of him, a breathy moan forced out of her throat as she leaned down into another kiss.

“Take me…” She whispered into his lips.

“Hold on to me. I can’t risk having anyone see you like this…” He said through gritted teeth grabbing her arms to wrap around his neck, hiking her leg up to his hip. He grabbed the keys and their phones before exiting the car, lifting her effortlessly as she clung onto him. He locked the doors and took long strides into their building, itching to enter the elevator.

Her legs were locked around him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Wet kisses being placed all around his neck and marks being left as he tried to keep his composure. Caleb was sure his legs were going to buckle from her teasing him, but the drive to fully make her his overrode anything else.

They normally skipped the elevator since they liked racing each other up the stairs, but he couldn’t risk accidentally missing a step, especially with her antics. The moment it dinged, he walked right in, pressing the button to their floor. He waited for the doors to close before pressing her up against the wall, nuzzling his face into hers so she would face him. The cold metal wall made her gasp as it met her bare skin from her backless top. “You’re so impatient…” And he took his revenge, taking the tip of his tongue from her collarbone up to her ear, earning a shiver and another bitten back moan from her. “You want me this bad? Huh?” He nibbled at her ear, his free hand slipping in between her legs, feeling her soaked underwear. “God, you’re so- ngh.” He couldn’t help but groan when he pushed past her underwear to feel how wet she was, dragging two digits in between her folds. She squirmed in his arms, breathy moans reaching his ears as he felt her flutter around his fingers. The elevator dinged again, indicating they were on their floor and he pulled his fingers out of her, pulling away slightly from her face to shove the fingers into his mouth, keeping her eyes locked with his. Her taste made him feel intoxicated and left him wanting more.

He walked them to their apartment, his hand fumbling with his keys to open the door. The moment he got the two of them in, he slammed the door harder than he intended, locking it before practically running into her room. Despite the rush, he laid her as gently as he could onto her bed. He took his jeans off, the tight denim becoming too constricting on his dick. The tent in his boxers made him blush, embarrassed. Regardless, he climbed into bed with her, kneeling in between her legs. His fingers running up her thigh, riding up her skirt again, revealing her underwear. Bright red.

“You’re so pretty for me…” He muttered, feeling his dick jump in boxers as he studied her up and down. And he couldn’t wait any longer, he lied on his stomach and shoved his face into her underwear. He sucked on the damp fabric, moaning around it.

A soft yelp came out of her at his sudden moves, her hands flying down to the top of his head. Her fingers gripped onto his hair like she was going to fall off the bed if she let go. “Caleb…more, I want to feel you. Please just take them off.” She grinded herself further onto him, his nose nuzzling into her clit.

He felt lightheaded from how aroused he was, all the blood in his brain going straight to his cock and he felt drunk off of her. Caleb grinded down on her mattress, relieving more pressure, but he was afraid he’d come way too quick. He pushed the gusset to the side, revealing more of her to him. Glistening with her needs, he didn’t waste another second before dipping his tongue into her.

“Oh my god, Caleb…right there, fuck!” She moaned out loud, one of her hands releasing his head, muffling her loud sounds. The hand gripping onto his hair was shaking.

His eyes opened, glaring up at her when he noticed she was trying to keep quiet. He pushed himself up and away from her, earning a whine from her. She glared back at him. Caleb grabbed the hand covering her mouth, interlocking their fingers together. “Let me hear you. If you keep quiet, I’ll stop.”

Her eyebrows knitted together, and a smile grew on her lips. Like she enjoyed the way he talked to her. She bit her lip and nodded.

Caleb went back to devouring her. His left hand held her thigh, massaging small circles on the inside, keeping her open for him. Whilst the other held her hand tightly. His tongue lapped at her, lewd wet sounds, filled the room and he slurped it all up. Her moans progressively got louder and louder, driving him even crazier. He was in love with eating her out. The way she tasted on his tongue mixed with the way she reacted every time. He could get off just from having his mouth on her.

“I’m so close- ngh.” Her thighs shook around him, and the grip she had on his hair was stronger than before. Her breathing got faster and her hips grinded onto him with more fervor. “Right…ah…there, fuck.”

“Come on my tongue,” he gasped, his lips still on hers. “Be a good girl…” He muttered loud enough for her to hear before he fucked into her with his tongue.

And she was almost screaming when she came, her hole tightening around tongue, more liquid gushing out of her. All of which, Caleb lapped up like he hadn’t drank water in days. He swore she almost pulled out all his hair, but he didn’t care.

She twitched around his tongue for a few more moments. He continued to eat her, driving her over the edge so far that she had to pry him away. “Ngh- surely…this time you won’t deny me, right?” She asked through labored breaths.

He got back on his knees, kneeling in between her legs. The tent was still prominent, but so was a large damp stain where the tip of his dick was. He was so enamoured by her that he truthfully couldn’t remember coming. Too drunk on her, he didn’t have room to be embarrassed anymore. After all, this wasn’t the first time it’s happened.

“H-how do you-” She looked at him, switching between his face and his dick, baffled. She got on her knees and locked eyes with him before playing with the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers dipping under it, making him buck his hips into the air. And she slipped them downward, finally freeing his cock.

The chill air touching his dick made him hiss. When his boxers hit his knees, he adjusted himself and took them off fully himself. He even removed his shirt, leaving him completely naked in front of her. His dick was messily covered in his cum, yet he was still so hard.

Her hand moved to cup his balls, earning a groan from him. “You’re a mess…I should clean you up, shouldn’t I?” Her eyes were filled with lust, he swore they glowed red in the moonlight.

He sat on his feet, still on his knees, trying to make the angle easier for her. “Y-yeah…” Was all he could get out.

She giggled, “You were all confident earlier…I don’t even know where you learned to talk like that.” Her finger traced the slit at the tip of his dick, making it twitch. “Now you’re like this…for me?” She asked him. She scooped up a bit of him with her index finger before putting it in her mouth,

He groaned at the sight below him. “If you’re going to- ngh.” He winced when she licked him softly, cleaning the mess he made, slowly. His hand flung to her hair this time. He combed through it with his fingers, trying to keep a grip, afraid he was going to ascend into another plane of existence. “Fuck, you’re so good for me…”

She licked him from base to the tip, wrapping her lips around the tip each time she reached it. Hollowing her cheeks and sucking on it before letting go with a pop, swallowing every drop of him. Once she was done, she smirked up at him. “You actually lasted this time.” She giggled.

He turned red and gripped her hair, pulling her upwards into a kiss. He could taste the saltiness of himself on her tongue, but he searched for the taste of her instead. Their lips were still connected as he got up to push her back down onto her back, climbing on top of her. He reached underneath her to untie the string holding her top together, surprised at how easily it came undone. He practically ripped the top off of her, revealing her already topless. He backed up to admire her. “Fuck…you weren’t wearing anything underneath this whole night?” His hand palmed at her breast, “You’re such a fucking tease…is this what you wanted? To drive me crazy?”

She nodded her head, moaning softly. “I’ve been wanting this for so long, Caleb…ngh.”

His dick twitched near her own sex. And that’s when he was hit with a terrible realization. He didn’t have any condoms. “Oh god, I don’t have an-”

She shook her head with panic, “I’m on birth control…we don’t need one.” She read his mind instantly. “I trust you.” She locked her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

He wanted to question her, ask why she was on it, but his dick strained in between them and he couldn’t argue with anything anymore. “Are you sure?” He said in between kisses.

“God, yes, Caleb.” She said with exasperation and grabbed his hand, pushing it down to her heat. “Now, prep me…you’re so big, I need you to- hngh!”

He instantly inserted two fingers into her, not waiting for her to finish her sentence. He scissored his fingers in and out, lewd wet sounds filling the room again. “You’re practically dripping, god you’re so tight.” He pressed kisses down her neck, hoping it would relax her and open her up more. “Can you take another?” He whispered into her ear, earning a nod from her. And he inserted another, curling his fingers up into her. She tensed around his fingers. “Good girl…” He groaned into her neck. He felt her tighten exponentially when he said it, making him smirk. “You like being called that, huh? My…good…girl.” He said it again, in between wet neck kisses.

And she came on his fingers. Her fingers left marks on his shoulders as her nails left half moon crescents. “I need you, Caleb. Please, I want to-fuck! I want to feel you…” She begged.

He got back up on his knees, her legs on his hips. He pulled his fingers out of her and he couldn’t help but clean it up with his mouth again. Caleb pushed up her mini skirt further up, scrunched around her waist. And then he lifted her legs together to slip off her underwear, before slipping in between her again. He held his cock, dragging the tip up and down her wet folds. The sight almost killed him.

Her face was flushed, her skin glistened with sweat. Hair was glued to her forehead, and her eyes were on fire staring up at him. She was beautiful to him. “I’m not gonna last…” He confessed, already knowing.

She laughed, almost out of breath. “Stop teasing me…I just want to feel you.”

He positioned his tip near her entrance and started to push into her. The two of them winced. He looked at her for approval and she nodded, motioning for him to keep going. He carefully kept pushing in, slowly, inch by inch. Once he was half-way in, she tightened around him. “Fuck…if you do that, I definitely won’t last. Be good for me.” He nearly growled, gripping onto her hips.

After a minute or so, he finally bottomed out. She threw her head back, “G-god…I feel so full.” She moaned, her hand gripping his wrist. “You feel so good inside me…”

Caleb groaned, “It’s like you’re made for me, baby, fuck. You feel insane, you’re so pretty like this…you look so good on my cock.” He babbled, not even moving yet. And then she tightened around him again, a response to all the praises he gave. And like Caleb said, he came instantly. “Fuck…I told you not to-agh!” He tried to hold back but failed. He spilled into her, thrusting through his orgasm.

His movements made her moan louder, her hips moving to match his rhythm as he rode out his orgasm, and then she came too. “Oh my god, you feel so warm inside me, I’m-” Her legs shook around him, clenching his hips with her thighs.

Caleb took his thumb and rubbed circles on her clit to help her out, hoping it’d make up for coming the moment he got inside her. He expected himself to collapse, but the way she twitched around him seemed to drive him to keep going. He fully got on top of her, kissing her with no direction, just pure need.

He was still hard. He pulled away from her lips and rested their foreheads together. It looked like she was about to say something and then Caleb pulled out just enough, leaving the tip in before he slammed into her. Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion, but her lips twitched upward into a small smile. A moan ripped out of her throat. “I don’t know how…but I hope you don’t have any plans tomorrow.” He said before pulling out again. “I’m going to make sure every inch of you remembers me.” He slammed back into her, her back arching upwards to him, moaning. “You’re…mine.”

#lads caleb #caleb smut #lads caleb smut #love and deepspace #lads caleb fic #caleb fic #xia yizhou #lads fic #lads smut #xia yizhou fic #lnds smut #xyz smut #love and deepspace smut #caleb #lnds caleb smut #lads au #lnds au #love and deepspace au #calebmc smut

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thunderbolt-ing · 2 months ago

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"I Can't Do It Alone." — 3

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Fem!Reader Summary: Denial is a river in Egypt. In other words, the signs are there, but you dodge them like bullets. Warnings: idk gunshots and distant gunfights, you'll see. reader is in extreme denial. bucky is trying so hard. please tell me if anything in this chapter is triggering, i don't think so bc it's just fluff-ish but please lmk A/N: canon divergence bc i completely messed up the order of events from the movie (I'm writing this in pure memory) but its going to work out anyway so!!!!! NO CHANCE NO WAY I WONT SAY IT NO NO (you swoon, you sigh, why deny it uh oh) that was playing in my head while writing the majority of this part. I've read through this several times but I'm sure there are still mistakes i didn't catch so i do apologize in advance. Word count: ~5.7k words. I hope this keeps you fed while my brain regroups.

Later that Same Evening Long After the Gala

Your flight, much to your mounting irritation, had been cancelled. At this point, it felt like the universe was dead set on keeping you in D.C., a place you didn’t particularly mind, but didn’t want to linger in either. You just wanted to go back to New York, back to your routine, and back to your job.

Still, you weren’t helpless. Sure, you complained and cursed out every possible godly being, but you had things under control within minutes. You’d already opened three tabs on your phone, scanned for reasonably priced motels near the airport, and mentally mapped out your commute the next morning.

Then your phone buzzed.

You stared at the message, blinking. Not only did he predict that you were going to protest, but he was already making his way back to the airport when he had just dropped you off hours ago. You sat down heavily on the nearest bench in the ‘departures’ terminal, trying to make sense of that familiar ache in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. It was little things, things he never pointed out, never made a show of. He just… showed up. It was as if no version of his evening didn’t include making sure you got home safe.

You tapped your phone screen again, reading his text over.

No need. On my way.

You could’ve insisted, you should’ve insisted. You weren’t helpless, you knew how to navigate things alone, you’d been doing it your whole life. But somehow, with Bucky, the line between stubborn independence and reluctant comfort blurred just a little.

You typed a reply. Paused. Deleted it.

Then, you tucked your phone into your pocket and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was just Bucky being Bucky. It wasn’t about you. He’d do the same for anyone because that was just the kind of man he was: reliable, responsible, and frustratingly decent.

But then he’d do things that chipped away at that belief. It was gentle, subtle things that left you standing in the ruins of your own logic, questioning everything all over again.

It was infuriating.

This, or rather he, was not what you were here for. You were hired for a job, a purpose. You were supposed to be focused on policy briefings, constituent emails, scheduling, and outreach. Not your boss’s inconvenient acts of quiet heroism. Your job was to make sure he passed legislation, kept his approval ratings high, and won re-election. He was good at his job because you were excellent at yours. You were a team, impeccably efficient, practically unbeatable, and you couldn’t complicate that.

So you did what you did best: Deny. Bury. Move on.

The familiar, low roar of a motorcycle engine ripped through your thoughts like a needle scratching across a record. You looked up and there he was, just as he said he would be.

Bucky was straddling his bike, helmet-clad, and still in the same dress shirt and slacks he wore to the gala. The black tailored jacket that completed the look was gone, leaving his sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. He looked less like a congressman and more like someone who belonged on the cover of a vintage motorcycle ad—windswept, timeless, and entirely unaware of the effect he had.

You held back a sigh. You really wish he had taken the car instead.

Bucky pulled up just in front of where you sat, killed the engine, and swung his leg over the bike with practiced ease. He removed his helmet and walked it over, holding it out to you wordlessly like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at it for a beat too long, then up at him. His expression was neutral, but something about the slight raise of his brow said, ‘Are you really going to argue with me about this?’ You were, you thought about it, but you didn’t this time.

You took the helmet reluctantly, securing it on your head before tightening the straps of your backpack with practiced movements. Bucky then swung his legs over the motorcycle with ease, settling into the seat and steadying the bike with one foot so you could comfortably hop on.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were ready. “Hold tight,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm. Then, with the smallest smirk in his tone, he added, “On my waist, L/N. You know how this works.” “I know, I know,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You hovered your hands awkwardly near his sides, as if proximity alone could meet the safety requirement.

You heard him sigh, low and amused, before his mechanical hand reached back and gently guided your arms into place, adjusting your grip until your hands were flat and secure against his waist. “There,” he said, his voice softer this time. “Now you won’t fall off.” You scoffed. You hated the way your chest tightened at the casual intimacy of it all and the way he didn’t even seem to realize what moments like this did to you.

He rolled off into the streets with familiar ease, weaving through traffic as the city lights blurred around you. The cool air stung your cheeks, and your hair whipped wildly in the wind, but you barely noticed. Your gaze was distant and unfocused, caught between reality and thought. This was just second nature to him. Just muscle memory. Nothing more.

You let a cheek rest lightly on his back, more out of necessity than affection, or so you told yourself. The low, steady roar of the bike filled the silence between you as he sped through the streets, guiding you both toward the safety of his apartment.

You were fine. This was fine.

You weren’t going to read into it, you never did.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

A little while later, he pulled into a quiet brick building nestled just a few ways away from the Capitol. As the motorcycle came to a stop, you swung your leg over and quickly stepped off, removing the helmet and letting it hang loosely on your side. The neighborhood before you was calm and unassuming, the kind of place where people walked their dogs at dusk and kids left their bikes on the steps. Trees lined the sidewalks, their branches rustling gently in the breeze, and clusters of native flowering bushes bloomed with the kind of effortless charm that only came from being carefully tended to.

Bucky led you through the front doors of his apartment building and up to his unit, unlocking it with ease. He pushed the door open and stepped aside, letting you go in first.

“Make yourself at home,” he said casually, his voice warm as he hung his keys on a small hook by the door.

You placed your backpack and his helmet on the couch, your eyes examining your surroundings. The apartment, much like himself, was understated but intentional. The space was minimalistic, but not cold. Everything had a purpose, and nothing felt out of place. The furniture was simple and functional, built for the comfort of a single man, yet it still gave the space a quiet charm. The walls were mostly bare, painted in muted, neutral tones. But above the couch hung a vintage map of Brooklyn, the colors faded with age, with corners slightly curled. A nostalgic tribute to the place he still called home in his heart.

What truly drew your attention, though, was the bookshelf tucked away in the corner of the living room. You found yourself drifting toward the shelf while he headed into the kitchen without a word, the sound of the refrigerator opening faint in the background. The shelf was more than a storage space for novels; it felt like a time capsule. It held a collection of memories and fragments of identity that Bucky let speak for themselves. Dog-eared novels of well-loved paperbacks lined the shelf—Hemingway, Baldwin, Fitzgerald, and Twain. There were newer ones too, titles you recognized instantly because you were the one who had recommended them. You smiled to yourself, feeling a small tug of surprise and warmth in your chest. You never thought he’d actually take your suggestions seriously, much less keep them. And yet, there they were, nestled between the literary giants like they belonged. Some even had worn spines and folded corners, proof that he hadn’t just bought them to be polite, he had read them, really read them.

But it wasn’t just the books that captured you. It was the small trinkets nestled between them that told a different story.

There were framed photos, some in color, some in black and white. A shot of him and Steve, mid-laugh in front of Coney Island, a frozen echo of simpler days. Another, more recent, with Sam grinning beside him, sunglasses on like he owned the world. And then there was the one that made you pause: a photo of Bucky in his 1940s Sergeant uniform. His expression was proud, boyish, and untouched by the weight of what would come after. You found yourself tracing the edge of the frame with your fingertips, wondering what kind of man he was back then, before HYDRA, before the Winter Soldier. Before the world tried to break him.

Your musings were swiftly interrupted by a soft mrow echoing from the hallway. Your eyes darted toward the sound, then flicked to Bucky, who was still in the kitchen, too preoccupied with ordering food on the phone to notice you snooping around his living room.

Curiously, you padded quietly down the hallway toward the noise. At the end of it, lounging like she owned the place, was a fluffy white cat. She was elegant, clearly a ragdoll, with a silky coat and mismatched blue and yellow eyes that tugged instantly at your heartstrings. Before you could even kneel or say anything, the feline rose and began trotting toward you with confidence, her little bell collar chiming softly with each graceful step. You crouched instinctively, a grin tugging at your lips as she nuzzled against your leg like she’d known you forever. You got hold of her collar and turned it around to see the cat’s name. Alpine.

“No, no, no!” Bucky called from behind you, his voice laced with sudden panic. “She—”

He stopped short as he watched you scoop the cat effortlessly into your arms and cradle her like you had done it a hundred times before.

“—bites,” he finished weakly, blinking in disbelief.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said with a soft laugh, nuzzling her fur as she purred contentedly in your arms. “She’s the sweetest thing. She just walked right up to me.”

Alpine rubbed her head against your chin, purring like a small motor and clearly smitten. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he was short-circuiting. This was definitely not how he expected things to go. He'd anticipated claws, maybe a hiss, possibly even you swearing never to step foot in his apartment again, not you holding Alpine like a baby and kissing her on the head.

“I locked her in my room before I went to get you,” he confessed, still staring at the cat in disbelief. “I don’t know how she got out.”

“What can I say?” you replied smugly, scratching behind Alpine’s ears as she melted into your chest. “Cats love me.”

Bucky let out a small breath of laughter, but the smile that followed was something else entirely. It was soft and unguarded in a way you weren’t used to seeing from him. It wasn’t the polite grin he donned at work; this was warm, and it pulled at something within you despite how hard you tried to pretend it didn’t.

Bucky blinked and cleared his throat, as if snapping himself out of whatever trance he’d slipped into.

Then, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, cutting through the moment like a blade.

“Pizza’s here,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, almost like he had forgotten how to speak.

“Yeah, I got it,” you replied quickly, a little too quickly. You gently set Alpine down, earning a small meow in protest, though you barely registered it. Your entire focus was on putting distance between yourself and his warm, disarming gaze that made you feel both seen and exposed. You bolted toward the door like it might save you because staying in that moment for a second longer would’ve cracked something wide open, something that you weren’t entirely ready to admit even existed.

You returned a few minutes later, heading straight to the kitchen, clutching the box like it was some sacred offering to the gods of casual indifference. Normal. You just needed normal.

Despite your best efforts to sweep everything under the rug, the universe seemed to have a sick sense of humor. Standing before you was Bucky, his white dress shirt now unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his frame. Beneath it, his white tank top clung to him in a way that made you wish you hadn’t looked at all. To top it off, his hair was tousled too, like he had raked his hand through it one too many times.

You dropped the box on the counter a little harder than necessary, flipping it open. The two of you wordlessly reached for a slice, your fingers brushing his just briefly, but the contact sent a jolt up your arm like you’d grabbed a live wire. You felt the heat rush to your face.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You bit into a slice with unnecessary focus, hoping the act of chewing would drown out your incessant thoughts.

Ever since the gala, your brain had been on a reckless little joyride of stupidity, teasing the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was something there. Something more than the long hours you two spent together, the satisfying banter, and the way he always seemed to notice when you needed something before you even asked.

But that was completely ridiculous. You blamed it on the proximity, on the caffeine-fueled late nights, on the way his voice sounded at 2 in the morning when both of you were buried in policy drafts and half-eaten takeout. You blamed it on the fact that you hadn’t been with anyone in years, that you were lonely, and maybe your standards had plummeted into dangerous, shark-infested territory.

But none of that mattered because this was your boss. Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

He wasn’t supposed to be a possibility, not even a consideration. Not with his title, not with your job, and definitely not with the line you swore you’d never cross.

Your internal tirade was thankfully derailed when your eyes landed on a small stack of untouched, unopened, and suspiciously pristine dockets sitting nearly on the far end of the counter. Those were the same files you’d handed him last Friday, neatly and painstakingly compiled in preparation for the upcoming congressional hearing on the veteran aid bill the two of you had been pushing for.

“I gave these to you last Friday,” you called out, placing your half-slice down and crossing the kitchen with growing suspicion. You plucked one of the folders off the pile and flipped it open. “Don’t tell me you’re procrastinating, the hearing’s in like five days.”

“No, of course not,” Bucky scoffed, replying far too quickly for your liking, and springing into motion as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. He practically lunged for the files, his hand landing just beside yours. “I’m a slow reader. I’m working on it.”

“Sure, I’ll entertain your lies.”

“I am!” He insisted, pressing his metal hand on his chest as if swearing an oath. “Okay, how about this: let’s read it together. Like the partners that we are.”

You let out a deep sigh, more dramatically than intended, but you were already gathering the files and opening them to begin reading.

“Fine,” you said, waving a hand. “Whatever it takes to get this bill passed and to make sure you don’t crash and burn during questioning.”

Bucky grinned, “What would I do without you?”

“Get expelled from Congress.” You deadpanned.

You didn’t miss the way he stood closer than he needed to be. Or the way his fingers brushed yours again when he handed you a pen. Or how annoyingly aware you were of how warm he looked in that god forsaken tank top.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The two of you worked in perfect harmony, like a well-oiled machine that had been running for years—each movement seamless, each glance understood without needed explanation. You highlighted and annotated key sections of the bill, patiently talking him through the language, coaching him on how to sell it with conviction. Your notes were meticulous, filled with cues and conversational maps, anticipating every possible question or objection he might face. You were the strategist, charting the battlefield with deadly precision. He was the warrior, prepared to defend the legislation like it were something sacred.

With one last slice left in the box and the clock ticking well past midnight, the two of you finally closed the last of the files. Everything was highlighted, annotated, and flagged. For once, you were ahead of schedule and had plenty of time for Bucky to go back through and add his own thoughts. A small victory, but it felt like a triumph.

You exhaled deeply and leaned back with a stretch, arms overhead as your spine cracked in relief. “Finally,” you mumbled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Bucky reached for the last slice without looking up, flipping through the final few pages of the docket as he chewed thoughtfully. “No, it wasn’t bad,” he said, almost offhand, “but that’s only because you’re here.”

You barely had time to react before a dollop of sauce slipped from Bucky’s slice, landing right on the front of his crisp white dress shirt and barely streaking his vibranium forearm. Without thinking, you moved, reaching for a napkin and dabbing at the mess with brisk, practiced motions before it could soak into the fabric, or worse, find its way into the crevices of his mechanical arm.

He stilled under your touch, his eyes dropping to your hands as they moved carefully and deliberately, as if this wasn’t the first time it happened.

"You don’t have to look out for me so much, you know?” he said, voice quiet and unguarded.

You didn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t,” you deflected breezily, “I just didn’t want that shirt to get ruined. It’s a good shirt, looks expensive.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh and leaned back slightly to let you toss the napkin into the trash. Then, without hesitation, he shrugged off the dress shirt entirely, leaving him in the fitted white tank underneath. The fabric clung to his shoulders and chest, and you averted your eyes before your thoughts could spiral again.

“Oh, but you do,” he said with that infuriating half-smile. His voice was playful, but there was something heavier underneath that lingered.

“At least it didn’t get in the arm. I hate putting this thing in the dishwasher.”

You glanced back at him, “Your arm is dishwasher safe?” You asked, grateful for the shift in tone. You tilted your head, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Wow. Innovation.”

He chuckled, “Wakandan tech.” He said dismissively as if it was the most obvious, most casual thing in the world. Then he moved on to clean the counter, tossing the empty pizza box in the trash.

“But seriously,” he added, glancing at you again, “I meant what I said. You’ve got this way of looking out for people. For me. I notice it.”

You tried not to let his words settle. “It’s my job,” you said stiffly, wiping down the counter and moving the dockets to a cleaner surface.

He only smiled gently, “No, it’s not. Your job is to make sure I don’t screw up legislation on the Senate floor. To prep me for hearings. It’s not staying up past midnight to coach me through policy language I should already know. It’s not sprinting across the kitchen to stop a stain from getting on my arm.”

Then, he paused, eyes softening, “It’s not caring like this.”

You froze. You didn’t want to look at him, not with everything suddenly cracking wide open like this. You could’ve said something cold and sharp. Something to deflect. But for once, nothing came, and your usual wit failed you.

Instead, you said quietly, “I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s just easier to take care of other people than deal with my own problems.”

There was a long silence before he responded.

“I do that too,” Bucky said finally, his voice stripped of pretense. “Pretend I’m fine. Push things down until they’re out of reach. I still fight battles in my head every damn day. And sometimes, I look at who I am now and wonder if it’s ever going to be enough to make up for the things I’ve done.”

You looked at him, seeing right through. For the first time, you didn’t see the Congressman, the anti-hero, or even the man you worked beside every day. You saw someone fractured and still healing. Somehow, that made him even more impossible to ignore.

“I think you’re doing better than you think,” you said softly. “You’re not perfect, Bucky. No one is. But you care about this bill. You care about people. That matters. You matter.”

His jaw tightened like he wasn’t used to hearing that, not from anyone who meant it. He tried to smile, but it faltered under the weight of the moment.

“You really scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he murmured.

You blinked at him. “What…?”

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose, something halfway between affection and disbelief.

“Because I’m smart and capable?” you offered, trying to deflect with humor.

He shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “Because you see me. And… I don’t know what to do with that.”

And just like that, the air between you thickened again. Not with fear, but with understanding. The kind of quiet recognition that neither of you were quite ready to say out loud. For one suspended moment, it was just the two of you, unspoken things hanging heavy in the silence.

Then came the reality check.

Bucky’s phone buzzed sharply against the countertop, the sound almost jarring. The screen lit up with Unknown Caller in bold letters. You both looked at it like it might explode.

“You going to get that?” you asked, the question more of a lifeline than anything else, a gentle nudge away from the dangerous emotional territory you’d both just wandered into.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, grabbing the phone like it gave him something to do with his hands. He hit the speaker. “This is Barnes.”

There was a moment of static, then a soft voice came through. “Hi. It’s Mel. Valentina’s assistant.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes widening. It worked. The stupid gala and the Mission Impossible-esque stunt you two pulled, it worked. You elbowed Bucky hard in the ribs, silently urging him to say something before the girl got spooked.

“Oh. Hi. Yes—hi, Mel, thank you for calling me. I didn’t—”

“I can’t talk long,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “So I’ll get to the point.”

You stilled and held your breath. Bucky didn’t even blink.

“I want to help,” Mel continued, rushed and panicked. “Val told me to incinerate evidence tonight. Records. Files. People.”

You exchanged another look with Bucky, both of your pulses spiking.

“—People who know too much. She told me to get rid of them, but they escaped somehow, and if you’re fast, you can find them. Get them to testify.”

“Mel, you don’t know how much this helps us.” Bucky said quickly, leaning forward, “We’ll protect you. My partner is here, she can coordinate witness protection—“

“Thank you, Congressman, but I’m not interested.” Her voice tightened with fear, as if someone was or had already interrupted her. “Have a great night!”

The call ended. Silence fell once more, sharp and electric.

You stared at Bucky’s phone. “Holy shit.” You muttered, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, “That was it! That was the seed! That was our shot!”

“Barely,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “She didn’t even tell us where they are. We don’t even have a lead.”

“Barnes,” you said, gesturing towards his laptop that sat on a nearby desk, “are you seriously not seeing the solution here?”

He blinked at you. “What solution?”

“Track her phone.”

He recoiled like you just suggested something nefarious. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Track. Her. Phone,” you repeated, enunciating every word like he was a particularly dense child.

“I heard you,” he replied, frustrated. “I just don’t do that anymore.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Yes, you do! You track me all the time.”

“That’s different!”

“How is that different?” You threw your hands up. “You literally pinged my location last week because I didn’t answer your call during a Senate session.”

“That’s because you stopped answering me for four hours, and I thought you were dead!”

“I was at a dentist appointment!”

“Well, I didn’t know that at the time!”

You stared at him for a beat, then gestured towards his laptop again, muttering, “You are so dramatic.”

He exhaled loudly, rubbing his temples. “Look, it’s not that simple. I’d need access to her internal files. It’s a whole thing.”

You tilted your head and gave him the look. The look.

“Don’t you dare give me the look.”

You didn’t blink, your gaze remained unflinching.

“I hate that look.”

Still no blink.

He groaned, defeated. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, getting up to fetch his laptop from the desk.

“You know,” he added, pulling his laptop over and connecting his phone to it, “you are way too comfortable bossing around a former assassin.”

“Oh, just get to work, Barnes,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you smirked at him.

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the sound of his fingers flying over his laptop’s keyboard.

Then, more quietly, more sincerely, he said, “I meant what I said earlier.”

You paused. “About what?”

“About you seeing me.” He met your eyes. “It still scares the hell out of me.”

You held his gaze for a long second before saying, gently, “Good. Because that means you’re still human.”

He smiled faintly. “Guess I better start acting like it.” The Next Day Brooklyn City Hall, New York

You climbed the worn stone steps of Brooklyn’s City Hall, the early morning sun casting long golden shadows across the plaza. The chill of dawn clung to the air, but even after an early flight from D.C., your exhaustion faded and was replaced with anticipation.

Flanking you were a few of the event sponsors who were local business owners, nonprofit reps, and volunteers, each carrying boxes, tote bags, and clipboards as they trailed behind you. A local news van was parked at the curb, the station already broadcasting live segments as reporters flagged down early arrivals to get interviews.

It had been a long, grueling week filled with late nights, last-minute approvals, a maze of calls and red tape, but somehow, you’d pulled it together. The Veterans Outreach event you’d been organizing was finally happening, and to your astonishment, it looked like everything might actually go according to plan.

You pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped inside. Then you stopped, momentarily stunned at the sight before you.

The main lobby of City Hall had been completely transformed. Booths lined the perimeter, draped in patriotic colors and banners offering support and resources for veterans. Each station was already buzzing with activity. Volunteers in matching t-shirts greeted attendees with easy smiles. A local acoustic jazz band played in the far corner, and the aroma of coffee and food truck fare drifted in from the open courtyard doors.

You let out a long breath, your shoulders finally easing for the first time in days.

Then, your phone buzzed in your hand, Bucky’s name and photo lighting up the screen. You answered quickly, stepping away from the crows and into a quieter corner of City Hall, tucking a hand over one ear to hear him better.

“Barnes, this place is packed,” you said, barely containing your excitement. “The booths are full, the sponsors showed up, and even Channel 5’s out front doing coverage.”

“I figured it would be,” Bucky replied, his voice warm despite the faint roar of wind and engine noise on the other end. “Listen… you’re going to hate me for this, but… I can’t make it.”

You paused for a beat, then exhaled softly. “I know,” you said gently. “It’s okay. I figured when Mel called you yesterday.”

There was a beat of silence that followed, filled with the low rumble of Bucky revving his motorcycle. Then—BOOM.

A sudden, deafening crash cracked through the line, followed by screeching tires and the unmistakable crunch of metal.

“Hold on—” Bucky said abruptly.

You froze, gripping the phone tightly in your hand. In the background, you heard the sharp click of a shotgun, followed by two loud bangs, then a barrage of gunfire.

“Bucky?!” you hissed, instinctively glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one could hear you. “Are you out of your mind?! What the hell was that?!”

“Minor inconvenience,” he grunted. More gunshots rang out, his motorcycle revving again. “I’m multitasking.” “Are you being shot at right now?!”

“No, not me. Hang on, you’re on my comms. Don’t hang up.”

Another crash. A deep, loud, metallic thud followed by the sound of a car door being ripped off its hinges. There was yelling in the distance, then silence, followed by Bucky’s heavy breathing and another round of shots. “Jesus Christ, Barnes,” you muttered, now pacing the quiet hallway like a storm in motion. “Are you seriously calling me mid-fight?”

“I said I was sorry,” he replied, a bit breathless but still managing to sound maddeningly casual. “I found them. The people Valentina tried to get rid of. Contract workers. Assassins, maybe. Or former ones. Still figuring that part out.”

“Assassins?! James, what the fuck?” You pinched the bridge of your nose, teetering on the edge of exasperation and just a tiny sliver of admiration. “You’re going to give me gray hairs. I’m going to develop a heart condition by the end—”

“—I’ll make it up to you,” He promised, a low laugh catching in his throat. “I just needed to check in. Make sure you were okay with the outreach and everything.”

“You’re worried about me when you were just dodging bullets?!”

“I knew you’d be fine,” he said softly, like a confession. “I think I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

Your heart squeezed, traitorous and aching. You stood in stunned silence, letting his words settle like dust in a room you hadn’t dared to open. Before you could form a reply, the engine revved again on his end, and another crash thundered through the speaker.

“I’ll call you back,” he said quickly, his voice clipped with urgency. “Let me just rein in these guys.”

You sighed, even as the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “Be careful, idiot. And you better call me back.”

You ended the call and lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen. An uninvited smile tugged at your lips. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how quickly a few words from him could slip beneath the armor you’d spent a long time perfecting.

Of course he’d call you mid-fight. Of course he’d say something maddeningly sweet while dodging bullets. And of course, you felt your resolve crumbling all over again. It felt as if you were putting Band-Aids on a rapidly cracking dam.

You had rules. Boundaries. Reasons.

This was your job. He was your boss. You’d promised yourself this wouldn’t happen, that you wouldn’t entertain the topic of romance while building your career. You were busy and too focused. There wasn’t room for anything else besides work.

And on top of that, he was reckless, complicated, and always halfway out the door.

You knew better.

Yet here you were, standing in the middle of a quiet hallway with a stupid grin and a pulse that hadn’t calmed down since the call ended.

You tried so hard to draw a line between you and him. You were supposed to be professional, responsible, even detached, but the truth was, you never meant for it to hold.

“Boyfriend?” came a voice behind you, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned to see one of the younger interns, the one in charge of the event’s social media coverage, peering at you with a knowing grin. “Or was that Congressman Barnes? Are you two finally...?”

You narrowed your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Get back to work, please.”

The intern laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender before disappearing back toward the courtyard.

You lingered for a moment longer, letting your fingers toy with the edge of your blazer before finally tucking your phone away. The lobby ahead of you was filled with activity, volunteers guiding people, voices over the PA, distant music, but your thoughts were miles away, wrapped around the sound of his voice.

You walked back to the main lobby, the weight of the morning pressed gently against your chest, and a curve of a smile still tugging at your lips.

Damn him and damn the way he made you question whether the walls you’d built were really protecting you anymore.

Maybe it was just keeping something good from getting in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ TAGLIST (please message me if you want to be added/removed from the list!): @trashbin-nie @cherrypieyourface @seraphine-ann @theendofthematerialgworl @hiraethmae @yiiiikesmish @buckybarnesfic @serumandsteel @cyberjawz @sunday-bug @nameless-ken @maryevm @aiyaiy

if you're silent enough, you can hear me screaming

#marvel #mcu #the thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #congressman!bucky #congressman barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #bucky barnes marvel

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rimunagenius · 1 year ago

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.

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m4delin · 3 months ago

Text

An oath reinfored

This is from a dnd AU I shared with @lythecreatorart and @a-magical-boy , and then Ly drew art of it and shared it in a discord server that forced me to talk more abt the au and then people added more and more things to it and I kept adding more things to it and then we ended up here-

Idk if I will be able to write the whole au from start to finish, but I so wanted to write this, both bc of how much I love this au and as a thank you for everyone induldging me askdjbaksd

So thank you a-magical-boy, Ly, @mayashesfly, @autumnwhistles and Sunnday! (all from Lew's lamplight discord server)

The premise of the au is that Ren is a weak god and has stepped into the mortal realm to look for his missing paladin, False. By pretending to be a paladin, he joins Martyn, Skizz, BigB and Etho on their journey. Stuff happens, Martyn starts to pray to Ren's god (aka Ren himself) abt how hot and good looking Ren is but bc of rules does nothing abt his own growing crush on Martyn. Ren has to sacrifice himself to save the world and that leads us to this situation!

Enjoy!

The fire warms Ren’s face, chasing away the evening chill trying to settle on his skin even though it hasn’t been truly able to do so this past week. Cold hasn’t been able to cling to him lately, even Etho has made a remark about how warm he’s been and Skizz checked him for a fever at that, insisting that it’s better to be safe than sorry after Ren’s fainting episode. But he’d been fine, no sign of sickness anywhere. He was just. Warm.

But Ren knows. He’s feeling great, never better in fact.

And isn’t that the problem.

Skizz asks him something, and all Ren has it in him is to give him a hum as he stares into the flames, watching them dance to their full extent before they’ll be extinguished, its life gone forever. Not unlike what was supposed to happen to him.

He doesn’t listen as Skizz returns to his discussion with BigB, but they speak in a lower tone than before, making it much easier to hear the cracking of the fire and the wind rustling in the trees. At least when you’re focusing on anything other than their discussion.

It’s thanks to that that Ren’s ears catch the sound of two pairs of footsteps approaching their small campsite, just before a small ember of warmth starts to spread through his chest.

Ren’s head snaps up towards the people arriving, ears perking up and tail wagging, and gives Martyn and Etho a small smile. “Welcome back,” he says, ignoring the giggle from Skizz that he’s sure is from his sudden change of mood. He honestly can’t help it.

Martyn seems to almost glow in evening light, and immediately a sour taste fills his mouth as guilt worms its way into his stomach.

The ember sits uncomfortable in his chest now.

“Caught anything good?” BigB says, snapping Ren out of his head. Martyn lifts his hand holding a piece of string with three fishes attached to it, a proud grin on his face. Etho copies Martyn’s movement, but instead of three fishes there’s five, albeit slightly smaller, fishes on his string.

“Yes!” Skizz says as he jumps up from his seat, hurrying over to the two men at the promise of a non ration dinner tonight. “Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Hey now,” Etho says, a smile on his voice, as he pulls his fishes out of Skizz’s range. “Let us deal with them, we don’t want the black mess from last time.”

Ren can’t help but to join BigB’s and Martyn’s laughter as Skizz splutters and protests against the accusation, even though everyone knows the truth in Etho’s words. It helps to ease the suffocating feeling in his throat, making it easier to breathe. Even just for a moment.

Teasing fills the air as Etho and Martyn start to prepare the fish for the fire, it being a quick work as the fish had already been gutted by the riverbank. BigB joins Etho and Martyn with dealing with the fishes, and Ren would’ve loved to help as well, but just like Skizz, he’s been banned from making fresh food. Making mortal food is surprisingly hard. He’s gotten better at it, the others have been teaching him since he joined them and they’ve realized he sucks at feeding himself, but it’s still a far cry from them trusting him to actually make edible food for the whole group. Ren doesn’t mind.

Ren settles with watching them prepare the food, and he tries to avoid watching Martyn work, but when there’s a pull at the ember in his chest his eyes immediately fall upon him.

Martyn doesn’t notice it, he hasn’t for the whole week, but Ren can see how Martyn subconsciously purifies the fish, making it safe to eat raw.

Any sort of appetite Ren might’ve had is gone now.

With a deep breath, Ren turns his head away and closes his eyes. But all it does is to pull all of his attention to the warmth in his chest, to the ember sitting there cozily, small but not on the verge of flickering out. A contrast to how it had been a week ago. A contrast to how it was supposed to be.

He can’t go on like this.

“Martyn,” he hears himself saying, and when he opens his eyes he finds the man looking at him, smile bright and soft. Caring.

“Yeah?”

Ren swallows against the lump in his throat. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“Privately?”

Silence settles over the camp as everyone takes in Ren’s request, and the nervous sway of his tail. But Martyn breaks it as he hands over the fish he’s holding to Etho, and turns towards Ren, a wet rag in his hands to clean them off. There’s a worried expression on his face.

“Lead the way, boss,” he says as he wipes off his hands, chucking the rag back to the small bowl of water. Ren notices how some water spills over the edge, but pulls his eyes away and gives Martyn a nod before standing up and walking away from the comforting heat and light the campfire provides.

Evening light envelops them as Ren takes them out of earshot of the camp, and Ren can’t help but take in how beautiful Martyn is looking right now. The low sun catches his hair and it frames his face neatly, and his eyes draw most of Ren’s attention.The sleeves are still rolled up from dealing with the fish, and it shows off his arms and the muscle in them as they move. (Oh, he’s rolling them down.)

“So,” Martyn says as he crosses his arms, eyebrow raised, but worry still present.

And how was Ren supposed to go about it? About what he is, and what he turned Martyn into? About the lies?

‘Dear God,’ comes a prayer from the man in front of Ren, ‘Whatever that ailes your paladin, please help him through it.’

It makes Ren’s breath stutter as the warmth in his chest grows and guilt wreaks through his body in response, and he swallows heavily.

“Martyn,” Ren begins, his name almost like a prayer on his lips with how precious it is to him. “I- I’m not what I told you I was.”

The frown appearing on Martyn’s face almost ties Ren’s tongue down, making it hard to continue to form words, but he pushes through it. He has to. “I’m not a paladin.”

“Then what are you?” The question comes out quickly, and there’s no real judgement in Martyn’s words, but Ren still feels the ember flicker, more akin to how it behaved since he first stepped down to the mortal plane. All the time up until a week ago. And yet it’s too strong to be back to what it’s supposed to be.

All thanks to the man in front of him, who became something else without realizing it just to save his sorry ass.

Ren’s ears press against his skull, tail slotting itself between his legs and he closes his eyes. “I’m a god.”

It’s not exactly silence that greets him, as the sound of the nightbirds getting active fills the air as well as the soft rustling of the wind through the trees occupies it, but he hears nothing from Martyn. No change of breathing, no movement of clothes, no speaking. So Ren opens one eye to peek at him, and takes in Martyn’s slack faced expression.

“You’re a god,” Martyn repeats slowly, almost disbelieving, as Ren properly opens up his eyes, straightening his back ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

Ren can’t help but notice how Martyn’s adam apple bobs as he swallows.

“A god of what, exactly?”

“Community.”

Martyn’s cheeks start to darken. “You’re God of Community?”

“Yes. It’s- it’s a long story, but yes, I’m God of Community.”

Martyn raises his hands up in front of him as he takes a step backwards. “Hold up. Does that mean you’ve been hearing my prayers this whole time?”

A small blush makes itself at home on Ren’s cheeks at the reminder of what Martyn usually prays about. “Yes.”

The redness of Martyn’s cheeks intensifies tenfold as his hands fall to his sides. “Oh.” Then he spreads his arms out and does a small bow. “My Lord, please smite me down.”

The prayer startles Ren, warmth increasing in his chest, and he quickly raises his hands in an attempt to stop Martyn from doing what he’s doing. “Martyn, I’m not going to do that!”

“Do it for my sake, please.”

Ren grabs Martyn by the shoulders and pulls him up into a straight position. “I’m not doing it!”

Martyn lets himself be pulled, blush not diminishing at all, and groans. “Why do you have to be so cruel, my Lord?”

A small chuckle leaves Ren, the ember feeling more at home in his chest than it had been a moment ago. “It’s not really my thing, dude. Besides, it would be rather counterproductive if I did,” he says as he let go of Martyn.

Martyn sighs as he rubs at his cheek, blush slowly dying down. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Ren scratches the back of his neck “It’s… Complicated. There’re rules that I’m not really supposed to break that prevents me from. Well. Being here, really.”

Martyn tilts his head. “Rules? Gods got rules?”

“Of course,” Ren says with a nod. “It’s quite like how you mortals have rules. Like, there’s nothing really preventing us from breaking them, but there are consequences. Not just for us, but for the world too. Makes it more important for us to not break them, you know?”

A frown appears on Martyn’s face. “Then why are you telling me this now?”

The fear, something that had eased when Martyn had seemingly accepted Ren’s words, returns. Making his breath stutter and words heavy on his tongue. “A week ago,” he starts, thoughts whirling, “when I fainted after breaking the barrier, did something strange happen?”

Martyn looks at Ren’s face, studying him and Ren doesn’t know what he’s looking for but he does turn his head slightly to the side, so as to not look Ren in the eyes.

“Yes.” It takes a couple of moments of silence between them before Martyn continues. “When you fell, I got the overwhelming sense that you were dying. I ran over and when I touched you, everything disappeared.” He looks back at Ren, and his voice turns soft. “There was a small flame in front of me, and I just. Reached out, gathered it in my hands and pulled it close. It felt like it warmed my chest, and then I was back in the cave. I dunno why, but I knew you were okay after that.”

Ren sucks in a breath and it comes out shaky. “Okay,” he says as he drags a hand over his face, tail unmoving. He tries to keep his hands from shaking, and he’s not sure if he succeeds. “Martyn, I’m a very weak god. I’m nothing without False, she’s the one who keeps me alive, and that cave… It cut off any outside contact. It cut off my bond to False, properly. I was strong enough to stay alive, but any energy I spent there wouldn’t regenerate.”

Martyn is staring at him, an eyebrow raised but attention not wavering.

“Breaking that barrier took everything I had, every fiber of my existence. It should’ve killed me. I should be dead.”

“But you’re not.” Martyn’s voice is low, almost a whisper.

“But I’m not,” Ren agrees, warmth spreading through him and he tries to pull it back to the small ember it was supposed to be. He can’t get comfortable with it, not when it wasn’t intentional. “And it’s because of you.”

“Me?”

Ren’s eyes fall to the ground briefly before he takes Martyn’s hands in his and looks him into his eyes, ignoring the small blush growing on Martyn’s cheeks. “What you did in that cave… Martyn, that was a paladin’s oath. Perhaps a bit orthodox, but an oath nonetheless. You swore yourself to me, to serve me until your own life gets extinguished. Your belief is what saved me.”

Martyn’s eyes widen as his mouth falls open. “Oh.”

There’s a lump in Ren’s throat, and he struggles to swallow around it. But he does so anyway and he can’t stop the shake in his hands, even as he squeezes Martyn’s in an attempt to comfort himself.

“That oath… You didn’t know what you were agreeing to.” The next breath is more shallow than the ones before, and his sight blurs ever so slightly. “It was unfair to you. You can…” Ren swallows again, the warmth threatening to overtake him and disappear at the same time. “You can take back the oath if you wish.” His voice cracks at the end and his whole being wants to take back the words. Oaths aren’t meant to be broken (nor is it meant to be invoked unintentionally), it’s a bond for life (he can’t do that to him), it’s an assurance that they will care for each other (surely Martyn hates him now). It’s a promise to always return to each other (he don’t want Martyn to leave)-

Something is giving his hands a tight squeeze.

“Ren.”

Ren blinks away the blur in his eyes to the sight of Martyn giving him a serious expression, and Ren gives him a watery smile in return, trying to put on a brave face for the acceptance of the offer. “Yes?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as Martyn lifts one of Ren’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, before he goes down on one knee and presses his forehead against the place he kissed.

“Ren,” Martyn says again and Ren can barely hear him over the sound of his heartbeats, a blush working its way to Ren’s cheeks and his tail starting to wag. The ember rapidly grows in size.

“I might not know how to do a real oath, but I swear on my life that I will serve you for as long as I can.” He lifts his head just enough to lock his eyes with Ren’s. “You’ve done so much for us, for me, and never asked for anything but for help to find False. You’ve fought for us, healed us, kept us safe from who knows how many monsters. You’ve given so much of yourself for us, and so will I give all of me to you. I’ll stay by your side for as long as you allow me.”

The small flame becomes a fire, spreading through all of Ren, and this time he allows it. He allows it to settle in by his heart, to be warm as it’s supposed to be.

Martyn tilts his head down, pressing his forehead against Ren’s hand again. “Thank you, milord, for letting me to keep you safe for once.”

Ren has had many paladins swear themselves to him ever over the many years he’s existed, all with varying convictions about the beliefs. Some took the oath because it was expected of them, and some with the utter dedication of what Ren stands for, but they bound themselves to him nevertheless. A priest always oversaw it, saying parts of the oath for the new paladin to repeat, and later the paladin would make a private oath with Ren to reinforce the formal one. It would always be a small one, one to show what the new paladin would fight for. False was no exception from that, as she was sworn in by Ren’s last priest, even if she was far younger than what was normal. She’s Ren’s best friend, but she swore herself to God of Community, just like the previous paladins.

No one has sworn themselves to Ren before.

Tears threaten to fall, but for an entirely different reason compared to before. “Martyn-” Emotions run wild in Ren and he doesn’t know where to begin. He wants to scoop Martyn up in his hands, he wants to drag him into a dance, he wants a part of his being to nestle up right beside Martyn’s heart, he wants to hold him close, he wants to-

A wet laugh leaves Ren.

“If- if you want to make it more formal, you gotta say your name.”

Martyn looks up and gives Ren a deadpan look, and Ren can’t help but to laugh. He doesn’t know what else to do, this is the first time someone has ever taken an oath to him in person.

A tug on his hand makes him look back at Martyn, and there’s a teasing, but fond, smile on his lips.

“I, Martyn Littlewood,” he begins, and Ren’s breath gets caught in his throat. It’s dark now and yet Martyn seems to glow to Ren. “I swear my life to you, Ren, the God of Community. I’m hereby your paladin.”

“Welcome, Martyn Littlewood,” Ren says with a smile and tugs at Martyn’s hand to make him stand. “It’s my pleasure to have you.”

They’re standing close to each other, Ren can feel the warmth radiating from Martyn and he can’t stop staring at him. Ren doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he wants to pull Martyn closer, to hold him and bask in the heat. The flame of Martyn’s belief, his oath, is already prominent in all of Ren’s being and yet Ren wants more-

Martyn’s eyes flicker to the side, cheeks dark with a blush, and he clears his throat before taking a step backwards, his hand slipping out of Ren’s. “We, uh. Maybe should go and tell the others?”

Nervousness settles back into Ren’s stomach, but it doesn’t turn into dread. Not when Martyn is right there, a steady presence. “Yeah, let’s.”

They walk back towards the fire side by side and Ren can’t help himself but brush against their bond with fondness, and he knows Martyn feels it the moment he raises a hand up to his chest and grabs the fabric, his breath hitching. Ren has never answered a prayer before, never brushed against Martyn’s essence in fear of him recognizing what Ren truly is, but now Martyn knows and Ren couldn’t be happier. If the smile that Ren spots on Martyn’s lips is anything to go by, it seems like Martyn is pretty happy about this too.

When they finally step back into the light, Skizz stands up with his arms out, giving them a bright and hopeful smile. “There you are! How did it go?”

Ren blinks and furrows his eyebrows. “How did… what go?”

BigB and Etho shares a look behind Skizz as Skizz look between Ren and Martyn. “Uh. Your talk?”

“Oh, right.” Ren clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

“I’m here with you,” Martyn says through a prayer and Ren relaxes his shoulders, giving him a small smile as he reaches out with his soul and brushes against Martyn’s in comfort.

Ren exhales and steels his nerves. “I have something to tell you.”

Ren can’t tell why, but Skizz looks very excited at his words and he keeps glancing between him and Martyn.

“I’m not a paladin. I’m a god.”

For some reason disappointment flashes past Skizz expression before the words settles in, and he opens and closes his mouth in shock.

“What?” Etho and Skizz says at the same time while BigB crosses his arms and closes his eyes while leaning backwards a bit.

“That explains it. Makes sense,” he says with a nod before opening his eyes to look at Ren. Ren frowns slightly while Skizz spins around on the spot and Etho snaps his head towards BigB.

“What do you mean ‘makes sense’?!” Skizz splutters, flailing his arms around as if trying to explain his every thought through them.

BigB blinks at them as if surprised by everyone’s reaction. “I mean, every now and then Ren just kinda glows and has no face, you know? Him being a god explains why.”

“He was glow- BigB, why didn’t you tell us?” Skizz says in a scandalous voice as Ren blinks in surprise. Oh, BigB has seen parts of his godform.

Etho is laughing as BigB explains that he thought it was a trick of the light, and Skizz continues to act as if this is the greatest betrayal of all times. It’s just for show and Ren knows it in his heart, so he just laughs along with Etho and Martyn, fear dissipating completely.

There will be questions, and he will have to answer them, but for now he can laugh. And Martyn is by his side, hadn’t hesitated to enforce the oath he had unknowingly made.

Everything is okay, and for once, Ren fullhearted believes it.

#treebark #m4ds writing #trafficshipping #3rd life #dogwarts #gonna put it on ao3 eventually #might fix up a few things first but wanted to share this now sajdbkas

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ireadwithmyears · 2 years ago

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.

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tiredofthehumanlife · 1 year ago

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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avatar-anna · 2 years ago

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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b0xerdancer-writes · 1 year ago

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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