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likeastarstar · 3 years

Text

The Pianist

(A/N: Thanks to @xjoonchildx and the anon who recommended me to her for this prompt! The pieces mentioned in this fic are what I listened to while writing it, they're beautiful and I recommend them. Feedback is appreciated!)

masterlist.

You didn’t sleep very well most nights.

You didn’t really understand how people just laid down and fell asleep instantly, it just didn’t happen for you. You had tried everything but ASMR creeped you out, Melatonin didn’t work, chamomile tea just made you have to get up to pee a million times. Nothing worked for years- until the apartment above yours got a new tenant.

You weren’t sure when exactly they moved in but you were certain of the day they got a piano.

January 12, 2021: The day you were given the gift of sleep.

At this point, it was apart of your routine. Every night, after showering and brushing your teeth, you’d lay down and listen to soft melodies you couldn’t quite place pouring through your walls.

Now, you found yourself rushing back home in the evening just in case they decided to start playing early.

“Hold the elevator, please!” You called, rushing over to the closing doors.

A hand stuck out to block them from shutting at the last minute and you gave a sigh of relief- you’d be on time now. You rushed into the elevator with a pleased smile on your face, your eyes falling on a man who you could only describe as the most interesting person you had ever seen. Dressed in all black with thick rings around the hand that had stopped the elevator, he should’ve been intimidating. If it wasn’t for the soft slope of his nose and pink doll-like lips, you would’ve turned the other way in fear.

“Oh-“ You said awkwardly, staring at him with wide eyes for some reason. He looked at you awkwardly and smile slightly, pulling his lips into a thine line. His dark eyes blinked slowly, molten mocha peering down at you with mild interest. “Thank you- for the elevator.”

“No problem, you seem like you’re in a hurry.” He said politely, his quiet, deep voice rumbling in your ear comfortably. You found yourself leaning towards him and snapped yourself out of it, pressing your floor’s button quickly.

As beautiful as he was, you got distracted from the man quickly, refocusing on trying to guess what the pianist would choose to play tonight. You left the window cracked just to hear more of the classical sonatas, timing your breathing just right to the pacing of the tunes. As time passed, you grew accustomed to the presence of the music, reading the pianist’s mood by their choice of song.

Reverie, for calm evenings in the summer when your apartment was bathed in golden light, warming your skin. A jazzy rendition of Manhattan when you assumed the pianist had an absolutely wonderful day, sending you off to dream of fluffy clouds and creamy skies. Nocturne No. 1, when they were troubled and you physically had to stop yourself from crying upon hearing the emptiness in the notes that flooded into your ears.

As luck would have it, you stumbled across the man in the elevator again too, crossing paths in the mail room, where he held the door open as you lugged out copious amounts of packages from online shopping. You would’ve tried to strike up a conversation, only it was already dusk and the pianist would start practicing soon.

“You’re always rushing, aren’t you?” He quipped, an endearing smile on his face. You admired the way his cheeks fluffed up a little when he smiled.

“I have plans with a friend,” You excused, naming the pianist as a fond companion. You didn’t want to reveal what you were really rushing for. The pianist felt like your own little secret, a world you could immerse yourself in when real life got too overwhelming.

If only you had known you’d soon lose the one consistent relief of tension in your life. You assumed things in his life had gone south, because after a week of music that tore your soul apart- the music stopped. Gone were your nights of angelic tunes, gone were your nights of sleep.

You waited for him, laid in bed with an antsy heart waiting to hear something, an aggravated smash of keys, a simple chord, even a single note would set you at ease. It had been a week since you had a good night of sleep, your companion suddenly stripped away.

You trudged into the elevator one morning sleepily, barely registering a familiar man standing beside you. Your hands met as both of you rushed to press the ‘close door’ button, the button shocking both of you at once. You jumped in surprise, flickering your eyes towards him sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” He mumbled. It wasn’t until then that you took in his appearance, slightly disheveled with his hair fluffy and messy. It was bleached now, faded with the roots grown out too far.

The pair of you rode the elevator down in a comfortable silence, filtering out together without a passing glance. You walked in different directions, both consumed in your own thoughts. You figured the pianist would be back by now. When nothing came, you decided to do take action, composing your own masterpiece. You tacked the letter you painstakingly rewrote a million times, setting for a simple note of flattery that you hoped would entice whoever it was playing the piano to return the gift you had cherished back to you. You expected nothing, maybe music returning back. Instead, you were greeted two days later with a simple knock at your door.

You answered quickly, shuffling your feet towards the entrance of your apartment. You opened the door to a familiar face, the man from the elevator. This time, his hair was freshly dyed, denim blue with one side sleeked back. His eyes were bright, alert as he looked at you with a surprised expression. You skimmed the length of his body, noting the tailored pants and soft looking sweater, stopping suddenly on a familiar piece of paper between long fingers adorned with rings.

Your note.

“You’re the pianist,” You realized, staring at the note. The paper of the note was faded, fraying at the ends and softened at the creases. It had clearly been folded and unfolded a million times, pulling at your heart.

“You fall asleep to me playing?” He asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I have trouble sleeping- you, your music helps.” You said lamely. “I’ve missed it….I thought, I mean, I noticed that you were playing more sad pieces than normal and then you stopped playing altogether. I figured something was wrong- Are you okay?”

He tapped his foot on the ground and shifted his weight, looking down at the ground awkwardly, “I was going to stop playing. I just…I didn’t see the value anymore.”

You felt panic sweep over your body and widened your eyes, leaning towards him instinctively, “Your music feels like a friend. It’s so beautiful and calming, it’s the only thing I have to look forward to some days. It- It has value. A lot of value, to me.”

He looked up at you and smiled, eyes crinkling slightly, “That makes me feel better- I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

You smiled back at him, tilting your head slightly.

The music came back after that, new songs playing every evening. You spent the mornings tracking down all of the songs he played the night before, listening to them while you went about your day, melting away time until you could listen to Yoongi practice again. You saw Yoongi a couple times in the elevator, exchanging shy smiles and excited suggestions of what you think he should learn next.

It wasn’t until you awoke one morning to the soft musings of a piano that you realized- you loved Min Yoongi. You recognized the song playing instantly- Dawn from Pride and Prejudice. You had suggested it awhile ago and how romantic you thought the piece was. It had been a slip of the tongue you thought he had forgot about it by now, since he hadn't played it. You remembered the small smile he gave you, nodding slightly when you blushed furiously at even the mention of romance. But now, listening to the music you knew he played for you, you were glad you had said it. It was fitting for the hour, the sunrise pouring cool colored light through your windows, a soft breeze filling your room because you had never gotten out of the habit of cracking your window to hear Yoongi play.

You smiled, laying in bed for a moment and soaking in the light keys. Eventually, you got up and walked to make yourself a cup of tea, stopping when you saw a piece of paper that had been slipped through the bottom of your door.

You picked it up quickly, opening it at once.

Would you like to have dinner with me? - Your Pianist.

#bts timestamps #bts drabble #yoongi one shot #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi drabble #yoongi imagine #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts reader insert #bts one shot #bts imagines #bts fic

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gubler-me-up · 4 years

Text

A Man After Midnight

Request: can you do a extremely dirty and down right filthy smut with dom spencer and fem/sub reader. like with heavy degradation, overstimulation, dirty talk, slapping, choking. basically just down right smut. if not it’s okay :)

A/N: Thanks for the prompt, anon! Fun fact: I was listening to Abba’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) slowed+reverb when I made this title because the song was doing something when I was reading this request. Feel free to listen to it while reading, it’s a BANGER! This is a longer than usual fic since all the fics I’ve published recently were shorter, but there was a lot to do here LOL And I’m posting it after midnight, so does that make me a woman after midnight? Anyway, hope you enjoy!!

Couple: Dom!Spencer/Sub Fem!Reader

Category: SMUT (NSFW 18+)

Content warning: Heavy degradation, slapping, spitting, choking, penetrative sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, female masturbation, mention of sex toys

Word count: 3k

--------------

You were laying on your couch mindlessly browsing Amazon to see what you could spend your money on now. You had a bad habit of browsing through every category when you were bored. Since you were on there though you decided to take a peek at any new sex toys they had.

You scrolled down the page filled with vibrators, dildos and other assortments of toys they were newly selling. As you scrolled you found yourself thinking of Spencer. Usually your companion on boring nights, but tonight he warned you not to bother him. He told you he was going to be busy with going through case files since he was a bit behind.

You went over to your text messages to see if he had messaged you anything after you told him you wouldn’t bother him. He hadn’t. You looked at the time and saw it was 11:40 p.m. You opened the text message you were having with Spencer. You were curious if he was still working or if he had time to acknowledge your existence. You asked him how working on the files were going and then went back to Amazon.

You continued to scroll through the sex toys as you waited for him to text back. The more you looked at the dildos on the page the more you wished Spencer was over. You two had seen each other more than usual in the past month, but it never seemed as if there was time to have sex. He had a lot of work to do outside of already working ridiculous hours. You guessed that was the downside of not going on cases frequently. You were grateful he was around to go out and hang out with, but you missed him holding you down and fucking you mindless.

You checked to see if you missed a text from him. He hadn’t texted you back. You sighed and decided to message him again. You asked him if he was busy still and waited to see if he would respond. You waited for two minutes, but didn’t receive anything back. You guessed he was still busy. You found it astonishing that even a genius like him could take so long to do these case files. He was probably flooded by them.

You sighed as you locked your phone and laid it on your chest. You closed your eyes to rest them from staring at your screen light. Your mind started to wander to the last time you and Spencer had sex. He had you bent over your couch begging him to fuck you harder and harder. He had to cover your mouth at one point because you were being so loud that your neighbours were pounding on your wall. Just the thought of his dick pounding in you got you wet.

You opened your eyes and picked back up your phone. If he wasn’t going to text you maybe he’d answer a call from you. You just wanted to hear his voice if that was the only thing he could give you. You dialed his number and put your phone against your ear as you eagerly anticipated his voice. A few rings went by before you heard him answer.

“Yes, Y/N?” He asked.

He sounded slightly annoyed, but his deep, bothered tone made your heart speed up. Hearing his tone directly in your ear was such a sweet sound. You wanted to keep him on the line as long as possible.

“You didn’t answer my text messages, so I just wanted to know if you were alright,” you said.

“I’m fine. I told you I’d be busy, so I wouldn’t be able to talk,” he said.

“I know, I know, but you could have at least texted me back saying you were still busy. Had me out here wondering things,” you said.

“Wondering things?” He questioned.

“Yeah.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know like you coming over.”

“Y/N, you know I can’t tonight.”

“Just for a little. I know you don’t go to bed early anyway. I’d love to see you.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Babe, please. I want to see you tonight. I need to see you tonight.”

There was a pause on his end. His silence was killing you, but he didn’t leave you hanging for long. He let out a long sigh. He paused again before finally saying something again.

“You sound desperate. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that I want to be your little whore tonight and you’re not letting me do that for you.”

He paused again. These pauses were indicating to you that he was taking your words into consideration. You knew how much he loved when you acted like his little whore. Doing anything he asked, letting him treat you however he wanted and enjoying every bit of it.

“I don’t know. I’m already behind with-”

“Don’t you want to fuck me?”

He paused.

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“Then come over and you can fuck me however you want.”

He paused again. You sat up as you waited for his response. You could hardly maintain your cool as you licked your lips in excitement. He finally let out a long, draining sigh.

“I’ll be there a bit after midnight. You know how much I hate when you sound overly desperate.”

“You’re coming here regardless though, are you not?”

“Only to help your desperate nature.”

You giggled. “Can’t wait to see you too. I’ll make sure I’m ready for you.”

“You better. See you soon.”

Without another word exchanged, he hung up. You hopped off the couch and let out a thrill fuelled shriek. You ran to your room and went straight to your drawer. You grabbed your favourite matching bra and underwear set before heading to the washroom.

You turned on your shower to let it warm up. You stripped your clothes off and looked at yourself in the mirror. You touched your breasts and then slowly ran your hands down your sides. You couldn’t contain the feeling of ecstasy you were experiencing throughout your whole being. The thought of Spencer was enough to get you feeling like an animal.

You hopped into the shower. You let the water flow over your body as you closed your eyes. The warmth of the water was refreshing. Before you opened your eyes and begin your shower, you let your hand wander down to your clit. You started to circle it as you thought of Spencer watching you do it with concentrated eyes. You stuck two of your fingers inside of you as you continued to recount countless times Spencer had you in his grip and had his way with you.

You pumped your fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace. You started moaning louder and louder. Your thoughts alone carried you to your orgasm as you let out a high pitched moan. You pulled your fingers out and let the water clean them of your juices.

After you were done showering, you put your favourite lotion on and your favourite deodorant. You then put on the bra and underwear combo. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You played around with your hair to see how sexy you could make it. Not that it mattered anyway, but you wanted to look as presentable as possible for the first few minutes of his arrival.

You went into your room and went over to your dresser. You picked out your favourite perfume and gave yourself a few sprits of it on your chest. You loved to doll yourself up before getting the shit fucked out of you because you knew how much Spencer loved making you look disheveled. He loved seeing you go from near perfect to his perfect little whore.

You heard a few knocks at your door. You felt chills crawl down your spine as you strolled over to your door. You looked through the peephole and saw Spencer standing there waiting for you to let him in. You smiled and opened the door enough to let him in.

“Welcome,” you said.

He smiled at you as he walked in. You immediately closed the door and leaned your back against it with your hands placed behind your back. You stared at him as you bit your lip as he stood there all cool and collected. You knew this was the quiet before the storm.

He looked over at you. He beckoned you with a movement of his fingers to come close to him. You slowly walked up to him. You reached out your hands and pressed them against his chest. You looked lustfully into his eyes as he continued to stare intently at you.

“I’ve waited so patiently for you to fuck me, baby,” you said.

He grabbed your hands off of your chest. He held them tightly and close to his lips. He kissed your hands as he continued to look you in your eyes. You couldn’t break eye contact with him. It was as if he was looking into you.

“No, you weren’t. You’re too calm now. Did you masturbate before I came?” He asked.

“No,” you lied.

In one swift motion, he let go of your hands and took his right hand to grab your neck firmly. You let out a gasp as he pulled your face close to him. Just by him doing that you were back to feeling your juices in-between your legs.

“You’re such a lying little whore. Did I teach you to lie to me?” He asked.

“No,” you squeaked.

“Then why did you lie?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you said.

“On your knees,” he demanded.

You dropped to your knees as he let go of your neck. You already knew the drill, so you opened your mouth wide and waited. He undid his pants and pulled them down along with his underwear. The sight of his dick got you revved up and ready to start the night ahead.

He grabbed a handful of your hair and pushed your head forward, so your mouth could swallow him whole. You choked on his dick as it reached the back of your throat. He kept it there for a while as he listened to you choke on his cock. He pulled you off of him and watched as a string of spit connected your mouth to his dick.

“What happens when you lie to me?” He asked.

“I choke on your dick,” you said.

He responded by shoving your mouth back on his dick. You gagged on it as you felt tears sting your eyes. Saliva dripped from the side of your mouth and went down your chin all the way to your breasts. He soon rocked his hips back and forth so he could fuck your mouth.

“You think you’re smart enough to outwit me? Let this be a reminder of your place as my little whore,” he said.

You moaned around his cock in agreement. You reached your hands towards his thighs for some stability. He pulled you off of his cock and slapped you before grabbing your chin, so you could face him.

“Hands behind your back, whore,” he demanded.

You did as he said and held your hands behind your back. You opened back up your mouth for him and he gladly went back to fucking your mouth. As he kept hitting the back of your throat, you could feel the tears stream down your eyes and it mixed with the saliva dripping down the side of your mouth.

He pulled your head off of him and held your head back, so you could look up at him. He looked at the tears running down your face. He then looked at your saliva running down your chin and running onto your breasts.

“Tell me what you think you look like right now,” he said.

“Like a disgusting whore,” you responded.

“You do,” he said.

He let go of your hair and grabbed your chin. He leaned down and gave you a hot and heavy kiss with his tongue, not shying away from tackling yours. He parted his lips from yours. He didn’t move his face far away from yours though. He squeezed your jaw, so you could keep your mouth open. A stream of his spit went into your mouth and you gladly let it fall on your tongue before swallowing.

“But you’re my disgusting whore. Tell me, what else were you doing before I came and tell me the truth,” he said.

“I was looking at sex toys,” you confessed.

“That’s how desperate you were? You were going to order sex toys instead of waiting for me to satisfy you?” He asked.

“I promise I wasn’t going to buy anything, baby. You’re the only thing that can satisfy me,” you said.

“Is that so?” He asked.

“Yes, I’m only for you. I’m only happy when you fuck me. My little whore pussy is only for you, I swear,” you said.

“Get up,” he demanded.

You shot up from your kneeling position and he immediately pushed you backward until your back hit the wall. He wrapped his big hand around your neck as his other hand went down to your clit and started to circle it. You let out a squeaky moan as he looked at your desperate expression.

“Tell me what you masturbated to,” he demanded.

“I-I…you,” you moaned.

He started to circle your clit faster. “What did the little whore squeak?”

“You,” you shrieked.

“And what about me?”

“I was thinking…a-about how…you f-f-fuck me.”

He slipped two of his long fingers in you. You let out a loud moan as he started to rapidly pump in and out of you. The way he looked at you with desire in his eyes made you soaking wet.

“How do I fuck you?”

“Like a whore. Like the fucking whore I am.”

“What makes you a fucking whore?”

“Because I love getting stuffed with dick. I do anything to get fucked.”

“What makes you my little whore?”

“I love being fucked by you. I do anything you want to just be close to your dick.”

He attacked you with another aggressive kiss as he continued his pace with his fingers in you. You could feel a tingling sensation running through you again. You knew he wasn’t going to stop though. He wanted to be the one to make you cum this time. You were glad to make him be the one to make you cum this time.

He pulled his fingers out prematurely. You let out an unsatisfied groan as he parted his lips from yours. He heard you and that came with repercussions. He gave you another slap on your cheek with the hand he just pulled out of you.

“Keep complaining and I won’t fuck you at all,” he said as he licked off your juices from his fingers.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” you said.

“You’re lucky I want to fuck the shit out of you. Take off your underwear and bra,” he said as he let go of your neck.

You unhooked your bra and then pulled down your underwear. He grabbed your waist and pulled you in for another quick heavy kiss before leading you over to your kitchen table. You felt your blood pumping through your veins. You could tell you were about to get fucked hard. Whenever it wasn’t in the bedroom it was a sex act of pure, heavy lustful desire.

He grabbed you by your hair and forced your head down on the table. The rest of your torso fell onto the table as he positioned himself behind you. He slapped your butt cheek.

“Open your legs,” he said.

You spread your legs open and felt his dick ram inside of you. You let out a shriek as he continued to pound into you with such a great force you swear the table was moving with every thrust. He lifted your head up from the table, so your neck was bent back. It was bent far enough back so he could look at you desperately letting out your wild shrieks.

“This is how a whore gets fucked,” he said.

“I deserve it. I’ve been such a bad whore,” you said.

You felt his free hand go back to your clit. He rubbed circles around it and watched as you could barely form anything coherent to say. He smirked down at you.

“You can redeem yourself by cumming on the dick you love so much,” he said.

He didn’t even have to circle your clit for long. The look in his eyes mixed with the already lingering feeling of an orgasm from not too long ago sent you to your limit. You let out a scream as he continued to pound into you as you let your orgasm take over your body.

“That’s a good whore. Do you want my cum in you or on you?” He asked

“I-In…” Was all you could muster up to say.

“I knew a whore like you would want all my cum in you.”

“I-I…I love…love your cum.”

He smiled as he leaned down and gave you a sloppy kiss. “I know, you usually want to swallow it.”

“I…I want it…I want it to drip…out of my…”

“Shh, I know,” he said.

He planted a few kisses on your neck as he began to pound into you harder. You were screaming at that point from the feeling of his dick destroying you. Your nails were scratching the table as you tried to keep your balance. He let out a loud moan and you could feel his cum release into you.

He let go of your hair and pulled out of you. You felt his cum dripping out of you and you knew he was watching it drip out of you from behind. He then grabbed your arm to turn you around, so you could face him.

He smiled at you. “Is this what you so desperately wanted? This couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You gave him an exhausted smile. “I wanted to be your little whore tonight.”

He leaned down and kissed you. “You were a very good little whore tonight.”

“Does that mean a round two is up for discussion?” You asked.

He chuckled. “How about we get cleaned up and we cuddle instead?”

“Can I be your little cuddle whore at least?”

“Of course.”

—–

MASTERLIST

#spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #dr.spencer reid #Spencerreid #Criminal Minds #criminalminds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #mgg #Matthew Gray Gubler #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Note

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

#asks #tickling #critical role #essek thelyss #verin thelyss #caleb widogast #chocfic

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jean-kayak · 3 years

Note

helloo, can I request Aomine nsfw scenario when he's finally found out that his gf actually a writer of blog (which he always read because the erotic fics she wrote was superb!) the fics itself honestly is their sex life but she changed the name and appearance a little bit because she don't wanna anyone know about them. Thanks

A/N: lmfao anon, this gave me a good laugh, sorry its really late, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Now, listen, this guilty pleasure is something that he will never admit. He will die with this secret, but at the same time, so what he reads this kind of stuff? It's good shit, and he's going to keep reading it.

He's actually been following this your blog for a while, and it's probably one of his favorites, and while you're gone for a little bit, he decides to read the knew fic that you posted. He really does think much of it when he's reading the first bit, but then the dialogue starts to become vaguely familiar?

He shrugs it off, thinking in his head that he's reading into it too much, but the more he reads, the more it starts to bring back memories, and he scoffs in disbelief. There's no fucking way.

You come home as soon as he finishes reading it, and when you flop down on top of him, he tries to keep his squirming to a minimum, his brain filled with thoughts about something that couldn't possibly be true.

He wraps an arm around you as he scrolls through his phone, and he speaks up without looking your way when he sees you on your phone. "What're you doing?" he asks casually (hopefully).

"Proofreading something I wrote," you respond absentmindedly, probably not even thinking about your choice of words, and he glances down at your phone, that very familiar username on your screen, and his eyes widen for a second before a smile that he can't fight makes its way onto his face.

"Oh, yeah?" he prompts before dropping his phone and yanking yours out of your hand. You're quick to react, yelling at him to give it back as he raises it above his head where you can't reach it.

He reads the screen, confirming his suspicions, and he looks back at you, still fighting for your phone back. "We produce good content, don't we?" he teases, and you groan as you feel your face flame as you bury your it in his chest, giving up the fight now that the cat's out of the bag.

You hide your face in your hands as he tosses your phone to the side, but then you shoot your head. "Wait, how did you--?" You stop before you raise your eyebrows at him, a smirk matching his appearing on your face. "Don't tell me you read--"

"It's a coincidence," he responds quickly, it now being his turn for his face to heat up as he looks away from you, and you sit up to look at him.

"Oh, really? It's a coincidence that you read fanf--"

You're cut off with an oof as your back hits the mattress as he cages you between your legs. "You're the one who writes it, pretty sure that makes you worse than me."

You groan again as your hands find their way back onto your face, a secret that you've had for a while now completely out in the open to the last person you wanted to find out (besides your parents ofc).

His chuckle is muffled as he plants open-mouthed kisses on your neck, moving your arms to get to the places that were covered by them. "Let's give your followers some more content, yeah?"

You look at him between your fingers, eyes swirling with disbelief while the images of what he read not too long ago flood his mind. Now that he knows that it was the both of you that he just read about with the names changed, it makes him hot all over.

He rubs his hands under your shirt, his fingertips running over your skin softly making you shudder. "W-What?" you stutter, too focused on his mouth sucking at your neck to pay attention to his words.

"You said something about writer's block? If you needed help, you coulda just asked." You roll your eyes even though your hand tangles in the strands on his head. He's having way too much fun with this new information.

You can feel his widening smirk against your throat as he grinds against you, making your hips buck up into his instinctively, but his quick to put his hands on yours, stilling them. He rubs over your clothed crotch, his other hand pushing your shirt up to your neck.

He runs his nose over your nipples teasingly, the sensation not enough to satisfy you, your fingers gripping at the roots of his head. "Daiki," you breathe, and he hums as he runs his nose across your sternum.

"You need something, baby?" he asks, like he doesn't know what you need, the ministrations over your crotch turning into slower, teasing strokes.

"You know what I need, Aomine," you say in annoyance, your hips trying and failing to move against his.

He brings his head up from your chest, keeping his face close to yours. "Why don't you ever beg for me, hm?" he questions playfully. "You write about it all the time, but you never do it," he teases.

He's smiling at you widely now, and before you can even react to the embarrassing thing he just said, he leans down, and you raise your head to meet him, but then he pulls away, making you groan softly.

"Gotta hear you, baby," he whispers against your lips as he runs his fingers over your skin softly.

"Please, Daiki, please touch me," you relent breathlessly, goosebumps breaking out over your skin at his light touches.

He chuckles softly as he moves his fingers into your panties, rubbing at your clit. "I'll take it for now, but I know you can do better than that."

He moves back down to your chest, swirling his tongue around your nipple before taking it into his mouth as he uses his other finger to circle at your entrance. He moves to the other one, sucking at it softly, but his finger doesn't slide inside of you like you want it to.

"Daiki," you say desperately, hearing a chuckle vibrate against you as the tip of his finger barely pushes in, and your legs squirm under him. "Please! Please, touch me!" you nearly yell, your words cut off when he slides two fingers inside of you with no problem due to how soaking you are from his teasing.

He keeps his mouth on your chest, sucking at the skin around your tits as he curls his fingers inside of you, making your legs shake momentarily. He slides in another, his fingers only mission to continue to press on that spot inside of you, making you arch into him.

Your orgasm is right there, only a few more strokes and you'll be cresting over the edge, but just as you get there, it's all pulled away from you. You groan loudly as you lift your head to look down at him at the same time he lifts his head. "Aomine," you sigh, and he's lifting himself up to hover over you as he slides his fingers into his mouth.

"You really didn't wanna cum on my fingers, did you?" he asks you smugly, and you want to rub that stupid smirk off of his face. "Come on, tell me what you really want," he says, leaning down, his voice becoming even deeper. "Beg."

"Daiki, please fuck me, wanna feel you inside me, wanna cum around you," you rush out, and he groans, quickly getting rid of his shorts and underwear. He uses the same speed to get rid of your clothes, before he pulls you up with him.

"You're such a good girl for me, aren't you?" he whispers as he pumps himself, using his other hand to help you straddle him. He holds your hips as you guide him towards you, his grip tightening as you start to sink down on him.

He throws his head back as he feels the warmth of your walls surround him before he yanks your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor. He bites back a moan when you start to roll your hips, aiming for that sensitive spot inside of you, and he rests his weight on his elbows as he watches you.

He rubs up and down your thigh as your hands brace yourself on his abdomen before you start bouncing, and he can't fight back the moan that falls out of his mouth. "Daiki, fuck," you moan, your voice a higher octave as you get closer to your high.

You start clamping around him, and he can't take it anymore as his dick throbs inside of you, and he lifts up, digging his fingers into your skin as he plants his feet on the bed. Your cry echoes in the room as he fucks up into you roughly, the change of pace sending a shiver up your spine.

His face is inches from yours, his eyes capturing every reaction and expression on your face, knowing that your about to cum, and a smirk finds its way on his face once again. "You gonna cum?" he asks, bringing a finger to rub over your puffy clit, and you nod quickly, your moans and whimpers no longer being concealed by your lip between your teeth.

"Then beg." You almost miss it, but you don't miss when he slaps your ass, turning your full attention back to him and not the feeling of his dick rubbing over every inch of your walls. "You can't cum until you do."

"Daiki--" You can even think about holding back, but he's not letting up, making it harder for you to fight it when he thrusts harder at your g-spot. He cups your tit, pulling at the hardened bud before putting his mouth back on it, and you snap.

"Please let me cum, 'Mine, I've been so good for you, please." Mumbles of please fall from your lips as you dig your nails into his shoulders, your body feeling like it might combust if you don't cum, and through the tears in your eyes, you can see him smile smugly.

"Go ahead, baby, cum for me," he commands softly despite his voice being hard, and your back arches tightly as that knot snaps, a guttural moan leaving you. Aomine's eyes roll back in his head as he feels your walls pulse around him violently, ultimately sending him over the edge.

He slams you down onto him one more time as he cums, his balls twitching as he empties them inside of you, and he falls back onto the bed as you fall forward. Both of your hearts are racing as he lifts your head so that he can kiss you lazily, huffing against your lips as he pulls away.

"That writer's block gone?"

#daiki aomine #aomine daiki #aomine x reader #daiki aomine x reader #aomine daiki x reader #aomine smut #knb smut #kuroko no basket #kuroko no basuke

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Note

Hon' if you are accepting prompts (and only if you are!) can I have some spooky Sansa and Jon? I'm still not over them in spooky scenarios so I would love to read anything about it.

And for something a little more specific (in case that helps): maybe ghost!Sansa and Jon moves to her place and she is not happy, but also she loves his dog?

Or maybe Addams AU!

Or maybe Jon is the ghost and Sansa moves into his place?

Or they are talkshow hosts or something and a ghost is trying to get them together?

Or maybe YouTubers AU and their followed bug them until they agree to a Collab and it's Halloween or something like that?

Okay I went all over the place and clearly have too many ideas, but feel free to choose any of you do choose something!

First of all, I guess I'm sort of always taking prompts? I'll never turn them away, though they may also sit in my inbox forever (I'm looking at you, the last anon prompt from when I asked for them back in December...)

Second, spooky prompts! ❤️👻❤️👻❤️ If there's anything I love in this world, it's the supernatural/paranormal. And it may be the middle of summer, but I'm already longing for spooky season and I've been trying to vibe with it but it's hard when the days are so long, hot, and humid. (I desperately want to be able to go outside and not feel like I'm breathing soup, thank you very much.)

Before I get to the prompt itself, because I'm too wordy for my own good - your one prompt of Sansa/Jon is a ghost and the other moves in to their place... well, I've read that fic! It's actually locked on AO3 and I don't know if that means the author doesn't really want people finding it/linking to it, so I won't, but I guess DM me if you wanna know what it is?? I don't know the protocol for that. There's also Haunt Me, Then by the lovely @ode-to-an-inkwell which I read back when I was lurking and I loved it. It's the same base premise, but with a ton more plot!

The prompt I have chosen is the youtuber collab! Because I also love writing about/dissecting social media, apparently.

Sansa breathes – deep and even – and tries to stay centered in the middle of her group (away from the edges, away from the dark corners and the sounds coming from them and the people she knows are waiting for her there).

She wishes with all her strength that her followers had never found out that she's related to Robb. It's not something she was hiding, necessarily, but when she started her channel, she'd kept a lot of her personal life private. And honestly, she never thought it would get to this point – the point where she has millions of followers and Robb and Theon have millions of followers and those followers inevitably found out she and Robb are siblings.

A collab had been unavoidable. She just wishes it were any other activity than... this.

She lets out a strangled scream as something crashes to her right and she stumbles left, straight into the other person who's been dragged along tonight – Jon Snow. He catches her arm and keeps her upright and she almost thanks him until she hears him let out a laugh. It infuriates her and she rips her arm out of his grasp and sends him a glare, though it's short lived when she sees what looks like a jar of eyeballs on a shelf behind him and bile twists in her stomach.

She hates Halloween - she hates horror movies and jump scares and gore, and she especially hates haunted houses. But what else should she have expected for this collab? Robb and Theon have a dumb prank channel, of course they'd bring her – notorious wimp Sansa Stark – to a haunted house for the video. She thinks Robb got permission to film, because Dacey and Olyvar are flanking them with cameras to capture everyone's reactions.

“It's all fake,” Jon reminds her, though she barely hears his voice over the din of sound effects echoing through the dark corridor as they pass from one room to another.

“I know that,” she hisses, heart pounding wildly. They approach a doorway and – sure enough – right as she passes through, there's a person with heavy special effects makeup waiting on the other side to grab at her (another thing she resents – this is one of those places where the actors can touch you. They'd had to sign a waver). She screams in the actor's faux-bloody face and she swears he laughs at her.

In front of her, Robb and Theon are being obnoxious as usual. She doesn't really condone their prank channel and has often had to reign them in from doing something that would get one of them needlessly hurt (or would be considered, you know, illegal). Jon is usually an unwilling participant in their videos, and he has his own woodworking channel that has nowhere near the viewership that her makeup channel or Robb and Theon's prank channels do (she's told him, over an over, that if he showed his face on camera, he'd get more viewers, but he insists that he wants the focus to be on his work, not him). Jon walks next to her, calm, like nothing in this place fazes him, and she sort of resents him for this.

She understands it's all fake, she's not stupid, but that doesn't stop her fear response from kicking in every time something jumps at her, every time lights flicker or go out. It doesn't stop her stomach from turning whenever she sees the needlessly gory scenes like that doctor cutting a girl open, her fake intestines spilling out as the actress screamed.

“It'll be over soon,” Jon leans in close so she can hear him better, and for a moment a sense of calm washes over her. She loses it, though, as he moves away to give her space and she panics and reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him back close to her.

A strange look passes over his face, but he doesn't say anything, just lets her grab onto his arm as they continue through the haunted house. She can't explain it, but with Jon next to her she feels... safe. She knows none of this is real, she knows none of these actors will actually hurt her, but it doesn't seem to matter, and it doesn't seem to matter that Jon won't actually have to protect her (though she somehow knows that he would if he ever had to, and that's a strange realization to have as she's walking through a room of terrifying clowns).

When it's finally over and they're outside, she breathes a sigh of relief and she feels muscles that she hadn't even realized were tensed relax.

“That was awesome,” Theon nearly shouts at one of the cameras. He and Robb talk loudly and animatedly for the cameras about the house, summarizing it for their audience (she knows they're likely to cut out a lot of the extreme scares and gore, since a good portion of their audience are kids and young teens).

“You good?” Jon murmurs to her and she realizes she still has a death grip on his arm.

“Oh,” she breathes with a forced laugh, “yeah,” and she lets go of his arm and immediately wishes she could have it back. (And then, some part of her brain whispers that she wishes she could have his arm wrapped around her instead, but she pushes that thought out because where did that even come from?)

Jon brings a hand up to scratch at his beard and shifts on his feet and she wonders if its because he feels awkward on camera. Jon's never liked being on camera, not really – it's why Robb and Theon always have to catch him off guard and why his videos – at most – only feature his hands and forearms (the comments on his videos about how attractive his hands and forearms are had been one of her main arguments for showing his face, but Jon had gotten weird after that and so she'd dropped it eventually).

“Hayride next?” Robb asks, which brings her back to the present.

“There's more?” she whines, twisting her face into a pout that always got her out of trouble when she was a kid, but Robb and Theon are already making their way towards the next attraction.

“You can sit next to me,” Jon offers, and she feels relief flood through her. “I'll be on the outside.”

She feels herself smile for the first time all night and nods and she's even more pleased when he – after a moment of hesitation – holds out his arm for her to take. She does so, curling her own arms around his and hugging it to her, keeping herself as close to him as possible as they walk through the fairgrounds to the haunted hayride.

They arrive right behind Robb and Theon and when Robb sees the way she's basically clinging to his best friend, there's a look that she can't figure out – it flicks from their joined arms, to Jon, then back to their arms, then to her, then back to Jon again and she feels Jon stiffen up next to her. Something silent passes between them and Robb looks almost... concerned? But then Jon shakes his head so subtly she thinks she's not supposed to see it and Robb nods back and turns around to face Theon and the cameras and Sansa's left more confused than anything.

The next tractor and wagon pull up to the entrance and the previous riders disembark. She waits with Jon, and though there's a slight fluttering in her stomach, she's not terrified like she had been right before the haunted house. Jon keeps his word and as they climb onto the open-topped wagon, he lets her sit in the middle and he takes the outside so she won't have to deal with the actors that run up to them during the ride. She settles into the hay and, without thinking, leans her head on his shoulder, arm still linked through his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Robb and Theon shouldn't have made you do this,” Jon says back and his voice sounds a bit shaky. She can't see his face, she's too comfortable resting her head against him to look up, but she wonders why he sounds nervous. Maybe he's more scared of all of this than he was letting on? He hadn't seemed nervous at all in the haunted house.

“Don't worry, I'm going to have so much fun giving them a full face of glam makeup when it's time to make the video for my channel.” That's the point of this collab – she does a video for their channel and they do one for hers.

Jon lets out a soft laugh as the tractor starts up and the wagon lurches forward, heading into the dark forest. “Can I watch?”

“Definitely,” she says as she squeezes his arm tighter, her heart jumping at a noise off in the woods – a signal that the scares are about to start. “You should let me do your makeup,” she continues to try and distract herself. “I think glam makeup would look amazing with your beard.”

“Sure,” she can feel his shoulder lift into a shrug, and that does make her lift her head up and look at him.

“You would? I thought you hated being on camera?”

He shrugs again, but whatever response he was going to give is cut off as an actor takes a running leap at the wagon, latching onto the side and pulling himself up, and the passenger nearest to him (right in front of Jon) screams. Sansa sucks in a breath and tries to calm her racing heart (and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Dacey with a camera pointed right at her and Jon, a smirk on her face).

She spends the rest of the ride (and all through the haunted corn maze), hanging onto Jon for dear life and she swears his calm presence is the only reason she survives.

(And when she finally gets home to her little apartment and gets into bed, she tries desperately not to think too hard about why that is. She tries not to analyze the safety she felt with him or the way her heart had been fluttering during the car ride home, sitting in Robb's back seat and staring at Jon's profile illuminated by moonlight in the front seat as he and Robb talked and joked around. She tries not to obsess about the way he'd told her to call him if she ever wanted him to be in one of her videos, tries not to read too much into the look Robb had given Jon when he said it.)

(She tells herself that the reason she can't sleep that night is because of the haunted house.)

(It's definitely not because of Jon.)

#ask #prompt fic #jonsa #jonsa fic #spooky season baby #we're starting early #though really #does spooky season ever end?

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

10 and Saeyoung if that's okay, thank you! 💕

Thank you for this request, darling anon! And I am so so sorry, but I have written a reset theory fic. I never do this! Really! But this prompt was screaming at me, and I just had to. If you don’t mind a bit of pain, I hope you enjoy this. It’s the good kind of pain, I promise. ♡

i can feel you even now

Saeyoung X Reader, T (cw: reset theory, angst), words: 2223

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

There is an indent in the pillow where you used to sleep, and he isn’t smoothing it out.

It has been eleven hours, forty-two minutes, and seventeen seconds since you were here—which means, Saeyoung thinks (drumming his fingers impatiently on his desk, averting his eyes from his work phone, which is buzzing insistently), that he may get to talk to you again very soon.

He doesn’t know for sure that you’ll be back tonight. But lately, you haven’t been waiting long.

He spins around aimlessly in his chair. Checks the clock. Eleven hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty seconds.

The first time you left him, you were gone for weeks, and he nearly gave up altogether. He ignored his agency; he spurned his friends. He stopped checked the messenger; he didn’t pick up his work phone. It was a miracle that he survived those few weeks—a miracle he opened the messenger when he did (feeling a tingling in his fingers that told him, inexplicably, that you had returned).

And when you didn’t remember him, he felt sick to his stomach. His head pounded; his vision went fuzzy, like he, too, was fading out of existence. But he held on, somehow, for you: went through the motions the way he always had, because he didn’t know what else to do. Because you’d want him to. Because he knew, somehow, that you would find your way back to him.

And you did. And it was different—and it was the same. You loved him every bit as fiercely as before, though the way you told him was different, and though your eyes were softer. Almost as if you knew that you had been here before.

And the more he looked at you, the hazier his memories became—till he wasn’t even sure what was past or present; till he could no longer remember how you had been before you had left him for the first time.

It all come rushing back when you disappeared again. You left—you returned. You left again. You came back.

He never got used to it. But he knows, now, what to expect.

He knows what time of day you usually slip back into his world—unnoticed, unseen, a tiny blip in the fabric that holds the universes together. He knows how you will behave when you want him—knows what you will say when you don’t. You don’t always choose him—and when you don’t, his heart arches like it has been submerged in a noxious liquid: burning, melting.

But most of the time, you choose him.

Most of the time, you make your wandering way back to him—different and the same, nostalgic and new—and his photographic memory can’t manage it, somehow, and all the moments of your past and present and tenuous future blur together into a mess of touches and delight, terror and devotion.

He tucks his legs up into his chair: a physical manifestation of the anxiety knotting in his chest. He looks at his phone.

Eleven hours, forty-six minutes, and twelve seconds.

You were with him longer, this time, than ever before.

He doesn’t check if the pictures of you are still saved on his phone. He knows they are gone—they always are.

But he doesn’t need them: your face is fixed in his mind like it has been carved by a hot knife into smoldering metal. He closes his eyes, his head pounding, and can see the shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. He can see your jaw when it is lit by sparkling sun, as you sit in the passenger seat of his car; he can see the way your shoulders shake when he makes you laugh. He almost believes that if he stretches out his weary hand, he will touch your arm: find it soft and warm; feel your hands curling around his, the way they always do. He can hear the way you breathe when you’re sleeping; he can hear you calling his name.

Who is he, he thinks, without you?

With you, he is Saeyoung, and Saeyoung is someone who is soft and scarred and shifting. And loved; Saeyoung is loved. But without you, he is only Seven, and Seven is no one at all.

Ah: he feels sick again.

His work phone buzzes itself off the desk, and he doesn’t bother to pick it up. He digs his palms into his closed eyes and sees shades of purple and red; his office is dark, because it’s late and he hasn’t turned on any lights.

When you are here, the house is always full of light. He laughed—just yesterday (a lifetime ago), telling you that you were going to run up his electricity bill. You had lights on in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, the bathroom—as though determined to flood his sad, underground home with brightness. You giggled and kissed the tip of his nose.

“You can afford it,” you told him.

You padded around his home barefoot. You left your socks everywhere—and you were so clean otherwise, but in this one way, you were messy (just like him).

“I like that it looks like I live here,” you told him once—not recently, but two returns ago. “It makes me happy to know I belong.”

His other phone lights up: the messenger. But it is not midnight yet, so he turns the phone over. It can’t be you. If you are coming at all, you won’t be here yet.

The gaps have gotten shorter lately. Sometimes you are gone for only a day or two; last time, it was just twelve hours.

But he doesn’t tell you.

He wants to—oh, how he wants to whisper yes, I know when you tell him you love him for what you think is the first time. But he can’t, because when you look at him like that he is incapacitated; but he can’t, because he fears that if you know the truth, you won’t ever come back.

Saeyoung doesn’t know if time itself is repeating, or if he alone is stuck—fated to loop forever and ever around the moment in his life that means the most. He doesn’t know where you go when you leave his side—doesn’t know if there is another life you’re returning to.

Take me with you, he thinks. I’ll live there too.

He flips his phone back over again to check the time.

Eleven hours, fifty-two minutes, and thirty-three seconds.

You left at exactly noon. He knew it was coming—had feared, for days, that it would happen at any moment. The world was letting him have this for too long, he thought—so many nights in a row with you in his arms.

He often wonders if the circling of time is divine punishment for the person he used to be. But with you, he is becoming someone else—a person you can be proud of.

But he understands that he doesn’t get forever with you.

He knew, earlier today, that the time was drawing near, and so he tried not to leave your side. He has never seen the way you leave: never understood if you walk out a door and faded away, or simply disappear right where you are standing. No matter how hard he looks, how closely he watches—it always happens when his back is turned.

This time, you left him for a moment only. You slept in that day; it was late morning, and he was in the kitchen watching you make coffee. He was smiling at the way your hair kept falling into your eyes.

“Be right back,” you said cheerily. You went to the pantry for the jar of unground coffee.

“I’ll come with you,” he started to say—but the words died on his lips as you turned the corner.

Oh, he thought. This is it.

You didn’t come back.

He waited—perched on the counter, frozen in place—until his legs cramped up and his head started to ache. At last, he checked the coffee maker: empty, though you’d filled the canister with water just before you left. He didn’t retrace your steps—didn’t go to the pantry to see the spot where you’d vanished.

He’d tried that before. It had been excruciating.

He gets up from his desk, now—walks aimlessly down the hall, returns to the bedroom. He turns on the light—winces as it burns his eyes.

And there is the indent in the pillow: just the shape of your head. The objects you leave behind disappear, but the marks you leave linger. And he made the bed that morning, before you left—but he didn’t smooth out your pillow. He never does.

Just in case.

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed—feeling, for some reason, that he shouldn’t wrinkle the sheets (though he doesn’t know quite why he bothers). Even if you return tonight—even if you return at all—it will be weeks before you are back in this house.

He tries to swallow, and finds it difficult.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep in this bed while you’re gone.

Often, after you’ve left, he sleeps at his desk—as he sometimes used to before you appeared in his life. Sometimes he sleeps in the living room, with all the lights on so he doesn’t have to see how dark it is in here, without the glowing stars he has on the ceiling of his bedroom. And sometimes he does come back to his bed: is thankful, at least, that no one can see him as he presses his face into the pillow that used to be yours and fights with his stinging eyes.

He paces the room. He feels something—not the emptiness he is used to, but something new. Like fire.

Ah—he knows this feeling. He is angry.

He hates the universe, he thinks, for cursing him the way it has—hates the other place you go, for taking you away from him. Hates you, for appearing in his life against all odds and putting the pieces of him together, then leaving him half-complete and longing to hold you.

No.

No—he doesn’t hate you. He hates the way his chest feels, like it’s caving in; hates the fear that claws at his stomach as he waits for you. But there is not one single thing about you that he doesn’t love.

You are good—too good, to care for someone like him. You are kind; you are forgiving. You are resilient.

You keep coming back.

Saeyoung flips the lights off, not allowing himself a last glance at the pillow. He makes his way back down the hall.

He steps on something.

And before he has stooped to pick it up, he knows—knows, in the part of his heart that always waits for your return; knows, in the tips of his fingers that remember how it feels to touch your cheek. His heart is in his throat.

He bends down. It is a sock.

Oh, and it’s a small sock, smaller than his—and it is short and brightly colored, and it has been left here all on its own, its partner discarded carelessly in another room.

Breathlessly, he says your name. The air seems to shimmer in the wake of his voice.

Because always, when you leave, the signs of you go too: the coffee maker is empty, the shoes are gone from the entryway, your clothes are no longer in his closet. The socks disappear from the halls.

Saeyoung is used to the way things are. But this—this is something new.

He stumbles mindlessly back to his office, the sock in his shaky hand. Breaking, he thinks wildly—shifting. Whatever strange twist of fate is taking you from him again and again is falling apart—or the walls between his world and yours are crumbling—or he misses you enough that you just can’t quite leave him behind.

It’s changing, he thinks—with a certainty he didn’t know he had.

He sinks into his chair. Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and seven seconds. His head is spinning. Something has shifted in the very fabric of the universe. Something is falling apart. Something is being born anew.

For the first time in eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and fifty-five seconds, he feels a tiny flickering in his chest: a little fluttery thing. Less familiar.

It’s hope.

He opens the messenger. There are five people logged in. He closes his eyes. He tries to breathe.

Three, two, one…

He opens his eyes.

Six: there are six people now.

His fingers shake as he pulls up the users on his computer: and there you are. Not here, beside him, but in this world—one step closer to falling right back into his arms.

His dark office feels brighter, all of a sudden. He whispers your name again: intones it, like a prayer, into the still air.

This time will be different, he thinks—not with his mind, but with his whole aching, beating, longing heart.

This time, I’m not letting you go.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta @hunterelys @pamakali @strwbryflvr @bootiful-face @mammonprotectionsquad @firelordtsuki @rebeckathefloof @stehkotori @what-imfabulous-acceptit @saphyhowl @ryuu-no-aneki @pinkdiamondsrose @wayward-bumblebee @otomaticallyobsessed @latte-delf @quirky-and-kind @starry-ash-606 @alicemc86 @taceticbitch @luxielle @agentmc606

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #707 #saeyoung x reader #707 x reader #gureishi writes requests #anon #after it all

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willwriteforhugs · 4 years

Text

it’s not okay- hwang hyunjin

boyfriend! hyunjin x reader- one shot !

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst, a little fluffy, full of hyunjin-is-overprotective-syndrome

synopsis: when a stranger on the street makes you uncomfortable with his romantic advances, it takes everything hyunjin has not to kill him right then and there.

warnings: instance of harassment, a *brief* physical altercation, arguing, some cursing

a/n: this fic was requested by a lovely anon! sorry about the wait- i hope you and everyone else enjoy this one. i definitely got carried away with this, but hopefully it’s still what was requested lol. also, if you all have any other requests, feel free to send them in. i like to know i’m writing what you all want to see.

one last thing: a quick disclaimer- all of the events in this story are fictional, and should be taken with a grain of salt. everything that happens here is just my own interpretation of the situation i was presented with. anyways, thank you sm for reading!

- - -

the streets around you bustle with noise. mothers calling for their wandering children, street vendors shouting out prices... the sheer volume of it almost overwhelms you. at your side, your right hand tightens around your boyfriend’s. the last thing you want is to lose him in the crowd... he gives you a gentle squeeze back. words weren’t exchanged, but you understand what he meant: it’s okay, i’m right here.

you really are not a fan of crowds- you never have been, but hyunnie loves the market- and you do too, when it isn’t this packed. but he’s been so busy lately, and the two of you hardly get to go on dates anymore... so when he’d proposed this as how he wanted to spend the afternoon, you couldn’t help but agree to it.

you glance up at him, thankful for the opportunity of distraction. you and hyunjin have been together for more than six months now- and god, you have never been more in love. you’d been in love before- or at least, you think you had. but being with hyunjin... it’s just not the same. the feelings you have for him are ten times the feelings you’d had for anyone back in high school. of course, maybe it’s just because he’s so damn beautiful...

today, for a simple market day, your counterpart is dressed casually. he’s in a plain hoodie and jeans, with his shoulder length hair tucked into a beanie. his face is bare, and you can’t help but smile just by looking at him.

your boyfriend smiles back, looking slightly baffled. “is there something on my face?”

you snort and shake your head. “i can’t just look at you?”

he narrows his eyes playfully. “absolutely not. it makes me suspicious.”

you roll your eyes. “you spend too much time with the boys. i’m not gonna flick you, you know.” you pause. “or shove tissues in your mouth.”

at this, hyunjin huffs a laugh. “alright, that one’s true.”

hyunjin then leads you into a left turn, heading towards a vendor selling fresh hotteok. you follow willingly, realizing that you are indeed a bit hungry. as always, he knew exactly what you needed before even you did.

as your boyfriend places an order, you wander a few feet, wanting to glance into the stall next to you. in order to do so, you have to slip behind the first stall, into a small alleyway that borders the back part of the vendor lines. you peer over into the stall you were looking for. they’re selling handmade dishes- and from what you can see as you strain you neck over the stall, they’re absolutely gorgeous. dainty tea sets made of impossibly thin porcelain line the tables. the intricate floral designs catch your eye, and you know hyunjin would love to look at them. you turn quickly, mouth already forming his name.

“hyunjin-ah, i- oh!” you interrupt yourself with your surprise. in your rush, you’d turned around and run right into another person. your face floods with heat, and if you could, you would have shriveled up and died right there.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble, bowing frantically. you eyes burn holes into the ground. “i wasn’t paying attention.”

“it’s fine, really.” a masculine voice replies.

you look up, shocked to see that the person you’d run into is a man, and he looks to be around your age. “oh. okay.”

the man is tall- taller than hyunjin, even. he’s got an angry look to him, and you take a step back. but he just smirks. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

he leans against the wall, crossing his arms together. you watch as his eyes rake over you and your body, and you shrink away.

you press your lips together, and the anxiety from before begins to claw it’s way back into your mind. “it’s fine, seriously.” your breathing is uneven, and you desperately want to get back to hyunjin. “but i kinda have to go...”

the man, who is blocking your way, doesn’t budge. “so soon? why don’t you stay and talk with me? you’re so cute, i just gotta get your number, babe.”

your body jerks in reaction to the pet name. who the hell is he calling baby?

you inhale sharply. “please- can i just get by? i’m really alright.”

the stranger takes a step towards you. “come on, why are you so shy? it’s harmless flirting, love...” he reaches out and takes a hold of your wrist. your facade crumbles, and your vision begins to close. you become hyper-aware of how alone you are back in this alleyway. you quickly jerk your hand back, and he relents, freeing your hand. “so jumpy! why? how about we go get a coffee? i know a place, it’s just ten booths-”

“who the hell are you?”

the voice is sharp and temperamental, and beautifully familiar. you hear yourself breathe a sigh of relief. hyunjin's here. thank god.

your boyfriend is now standing a few feet away, sporting an expression of anger and wariness. his eyes flit to the man, then to you. though he doesn’t say it, you can practically hear his voice, asking if you’re okay.

the strange man- who is still standing far too close- speaks up, voice brimming with cockiness. “why do you care?”

you physically cringe at those words. good luck with that one, dude. you just threw gasoline on an open flame.

“get the fuck away from my girlfriend.” hyunjn’s voice is low, but the impact of the words is louder than bombs. his face has gone from wary to furious. “don’t make me say it again.”

the creep takes a step away from you, moving towards hyunjin. “why are you so pissy, pretty boy? got that much to lose?”

you can see the clockwork in your boyfriend’s mind turning. calculating the outcomes.

before anyone can move to stop you, you dart across the apparent no-man’s-land, coming to a stop at hyunjin’s left shoulder. you reach out and rest a hand on it, hoping the action conveys your feelings. when he doesn’t respond, you lean forward and hurriedly whisper in his ear; “please, hyunjin-ah. i’m alright. let’s just go.”

the boy brushes your hand away, and maintains his silence.

“hyunjin.” you say, louder this time. “it’s okay.”

this time, his narrowed eyes flash. “what-no! it’s not okay!” he swivels to face you. “what about that was okay?!”

your chest clenches, and your hand slips forward to clutch at his shirt. your voice comes out cracked. “please, let’s just go.”

the stranger watches the whole interaction with an amused smile on his lips, and the looks sends chills up your spine.

after a moment, hyunjin takes a deep breath and raises his chin. “you’re right, y/n-ah, i’m sorry. let’s just go, my love.”

as the two of you turn to go, the stranger shouts at hyunjin’s retreating back. “where are you going? i didn’t even get your bitch’s number!”

your skin goes cold, and you can feel your boyfriend turn to stone next to you. you inhale, reaching out to stop what you know is inevitable.

hyunjin makes a slow turn on his heel. his gaze is icy, and his tone is even colder.��“what the hell did you just say?”

the other man scoffs, and it randomly occurs to you that he might be drunk. or, you think; maybe he’s just a pervert, y/n.

“i said, i didn’t get your bitch’s phone number.”

hyunjin is silent and frozen for a moment. then, with no preamble, he lunges forward.

“hyunjin!” you yelp. but you know- you know there’s no stopping what’s next.

his punch hits the man square in the jaw, and his opponent goes stumbling. you lurch forward, terrified of this escalating.

without looking, hyunjin catches you with his arm and gently shoves you back.

he refocuses on the man on the ground, who is struggling to get up. when he gets close, hyunjin pushes him back down. you watch as he comes to a crouch in front of the fallen man. he hisses his words through his teeth: “don’t you ever say that shit. calling my girlfriend a bitch... unless you want to get your poor fucking ass handed to you, you never say shit like that again.”

your mouth hangs open in shock, and you stumble forward again, pulling your boyfriend away before he does something he regrets. you drag him back through the booths, and you emerge back at the front of the hotteok stand.

as soon as the connection breaks, hyunjin’s anger disappears, and he looks almost surprised. he reaches over and grasps your hand. “y/n- are you alright?”

you sigh, and even as your eyes sting slightly, you nod your head. the creepy man hadn’t followed the two of you, but you still feel the need to run. you release a shaky breath.

hyunjin leans down and plants a light but lingering kiss of your forehead. when he pulls away, he sighs against your hair. “i’m sorry,” he whispers.

“for what?” you prompt, whispering back.

“for getting carried away. i...i didn’t mean to.”

“it’s okay. i know.” you lean away to meet his eyes. “besides, he was scaring me. so... thank you.”

he offers a bittersweet smile. “okay, baby...” he pauses for a second. “let’s go home?”

you allow a real smile and nod. “yeah. i’d like that.” you pause, deciding to tease him a little. “will you promise to stay and cuddle?”

at this, your lover’s moment of melancholy breaks too. “yes..” he fakes a groan. “if i have to...”

you reach down to hold his hand as the two of you begin walking, initial plans long forgotten. you begin to bicker back. “oh, please. you really act like you don’t enjoy skinship with me.”

he pauses. “how do you know it’s not just to get in your pants?”

you gasp and smack his arm. “don’t say that! i’ll never sleep with you again if you say shit like that!”

hyunjin laughs, and his real, genuine smile warms your heart. “well then i guess i’ll stop. but only because of that threat.”

“oh, really?” you raise your eyebrows.

he gives up immediately, his forehead crinkling slightly. “no. i love you, y/n. i really do. and i promise i will give you all the snuggles when we get back.”

you nod, then lean your head on his arm, inhaling his scent. you’ve never been more grateful for him.

the two of you continue walking, hand in hand. it isn’t for another few minutes that he finally breaks the silence. “so- what do you want for dinner?”

the two of you burst into laughter when you realize you’d never even gotten your hotteok.

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sylvies-chen · 3 years

Note

Fic request. I have two.

15 for Upstead and 29 for Burzek.

Thank you! :)

Hi anon, tysm for the request! These are going to be more than 100 words (I know some people are very strict on what a drabble is but consider these short oneshots instead). I’ll post both of them under the cut!

Also, here’s the PROMPT LIST in case you want to spend more!

15. “When I’m with you, I’m home.” (Upstead)

“So your apartment’s getting fumigated again?”

Hailey nods.

It should be normal for Hailey to stay over at Jay’s, especially since her apartment’s been sprayed for termites so many times. Month five of the pandemic isn’t exactly making people eager to invite her into their homes so when Jay offered to let her crash with him, it seemed like the logical move. Intelligence can quarantine together, after all, and she’s only been back from New York for a couple of months so staying with him feels like making up for lost time. That is, until she gets to his apartment the first night and all of her complicated little emotions kick in.

“Ugh, yeah. This is the third time in two years. You know, the building I stayed in back in New York wasn’t fumigated the entire time I was there. My landlord’s becoming more trouble than he’s worth, maybe I should just move,” she grumbles while spreading sheets over his sofa (she’d chosen the couch since she’s shorter, and frankly, sleeping in his bed is too tempting to agree to).

“What, are you missing the hosh-posh NYC hotels?”

“Maybe a little,” she admits with a grin.

“Well if you move to New York for the fancy hotels then I’d have to go too, and that’s something I’d really rather not do.”

“You would?” A small lump catches in her throat and she stops fussing with the sheets instantly. His eyes are already on her when she looks up. They’re nervous but intense. Oh god, she

“Yeah,” Jay replies, his voice raspy and bashful. He nervously fluffs the pillow on the couch but then moves closer to her. She can see him swallow hard, his eyes never leaving her. She moves to plug in her phone in the charger next to him, but he doesn’t move out of the way for her and it just makes things even more tense. There’s so little space between them right now. It’s not professional. Why does she love it so much? “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

“I...” Her eyes go wide at his word, her breathing becoming naturally heavier. His lips part only slightly when she doesn't break her gaze.

Her heart melts. Hailey is his partner, friend, maybe even something else. But now she’s... his home?

“I- I just mean,” he continues before she can speak, clearing his throat awkwardly, “we’re partners. I’m going where you’re going, remember?”

She wants to say that his words back then were under a completely different context. Following someone to a new unit is one thing, but following them to a whole different city is a new level of personal. She also wants to tell him that she’s home when she’s with him too— more so than any home she’s ever lived in (even with her own family). But that’s a whole other conversation. It’s a wall crumbling, a damn breaking, a reason to finally let him make her happy. And she isn’t sure if she’s ready for that yet.

“Yeah,” she settles on as her response, softly squeezing onto the pillow in her hands. “I remember.”

Hailey doesn’t get an ounce of shuteye that night. Her mind wanders, replays those words over in her head, and wonders if maybe, just maybe, Jay's sitting in his bed doing the same thing.

29. “It’s okay to cry.” (Burzek)

Kim wakes up in the hospital and the fluorescent lights are blinding.

It’s the first thing she notices when her eyes open. That, combined with the noises, makes her head pound and the bullet wounds in her stomach sear with blazing agony. The second thing she notices is the warm hand squeezing hers. It takes all of her might to turn her head but when she does, the hand holding hers belong to none other than Adam Ruzek.

Because of course it’s Adam. Because it’s always Adam.

“Hey,” he whispers, sitting upright and leaning over.

Kim opens her mouth to speak to him but nothing comes out at first. It’s the first time she realizes how dry her throat is. God, everything in her body hurts like hell. “Hi,” she manages to sputter out, her voice hoarse and quiet like Makayla’s when she came down with the flu.

Wait. Makayla. She has a daughter. Where’s her daughter? “Makayla,” she sputters. “Where is she?”

“Don’t worry, she’s at school. She made me promise to pick her up after so you’ll see us again in the afternoon.”

Kim smiles faintly, envisioning Makayla’s excited and impatient face as she waits for the school day to end.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” she mutters teasingly, holding her side in pain as soon as she laughs. “It’s like the world’s worst hangover except, you know... I got shot.”

Adam tries to laugh but it fades quickly. His grip tightens on her hand, and his other hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before caressing her cheek gently.

“Walton...” Kim asks.

“I don’t know,” he admits to her, hanging his head. “Voight and Hailey went to chase leads while I stayed with Makayla, and then.... I don’t know.”

Her eye catches his. She sees it all on his face: his tightened lips, his steady hands, his tender eyes. There’s something so soothing about him; there always has been. It’s a calmness, a steady but reassuring force that makes her want to completely crumble. She feels the tears well in her eyes.

“It’s okay to cry,” he tells her softly. “You know that, right?”

And in one fowl swoop, the damn breaks.

In one fleeting moment, everything she’s been feeling about what she went through comes flooding in through torrential sobs and hiccups.

As always, Adam’s there to hold her.

“Hey, shhh. It’s okay. I’m here.” He presses his forehead to her. It’s soft, but there are tears of his own coming down too.

It’s painful; it’s beautiful. And for one moment, she swears she never wants to be without him again.

#abby writes #gilbxrt-blythe writes #this took me longer than planned because I accidentally deleted the Upstead prompt while trying to transfer it onto here #I’m so D U M B #these will not be drabbles #I can’t do <100 words I JUST CAN’T #upstead #burzek #drabble prompts #fanfic prompts

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101flavoursofweird · 3 years

Text

Fic Questionnaire

Thanks for @sixtyfourk for tagging me! I’m putting the questions under a cut because it’s quite long :’)

I’ll tag @northernscruffycat, @northelypark, @edward-elbowlick, @vermontwrites, @asa-liz, @yoshi-g-teh-first, @call-me-rucy, and @aquamarineglow but if there’s anyone else who wants to do this, please go ahead!

How many works do you have on AO3?

107… but a lot of these are just reposts or prompt-inspired fics that are 10 lines long!

What's your total AO3 word count?

378242 words

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Professor Layton, PLvsAA, Layton Brothers Mystery Room, Rhythm Thief, Voltron: Legendary Defender (I only watched the first two seasons, haha…), The Ancient Magus Bride (I was in it for the cute dragon mage— not for the main romance), Steven Universe, Ace Attorney (only as a part of PLvsAA), Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, My Hero Academia

…10 fandoms altogether, but some like PLvsAA and LBMR fall under the PL category.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Aizawa Doesn’t Give Hugs - MHA- 1111 kudos - (Why can’t I update my most popular fic?)

Fireflies - Steven Universe - 221 kudos - (Again, WHY DID I NEVER UPDATE THIS?)

Reset - PL - 134 kudos - (This is the one I feel the worst about because it’s an ongoing long fic for my main fandom and I’ve had so much support from readers but I just can’t find the strength to update it…)

Worth Fighting For - PL - 86 kudos - (My incomplete Whumptober fic!)

Mending - Voltron - 85 kudos - (I think this was one of the first fics I posted on AO3 and I was really happy about the response it got! And for a fandom I’d never written for before!)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I usually respond to comments pretty quickly because I want to show my appreciation for people who take the time to comment :) If I’m ever slow to respond it’s probably just because I’m busy or I’m trying to formulate a long response. If a person leaves a longer comment, I try to make my response longer!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

That’s probably ‘To Boldly Flee’. It’s a fic I originally posted on FF.net but it’s now part of an Aurora & Luke oneshot series called ‘Looking Foward’ on AO3. The fic stars Aurora and Luke in an AU set during Azran Legacy. It diverges from canon after Descole steals the Azran keystone in the Nest. Aurora doesn’t want to go to the Azran sanctuary and face her ‘duty’ as the Azran emissary— she also doesn’t want to get STABBED IN THE HEART— so she decides to run away with Luke.

Aurora receives even more angst in this AU than in canon. After Descole’s betrayal, she starts to doubt herself and her friends, aside from Luke.

With a bit of help from Rook and Bishop, the two of them fly to London and then to Misthallery when they hear Targent have taken over the town. During this time, Aurora has her identity crisis about being a golem and having the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. She eventually decides to help Luke save his hometown because Luke is worth the world to her.

This all culminates with Luke getting fatally(?) wounded and taken to the Golden Garden. Aurora is so distraught by this point that she almost ‘floods the whole world’ in a kind of failsafe doomsday device the Azran may have implanted in her. Luckily, Descole and Layton show up to assure her that Luke is alive— but just barely. Aurora returns to her normal self and they get Luke to hospital. Aurora waits by Luke’s bedside for him to wake up. Aurora mentions that Emmy’s fate is unknown, but they still mourn for her.

In the original FF.net ending, Luke wakes up.

In the AO3 ending, Aurora just keeps waiting for Luke. ‘She could not age, so she would wait until he awoke. Even if it took forever...’

If I ever did write more of this story, Aurora and Co would probably go to the other Azran sites (Ambrosia, the Infinite Vault of etc) to search for a cure for Luke. But at it is, the fic is left open-ended as to whether Luke ever recovers.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really hate but there was one anon review that may have been ‘too brutal’ (their words). I can’t say it hasn’t affected the updates on that particular fic.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I wrote a couple of light smut fics back when I really shipped Layton/Emmy. I think I’d cringe if I went back to read those fics (but then again, I do that with a lot of my old writing). I can’t see myself writing smut now.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I can’t say I’ve had a fic stolen, but I was reading a fic a while ago and the wording was veeery familiar. I’m not sure why because the fic was already good up to that point? Why would they bother copying my writing? XD I can’t complain, though! We’re all technically stealing the original creator’s characters and concepts by writing fanfic.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, for my Rhythm Thief AU, Déjà Vergier! In this AU, 16-year-old Raphael gets taken in by the Vergier family. A Deviantart user called BakApple kindly translated my writing into French. With the help of Google Trabslate, I started translating their French Rhythm Thief fic— ‘July the Fourteenth’— into English, but I didn’t get around to finishing it. My translating skills are nowhere near as good as BakApple’s!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I wrote a PL fic with called ‘If You Only Had Time’ with an awesome writer called Glowbug. It’s an AU (of course) where Rachel Bronev survives and she runs away from Targent with eight-year-old Emmy. Glowbug doesn’t seem to be active online anymore, which is a shame, but I don’t mind! I’m just glad we were able to write 6 chapters.

I don’t think I’d co-write any more fics now… but more for the co-writer’s sake than mine! I’m notoriously bad at updating long fics and I struggle to write under pressure or within a time limit. There’s a reason why I don’t enter Big Bang events, as much as I’d like too :’)

Writing fics is a hobby first and foremost. If I don’t feel like writing something, I’ll leave it and come back later, hopefully with renewed inspiration.

But I’m always happy to discuss fic outlines/ideas/characters’ with other people!

What's your all time favorite ship?

Apparently the ship I’ve written the most fics for is Janice/Melina on AO3?

There seems to be more content for them recently and that makes me SO HAPPY.

Ranhengela might be a close second favourite… Sometimes I literally forget both of these ships aren’t canon.

My favourite characters tend to be those who are so selfless and would sacrifice their lives for the ones they love— e.g. Janice and Henry— even if their significant other is presumed to be dead. I want these characters to be happy but I also want them to through ANGST.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don’t want to say Reset… but maybe Reset? I haven’t given up completely but I’ve lost a lot of confidence with this fic. What I wanted most out of this story was for Luke to bond with other characters aside from Layton— his parents, Arianna, Emmy, Flora etc.— and to give these characters a chance to shine. But I guess I realised I can do this without all the crazy plot twists and time travel mechanics… like in Ready Now, for example. Most of that fic is just Arianna bonding with Luke, Layton and the others, and it’s hopefully giving Flora her chance to shine too! I guess after giving Arianna her own chapter in Reset I just really wanted to write about her, haha.

What are your writing strengths?

Someone mentioned in a nice review that I often fuse canon with fanon? That’s usually just me poking fun at the series— like when Arianna’s mother asks about Flora’s age and her adoption status, Arianna and Tony just shrug at her comedically. Who knows, really? :’)

I’ll often just make two character sit in a room TALK about their feelings.

Dialogue is an easy one, but I like writing dialogue for characters and getting their voices down. (I will forever portray Dalston with his official Yorkshire accent— not the fake posh accent they gave him the the US version of Miracle Mask.)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it’s cool! …If it’s not used to mock another language— apart from English. Please make all the English jokes you want. I’ll probably agree with you and laugh at them.

I remember when I was re-reading Goblet of Fire and I cringed every time J. K. Rowling wrote about a character who wasn’t English.

I’ll occasionally throw French words or sayings into Rhythm Thief fics especially because that’s what they do in the game. It’s hilarious how Charlie has an English accent but then she’ll sprout a random French phrase.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Pokemon, but that short oneshot is long gone.

What's your favorite fic you've ever written?

I’m going to be boring and say Bonds Left Unbroken— an AU where Layton and Desmond both get adopted by the Laytons. I think I enjoyed the earlier chapters more, focussing on younger Desmond and Hershel, and especially their time in Stansbury. The later chapters don’t really branch out from canon that much, aside from the fact that Hershel and Desmond are on the same page during Azran Legacy.

I feel bad that I never got around to finishing the ‘bonus’ episodes, but it kind of just felt like the original series with Desmond phoned in :’) But I’m still proud of the original fic!

#Fanfic #answers #long post #my writing #my fics #thanks #TW: JK Rowling mention #Tagging just in case!#Bonds Left Unbroken #Reset #Ready Now #Aizawa Doesn’t Give Hugs #Looking Forward #Deja Vergier

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Note

Do you think you might ever follow up that forking paths fic chapter where the two jons talk? Like after our jon leaves, id love to hear your take on how younger jon reacts when martin gets back from (what he now knows, thanks to our jon explaining) that trip to visit his mom. How do you think that jon goes about approaching martin, bc its def clear that our jons words really stick with him

Anon, I loved your prompt, and I’ve thought about it often.

No CWs apply. Set in an alternative series 2, pre JonMartin

This is related to a time-travel AU where both the ‘original universe’ Jon and Martin have visited alternative versions of the archives. There’s no major spoilers for that story, although if you’d like to have a read, it’s here. :)

Coat slumped onto its hanger by the front door. Keys jangling in a lumpen heap. He checks, then double checks the bolt lock, the latch, the door chain, and then toes a door wedge harshly in place for good measure.

Martin puts down his overnight bag, fat with clothes that need going in the wash.

A signal failure at Yeovil Junction, stretching a three-and-a-half-hour journey back from Devon by over an hour. There had been a motley gaggle of the rowdy and the drunk on the Victoria line, and they’d squawked and cheered at the inanity of nothing, their laughing getting louder. He had avoided eye contact, felt his headache building.

Back in his flat, he takes two paracetamol and sits down, feeling like the final pieces of a cliff-face, falling seaward.

A breath out. A breath in.

Sleep is slow to come, and he wakes more than once. Eventually, he just waits for his alarm to go off.

He can’t find an ironed shirt, so he wears a jacket to cover up the worst of the crinkles. He’s on time, but he still frets as he stands, compressed by strangers on the Tube.

The main office area is quiet when he comes in. Martin clicks on the light switch, with a heavy feeling of experiencing the entire weight of the upcoming week at once, then goes into the small staff room to make himself a tea.

Jon’s there when he gets back. Stood by his desk.

“Oh! Hi,” Martin says. The tea sloshes ominously as he jumps, but it doesn’t spill. “Didn’t - didn’t see you there.”

“Martin!” Jon says. Looking and sounding, rather unusually, like he’s slept more than his rationing of three or four hours nightly. “You’re – you’re back. Good. That’s. That’s good.”

“Oh. Er. Yeah.” Martin puts his tea down on a coaster. Jon skitters back to give him space but he’s still close. The bags under his eyes lighter. “Back to the old, er, grindstone, I guess.”

Martin trails off weakly. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Jon’s company, but it’s early, and Martin hasn’t stored up reserves to be his friendliest just yet, nor to navigate whatever mood Jon might have been stewing in. He’s half waiting for Jon to just tell him what work he wants him to be getting on with.

He wonders where Tim and Sasha are.

Jon, no better word for it, lingers. Weight shifted from one foot to another. He looks over Martin intently, and Martin’s face heats to think of what he probably sees; un-ironed shirt, scruffy shoes. He shaved this morning in a rush, and he’s likely missed a few bristles under his throat, down his jawline.

“How… How was your trip?”

“Um. Yeah. Ok,” Martin lies. “You know. Nice to get a few days away.”

Jon hums, opens his mouth to say something, and then shuts it. Then: “I’m… I’m going to Costas.”

“Oh. Ok. That’s fine.”

“Would you like anything?”

Martin’s small smile bursts onto his face like breaking the surface of a wave, and he’s surprised, by how touched he feels at Jon’s gesture.

Jon reflects his expression for a moment with a similar smile, before it’s quickly schooled into blankness.

“No. But thanks, Jon.”

“Ok.”

Jon makes no move to leave.

“Come with me?” he asks. He’s fiddling with his shirt cuffs, the ring on his finger. “It’s not far, and… I would like you to. If you, er. If you want to.”

Martin nods, and doesn’t understand the relief on Jon’s face.

Jon’s pace is clipped, brisk with speed, and Martin hurries after him, feeling a little bit like a satellite orbiting a force of gravity. By the time they get to the café, it’s the dregs of the morning rush in a small queue that trails limply from the counter around past the coolers stocking juices and sandwiches. Martin offers to get them a table, but Jon makes some flat-footed excuse about needing help to carry the tray while he pretends to peer at the overhead menus with far greater attention than they necessarily deserve. So, Martin waits with him. Listening to the whistling rush of the steamer and the juddering grind of the large silver coffee machine behind the counter. One of the baristas shouts to get the attention of a customer wearing headphones.

Jon won’t hear a word for Martin paying, waving him off impatiently in a distracted, short way that is followed up by a pause, and then a deliberately politer comment about how Martin can get the next one. It’s such a seesaw of tones that Martin’s left a little at sea by it all. Mumbling a thank you, jumbled and lost with the way this morning is going, the buoy lines and anchor points shifted since he went away.

Jon’s face reads similar.

They sit down at a four-seater table, Martin insisting on being allowed to carry the tray, if only to give himself something to do. Jon makes a protracted faff of adding sugar to his tea, drip-feeding it milk until it reaches an acceptable shade while Martin’s fingertips prickle with heat as his hands make flood barriers around his own cup.

“What’s this about, Jon?” he finds it within himself to eventually blurt out.

Jon looks up from his cup. Glances away almost as fast. He manages to balance a fine line between guilty and defiant with only the set of his jaw.

Ah. It’s going to be one of those talks then.

Some sheltered, tentatively uncrumpling part of Martin had hoped that they were past this.

He might as well jump straight to it.

“If this is your idea of some… I dunno, public place where you feel you can accuse me of being a murderer again – ”

“What?! It’s – ”

“ – I know you’re going through a lot, I get it, I do, a-a-and I am trying to understand – ”

“It’s not – ”

“ – I-I thought we were past this, I thought you trusted me, at least not to murder you in your sleep, for God’s sake – ”

“I… It’s not, Martin.” Jon’s hands are held up, palms outwards. “I promise. I. I trust you. It’s not about anything like that.”

Martin’s hands unclench slightly from around his teacup. Jon’s expression bares the singular marks of a man struggling between emotion and ingrained habit.

Finally, nearly glowering, he stares into his own tea, rather than at Martin.

“Tim and Sasha will be here soon. I’ve texted them, told them to come here, not into the Archives.”

“What, why…?”

“There is every chance we may be overheard there, and – ”

“Not this again – ”

“Martin.” There is nothing harsh in Jon’s rebuke, for all it is phrased as a curt interruption. He huffs an irritated breath and meets Martin’s eye almost defiantly. It loosens into regret. “I know that I have… have not exactly given you much reason to take me on faith. And my behaviour these past… I suspect I owe you my apologies for a multitude of minor indignities that you have neither warranted nor deserved, and I am sure that if we had more time, we could both sit here listening my faults and failings to our mutual satisfaction. But the fact is that we don’t have time, and at the moment, my request for your patience and attention is far more important than my desire for your forgiveness.”

Jon’s sincerity is straight-forward, clean-edged.

“Tell me then,” Martin replies.

“Something happened, while you were visiting your mum.”

“How did you know I was – ?” Martin starts, but Jon waves a restless hand as though eager to move on to other matters, to which Martin’s temper rises because oh no you don’t, and he snaps: “Have you been following me?”

It was clearly not what Jon was expecting him to say. His face, scrunched up with impatience, slackens into a mild panic.

“No!” he says. “No, I. I haven’t. I swear, Martin, I haven’t.”

“Then how do you know about my mum?”

“I can explain, a-and I will. But let me finish, please?”

Martin nods. It is not fear that is starting to itch under his jacket, but it bears a family resemblance.

“We had a visitor,” Jon says. From his coat pocket, he pulls out two cassette tapes, like the ones they use for the difficult statements. “Two, actually. While you were away. We can listen to them both, later… and you should. You have a right to. They’re about you, a-and me – um, us. Tim and Sasha were here when the – er, the statement givers delivered them, and I’ve already filled them in on the supplementary information that we didn’t get on tape. I haven’t… I’m not asking you to trust me, or even believe me straight away, but there’s… Martin, there’s something dangerous at the Institute. Something that means all of us harm, and these tapes – ” He taps on them with a nail. “ – they’re a warning. About what our future might entail. And I… I firmly believe that together, all of us, we can stop it.”

Jon winds down like an exhausted clock, and he slumps, his gaze dragged away from Martin’s as though he’s suddenly embarrassed by his outburst.

Martin lets out a long, billowing sigh.

“OK,” he says.

Jon looks up.

“Ok?”

“I don’t – I don’t even begin to understand what’s going on here. But I believe you. Though God knows why.”

Almost furtively, Jon’s face fractures into one of those small, surface-breaking smiles again.

“Thank you, Martin. I – I appreciate that.”

Martin’s blood vessels at that moment traitorously decide to flush his face with heat. He clears his throat.

“Right,” he says. “Right, so, these are the – the warnings, yeah?”

“I’ve brought headphones if you want to listen.”

“Which one should I…” Martin begins, but his voice sputters silent in his throat as he reads the labelling down the sides, printed in Jon’s aggressively neat hand.

Case #0160920: Statement of Martin Blackwood, for the attention of Jonathan Sims. Case #0160921: Statement of Jonathan Sims, for one Martin Blackwood.

“I didn’t record any – ”

“No. You didn’t.” Jon’s expression is steady if wary. “And neither did I.”

“S-so this statement here, that’s – that’s – and that means that your one there, that’s – ”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.”

He meets Jon’s eyes. Lets out another, decidedly less steady breath.

Jon promised to explain. Jon promised answers.

And Martin can trust that right now. It’s easier, somehow, with Jon looking at him like he won’t let him get lost.

“This one first?” he says, pointing at the tape that another Martin Blackwood has made.

Jon nods, and passes Martin the headphones.

And in a coffee shop on the Southbank, Jon’s gaze not breaking from him, Martin listens to the story of how the world ends.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #no cws apply

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onlyfortheplot · 4 years

Text

○○o☆○o。𝔸𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕣。o○☆○oo

Would you do a Akaashi Keiji fic with the “I love you” prompt of quietly picks out the things you don’t like to eat on your plate and transfer it to theirs without you needing to ask them to?- Anon

Pairing: Keiji Akaashi x Fem!Reader! Warning: Implied NSFW in the beginning A/N: This started off with a singular prompt and turned into a 1505 word fic??? Like okay, the mind will want what it wants. Anyway, anon, thank you for the prompt. It was fun to write! Asks are OPEN! Also I’m thinking about a Kageyama x Assassin!Reader AU next???

“Keiji, do we have to go?” you gave him a pout as you leaned against the doorway, watching as your boyfriend fumbled with his tie. Cute , you thought, watching your usually serene, perfect boyfriend struggle with something so simple. You smirked slightly, walking over and removing his fingers from the very messed up tie.

“Stupid, tie.” he muttered, as you skillfully removed the couple knots that Akaashi had managed to create.

“But, really,” you asked, slowly taking out the very last knot, “”do we have to go?” He sighed, taking your hands into his, kissing the inner palms.

“It's a reunion, honey, we can’t not go.” kissing each finger as he looked down at your blushing face. He smiled slightly taking the tip of your pointer finger into his mouth, the tingling sensation rolling through your body, as his tongue flicked over it. You let out a small, breathy moan.

“If you’re good, babygirl, I’ll reward you.” You blushed harder, jerking your hand from him and wiping the bit of spit that was strung on it. “I promise.”

“Or,” you smirked, batting your lashes as you continued to fix his tie, “you can reward me right now?”

He let out a low laugh, saying a small thank you as you patted the finished tie. He looked back into the mirror behind you, gripping your waist and bringing it into his side.You sighed, leaning into him, as you both stared.

It was going to be his very first reunion with his friends from high school. You were slightly nervous about it. It would also be your first time formally meeting them. You weren’t close, at least not very close, with most of the volleyball team, only knowing a few things. Their ace and captain was someone who kept Akaashi on his toes. And that he was a very, very good spiker. You fiddled with the edges of your knee-length dress. You really didn’t know what to expect. Even Akaashi— someone was usually so calm, even about the more stressful things— was nervous. And it showed. His hand gripped your waist harder as he stared into the mirror. And you could hear his heartbeat quicken, slightly, as you leaned more into his chest, taking in a long breath of his scent.

“Baby,” you whispered, looking towards him, “let’s have a good time, okay?”

He let a small smile, removing his hands from your waist and instead placing them on your hips, giving a squeeze as he gestured for you to leave the room.

“Let’s.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Agashiiiii!” You flinched as a loud voice erupted from the otherwise quiet restaurant. You instantly clutched Akaashi’s hand. He looked down and gave a small squeeze of affection. He looked back as a very tall man, ran towards them, a large bottle of champagne in one hand and a single flower in the other. He stopped, abruptly in front of you, exceedingly clutching you both in a tight hug. You blushed slightly, feeling the foreign feeling of muscles squeezing your neck.

“Hello, Bokuto-san.” your boyfriend replied calmly, but you could tell how happy he was to see his best friend. You could see the forced restraint in his eyes, as it glimmered with a rare sense of utmost happiness and pride.

“Hey, Hey HEY!!” he pointed at you with the bottle, “You must be girlfriend-chan.”

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” you bowed slightly, “it is very nice to meet you.”

“No need, for formalities, Y/N-chan, you’re dating our setter after-all.” he grinned, shoving the flower in front of you, “For you, madam.” You giggled as he gave a mock bow, his hair tickling the edge of your nose.

“Why, what a gentleman.” He grinned, motioning for both of them to follow. Akaashi squeezed your arm, hard enough that you looked up. He merely looked forward, pulling you to his side, placing a hand around your waist.

“Keiji?” you silently grinned to yourself as he ignored you, following the captain instead. But, it was evident what was wrong. He was jealous. Or at least irritated enough that he squeezed your waist sharply. You giggled. How cute.

“Your seat, Madam.” Bokuto pulled out a chair, earning a stern glare from Akaashi. His eyes were cold, almost still, as he kept eye contact with him, clenching the chair from his grasp, and pulled it out himself.

“Keiji, it's just a chair.” she scolded, giving Bokuto a sympathetic glance. Overprotective men. Pulling out the chair yourself and sitting down.

“Where are the others?” Akaashi asked as he joined you, grasping your hand under the table. Bokuto laughed nervously, rubbing his neck, sitting parallel to them.

“Well, Konoha got stuck in work, so he’ll be here later. But, the others,” Bokuto paused, his grin falling as sadness conformed in his features. “They-they...”

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, half-knowing what was going to happen. He clenched your hand harder.

“They cancelled on me, Agasshi! They cancelled at the last minute. And over text too.” he whined, burrowing his face into his hands. Akaashi sighed, awkwardly giving a soft smile to the on-lookers. But, you could see the underlying stress in his actions. The twitching of his eye. And the rough grip of her hand.

“Bokuto-san, I’m sure we can plan another reunion soon.” Akaashi calmly said, “We can even—”

“But—but, I ordered food!” he frantically burst, arms swinging randomly, “I already ordered for all three of us!”

“Well—”

“Then, we’ll eat,” you interrupted, giving him a small smile,”I don’t mind Bokuto-san.”

He looked up, his eyes sparkling with fresh tears, “Really?”. You gave him a big thumbs up.

“Of course!”

“Agaaashi, your girlfriend is the best,” he sobbed happily, wiping a few stray tears from his face,

“I know.” he softly said, looking sheepishly at you. “I’m lucky.” You blushed, coughing at his blunt statement.

“Anyway, what did you order?” you asked, “I hope it's good!”

“Yakiniku! And some onigiri! I heard they were the best. Also I ordered...” you watched as he babbled off about food, your smile unconsciously dropped as he continued. Something in your stomach turned. Yakiniku? You didn’t hate. No. You have had it before. But did you prefer it? No. The smokey taste had never felt right on your taste buds.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You looked up, shocked, automatically giving a nod as Bokuto grinned continuing to ramble on. Akaashi gave you a look, taking in your slightly hunched figure, and slightly clammy hands.

“And then we could—”

“Your food has arrived, sir.” Bokuto hastily shut his mouth, leaning back in his seat, making room for the piles of plates to be laid. You cringed backward as the dishes was laid on the table. Right in front of you. The scent was almost enough to make you gag. Almost. But, you didn’t want to insult Bokuto, or the people who spent their time making them. Instead, you grudgingly looked at the chopsticks, laid neatly beside her plate and pushed the meat to the side.

She joined in the small “Thank you for the food!”, clapping her hands once, before picking up her chopsticks. She watched, under her lashes, as Bokuto began to dig into the meat.

“So, Y/N, how did you two meet? In high school?” he asked, small bits of food spraying from his mouth, you laughed as Akaashi gave him a long long.

“Bokuto-san...” he started, stopping once he realized how useless it would be to reprimand him.

“What? It's good! Wait—” he swallowed forcefully “Why aren’t you eating, Y/N?” You froze, giving a strained laugh.

“Well, it looks like you’re eating enough for the three of us!” You joked, relieved as Bokuto let out a heart laugh. Even Akaashi let a small chuckle.

Under the pinning stare of Bokuto, you audibly gulped, grasping the chopsticks and picked up some vegetables. You sniffed it, the raw scent of meat flooded your senses. Opening your mouth, you stuffed the leafy vegetables down your teeth. You made a show of chewing, jaw clenching at each motion.

“That was good!” you said, hiding the bitter feeling of disgust that crawled in your mouth, running down your throat and into your stomach.

“Well, the ones we made back in high school were even better. We...” He rambled on, stopping momentarily to stuff his mouth full meat and vegetables. Completely unaware of the force smile, or the disgust becoming very close to revealing itself.

“Here.” he whispered, grabbing your plate and picking the pieces of meat, placing it into his own. Your eyes widened, blushing slightly as he gave you a knowing look. You should have known that he would know. Especially with the lack of response from your side. You gave him an appreciative look, eyes shining with love as he finally placed your plate down.

“Thank you.” you murmured, looking at your plate, clean of meat, and back at your boyfriend.

“I know.” he answered, intertwining your fingers with his own. “I love you.”

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cheesyficwriter · 4 years

Note

Hey! First of all, I loved that drunk Hermione fic. Will u pls write a angsty Romione smut fic with #6 of angst prompt list?

Hi Anon! I had so much fun writing drunk Hermione, so glad you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for the ask 💜 my first thought was that I actually have written something similar that fills the #6 angsty smut prompt (also includes "fuck you" as the prompt does 🤣), in a chapter of one of my completed multi-chapter fics, Lost in Translation. If you haven't read it, you can feel free to check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019949/chapters/68639082

Buuuut, I thought of another angle, so here you go 😀 rated M for mature themes and sexual situations.

One More Time

It was a Saturday night in late August and the Leaky Cauldron was filled to the brim with many young adult witches and wizards who previously attended Hogwarts. They gathered occasionally, once every few months, to catch up over pints and share stories from over the years.

Ron was seated on a stool at the bar, alternating between chatting about the Chudley Canons' most recent season with Seamus and flirting awkwardly with the unfamiliar blonde who had sidled up beside him only a few minutes after he had walked into the pub.

Yet, he didn't miss the flash of brown, curly hair that appeared and disappeared from his view frequently throughout the evening. And he was left entirely too frustrated by the notion that this particular person had their eye on him. After about the fifth occurrence, Ron grabbed his pint and politely excused himself from the disappointed woman next him, as he walked through the crowd, pausing at various points to greet old friends.

Old friends and lovers, that is. Ron stopped short just behind the familiar stature of one of his oldest friends, who also happened to be his ex-girlfriend. She was chatting away with Luna, seemingly oblivious to him standing behind her. It had been quite the year since they had decided, or rather Hermione had decided, they were best off going their separate ways. We argue too much, she had said, there is no way we can make this relationship work and we should end it before we lose our friendship completely. However, Ron thought bitterly to himself, there didn't seem to be much of a friendship left between them anyway. They had barely spoken over the recent months, instead exchanging only a few lackluster letters back and forth about their various travels and work endeavors. Of course, he had seen her quite a bit through mutual friend outings, but it was all very stiff and cordial. Their relationship wasn’t the same anymore and breaking up didn’t seem to resolve any issues between them.

From Ron's current position, he could see Hermione surreptitiously glance over to the spot at the bar where he once was, brows now furrowed over in confusion as she found the spot to be vacant. Luna cleared her throat and gestured for Hermione to look backwards and it was then that Hermione's head whipped around to face Ron, and her lips parted in surprise.

"Ron...hi," she breathed out quietly, almost too quietly to be heard over the boisterous noise in the room.

"Why are you watching me, Hermione?" His tone remained neutral and flat, not bothering with any sort of formal greeting.

Hermione instantly frowned at the question. He surveyed her face as it contorted into anger. "What are you going on about? I am not watching you."

“You are. I’ve caught you five...no, six times, if you count the last look I just witnessed.” He pointed to his previous seat at the bar. Hermione turned scarlet from his words and Ron could see a muscle in her jaw twitch.

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed anything with the way you were gawking over Rosie Cantini,” she sneered back. Was that the blonde’s name? Ron wouldn’t have known because he was too busy trying to sort out Hermione’s infuriating glances, although he would never admit that to her.

“You left me. You don’t get to come in here and act like a jealous girlfriend when I’m just trying to enjoy my night.”

Hermione scoffed in his face, as her nostrils flared. “Oh, that’s rich! I haven’t been bothering you, have I? And may I just point out that you are the one that approached me tonight. I am not jealous!”

“Sure you’re not,” Ron spat out, just before he stormed off towards the loo without bothering to wait for a response.

Hermione felt the rage pulse through her veins. She spun quickly on her heel and followed Ron determinedly to the opposite side of the pub, bypassing anyone who tried to get her attention along the way. She managed to reach the door he had dragged himself through just before it closed and she pushed it open wide with all of her might, fueled by the anger that flooded through her.

Ron's eyes went round as Hermione propelled her way into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind her with a flick of her wand. She added silencing and locking charms before turning towards Ron, her eyes blazing with fire.

“Are you bloody mental?” Ron shouted, his temper sparked by her invasion of privacy.

"If I am, so what? I'm not going to just let you run off in the middle of a conversation, like a petulant child! Is it too hard to think that we can both be civilized adults about all of this?"

"Fuck you."

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ron growled through gritted teeth, taking a step forward. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as he had her effectively pinned now to the back of the door. “Fuck you, and your rules, your incessant nagging, and your constant need to always be right. For once, just admit that the sight of me with another woman drives you mad.”

Hermione’s pupils flared and her lower lip quivered slightly, as her rage-filled expression morphed into a burning one filled with desire.

Her lips were on Ron’s before he could even process the change in her tempered gaze. Ron let out a guttural moan as he pushed her hard into the door with a bang. One of his hands slid up to cup her cheek, his tongue gliding across her bottom lip just before he bit down on it, causing Hermione to whimper and dig her fingernails into his back. Ron’s other hand trailed its way down her body until he had firmly gripped her arse tight, driving her pelvis into his hardened erection poking through his trousers.

He lifted her up off the floor, her legs wrapping around his hips instinctively, and he deposited her bum down onto the cold, solid countertop next to the sink.

"Just one more time," Ron mumbled against her lips, already hiking her dress above her hips.

"Yeah….one more time," Hermione agreed through labored breaths, her hands undoing the buttons on his trousers. Although, they had said this very same statement one month ago, right before they shagged on Hermione's kitchen table. And the month before that, and the month before that…

In one fell swoop, Ron had shoved his trousers and boxers down to his knees and Hermione slid out of her knickers to reveal her pulsating flesh. Not even having to ask about protection, knowing Hermione always took the potion regularly, he positioned himself at her entrance and pressed into her until he filled her completely.

Both let out immediate grunts of pleasure, each comforted by the familiarity of the other’s body. Hermione gripped the edge of the countertop for leverage as Ron slammed into her over and over again. He buried his nose into the curls that bunched around Hermione’s shoulders and Hermione’s teeth grazed his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt. Neither took the time to comprehend the situation they had found themselves in, both instead choosing to absorb the sensation of skin against skin as they clung together.

Their pleasure-filled moans echoed off the silenced walls. The anger that had been building between them had boiled over and the fast release was mutually satisfying.

They didn’t speak. They never did, even when he would show up at her flat randomly, or when she would grab him by the arm at one of Ginny’s quidditch matches and pull him behind the stands.

"We can't keep doing this," Ron eventually whispered, his voice raw and hoarse.

"I know."

Ron nuzzled his nose with Hermione's. Her scent was intoxicating. Her body seemingly fit perfectly with his. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was consumed by her. He wasn’t quite sure if that feeling would ever go away.

"Come home with me."

Hermione’s eyes glistened as she stared into the depths of Ron’s deep blue orbs, not willing to look away. "Okay."

Maybe tomorrow would be the day they would finally let go. Or maybe not. Maybe they aren’t ready yet. Or maybe they never will be. Maybe they were both still clinging to the hope, the hope that the other person would realize that they are meant for each other and that there is just simply nothing else that matters.

#romione #romione fanfic #fanfiction #writing #writing prompt #cheesyficwriter #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #smut #smut fic #angst #love

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adenei · 4 years

Note

“if you walk out of that door, don’t even think about coming back” and “please don’t go”

If you can do a combination of these two prompts for Ron and Hermione? I love reading your fics they are all so unique. I wouldn't know which fic is my favorite since it feels impossible to choose just one.

Hi anon! Thank you so, so much! That really means a lot to me! Thank you for the ask. I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with!

************************

If you walk out that door, don’t even think about coming back

“Hermione, I don’t understand. I thought we were ready,” Ron said. He was getting frustrated now.

They’d had the same conversation a lot recently about starting a family. Every time he thought she’d start to come around, something would set her back. Whether it was because of the dangers of his career, her trying to establish herself and needing more time to focus on work, or the financial end of things, Hermione always found a way to talk herself out of it. Now, they were arguing over whether their kids would be raised more on the muggle or magical side of things before they went to Hogwarts.

“I’m just saying, we need to know where each other stands on this! It’s important! Our future children should have an understanding of both the muggle and magical world.”

“I’m not saying they shouldn’t!” Ron said. He was completely exasperated. “I can’t do this right now.”

He got up, and Hermione said, “No! No, please don’t go, we need to talk through this!”

“Hermione, I’m done having these conversations. You know I want a family. I thought you did, too, but now I’m starting to think you’re having second thoughts.” When she didn’t answer, he shook his head and turned toward the door.

When he was pulling on his shoes, he heard her say, “Ron, if you walk out that door, don’t even think about coming back.”

“You can’t be serious. Don’t you dare pull that on me right now. That’s not fair and you know it.”

“You promised.”

“This isn’t the- you know what? Forget it. I’m sick of trying to explain myself.” Ron turned and walked out the door.

“No! Please, no!” she sat there in shock. He really just up and left. Hermione got up and ran to the door. She looked out the window and saw him now walking down the street.

Her knees buckled from underneath her and she completely lost herself. The last time he left, he came back, but he promised he’d never do it again.

This was it. Could he really not do this anymore? Was she asking too much of him? She had to calm herself. It wasn’t good for them when she got worked up like this. It was so hard for her to stay calm when they were talking about their future children. They’d been talking for a while now about maybe starting to try, but Hermione was always too afraid to make it official. What if she failed? What if she couldn’t make a baby? What if she wasn’t a good mother? So many things kept entering her mind, and they often ended up in her asking Ron about them, and then they’d fight. But he’d never walked out before. They’d just table it and move on if they couldn’t come up with an answer.

Her thoughts were valid. His job was dangerous. She worried that she hadn’t advanced far enough in her career and achieved the aspirations she’d set out for before they started a family. Did they have enough gold to support a child? Would Ron be okay with them being raised part muggle? She wanted them to go to a muggle primary school before Hogwarts.

Yet somehow, she couldn’t express her opinions in a level-headed manner and things always escalated. So Hermione remained there, on the floor, back against the door. She figured she should probably be out of the way in case he did come back. He had to come back. The tears poured harder down her face as the what if’s began flooding her mind. She needed to talk to someone, but there was no one to call. Her parents were in Australia on holiday, and anyone else she was close with was also close to Ron. The relationships were stronger to him than they were to her. She felt completely alone.

Hermione wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard the door open. Her hand covered her mouth. She thanked whatever higher power was listening for bringing him home. He’d barely opened the front door when Hermione was scrambling to her feet.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it!” she said as she threw her arms around his neck. She felt his arms wrap around her own body. “I didn’t think you were going to come home.”

“I’m sorry, too. I just needed to clear my head a bit. That’s all. Of course I was coming back. I’ll never not come back.” He gently pulled away as he lifted his hand to wipe the tears away from her face before kissing her. “You know I love you. I’ll never leave you.”

He turned to shut and lock the door. He led her up the stairs where they climbed into bed. “Hermione, love, maybe we should just let things go for a bit. It’s okay if you’re not ready for a family. But, I’ve thought a lot about it, and I don’t think there’s ever going to be a ‘right’ time to start a family. There’s going to be so much we’ll be figuring out as we go, and that’s okay. We’ll manage. We always do, especially when we’re together.”

Hermione nodded as she sat up to look at him. The thing that had terrified her the most was the timing, but hearing him say that just now renewed her hope in them. It renewed her hope that they could do anything they set their minds to. So, she gathered her thoughts, and finally resolved to tell him the reason she’d been pressing all these conversations.

“You’re right about the timing, I think.”

“I am? You never admit that I’m right this easily. What makes you say that?” he looked at her curiously.

Ever since their first conversation, they hadn’t exactly started trying outright, but they weren’t being as careful about the protective charms either. “Well, the reason I’ve been so adamant with these conversations lately is because I’m three weeks late.”

“What?” Ron said, eyeing her carefully. “Are you serious? Hermione, do you think you’re…?” Hermione nodded. “Should we do the charm?”

“Yes, I- I think we should. I didn’t know how to tell you, but I knew I wanted to do this together.” She reached around to get her wand. Her arm was shaking so Ron reached out to help steady it. Hermione waved it in the movement she’d been practicing for the charm. If she was indeed expecting, a bright white circle would appear over her stomach. She held her breath as she waited, and sure enough, a small but vibrant white circle appeared, hovering over her stomach.

“Oh, my…” she said, hardly believing it.

“Hermione...we’re having a baby,” Ron said. His face split into the largest grin she’d ever seen.

“Yes...we are.” She couldn’t help but smile back as she imagined herself holding a small redheaded baby. All of a sudden, all the worry had disappeared from her mind as Ron leaned in and kissed her. They’d figure things out as they went, and it would all be fine.

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blue-lions-baby · 4 years

Text

Scars That We Can’t Erase (Dimitri x F!Reader)

hi!! this fic was requested by an anon! i’m so sorry i realized too late that once i replied to the original request i can’t like reply to it anymore does that make sense i’ve been studying for six hours pLEASE i absolutely fell in love with the given prompt, and i hope my writing did it justice! here is the original request--

“Hi! Can i get some dimitri × fem reader in which dima literally adores the reader please? One time, the reader takes a grave hit for him in battle and he is a worried mess? He cant stop thinking about her, his training is sloppy because he cant concentrate, he feels awful. He even stays at the infirmary with her all day and night while she's unconscious, manuela has to force him to get some rest. He feels terrible and guilty when seeing the scar that the reader has (oh poor boi-) Thanks! Ilysm♡ “

i should also let you guys know that this fic (imo at least) is a bit more... intense, compared to my other ones. it does get rather lighthearted towards the end, so hopefully it kinda balances out ???

pre-timeskip and no spoilers!!

~*~

No...

No, no, no...

The last thing that Dimitri saw was your quivering, paling lips and your frame crumbling to the blood-soaked ground.

The last thing that Dimitri heard was Byleth’s cries for a healer and the way your name mangled out of his throat in a blood-curdling scream-- along with the sickeningly sweet cries of the bandit who struck you down as he stabbed, stabbed, stabbed the poor bastard’s soul out of his botched body.

The last thing Dimitri felt on his lips was blood. Blood from his tongue-- the pink, throbbing muscle oozing with red liquid-- or from the pulp of that bastard’s corpse, he did not know or care. The hauntingly warm liquid stained the corners of his lips and the core of his very soul as the deep holes and gashes he imprinted on the man’s body left ribbons of flesh hanging from visibly cracked bones, rendering him nearly unrecognizable as a human being.

“Dimitri! That’s enough!” A voice that sounded eerily similar to his professor’s wormed its way into his mind.

“How dare you lay a finger on her, you monster!”

“Your Highness, he’s already dead! Just leave him alone!” Cried a legion of voices, none holding familiarity to him.

“I will punish you for what you did! For what you did to (F/N)!”

It was his fault.

It was all his fault.

If only he saw that bandit rushing towards him.

If only he saw the glistening of the ruffian’s axe as he swung the sharpened slab of metal at him.

If only he heard you call out his name, a foreshadow to his bloody fate.

If only you didn’t jump in to save him.

If only he could have saved you.

Scenes of you falling before his very eyes kept replaying in his head, tearing open the fresh, guilt-induced wounds in his heart in a never-ending cycle. Something solid-- arms, perhaps-- grappled onto his pulsing, aching arms, which he shrugged off with ease. He wasn’t going to stop until that monster of a man suffered the consequences for hurting you. He wasn’t going to stop until that monster of a man paid his dues. He wasn’t going to stop--

Until he felt a gentle hold on his wrist.

Dimitri, snapping out of his blood-lusting reverie, paused instantly. He jerked his face to the small, shaking hand that just barely ghosted the surface of his gauntlet.

Your small, shaking hand.

“Dimitri...” A hand as beautiful as the one steadying his shaking wrist cupped his cheek, erasing the splatters of impurities that marred his smooth skin. “Please, stop...”

The fractured lance in his hand fell to the ground as its owner caught you in his arms, preventing you from suffering the same fate. Dimitri stumbled to his knees, fatigue and overexertion having finally caught up to him. Wheezing and hugging you as tightly as he could, he stroked your matted, sweaty, yet gorgeous locks with the gentleness of a lover. The delicate footsteps of Mercedes caught his attention and he looked up at his peer.

“Your Highness,” her eyes turned to you then back to him, “she’s going to be okay.”

Everything went black.

~*~

The carefree songs of swallows were the first to greet the groggy prince as he re-entered the world of consciousness. Although his hearing slowly came back to the awakened male, he just couldn’t will his eyelids to lift. And so he laid there, his ears the only channel to the bustling world around him.

“How are they?” Asked a monotone voice, stained with concern.

“Thankfully, the prince didn’t suffer any major wounds. A few scratches here and there, as well as some swelling and light bruising, but nothing too serious. Still, we should be careful straining his body any further. As for (F/N)...”

He heard the flirtatious healer heave heavily; his heart crumbled.

“That Mercedes girl did a splendid job patching her up in the moment. If you were to come even a moment later, we would have lost her.”

“So they’ll both live?” Dimitri recognized that worried tone from anywhere-- his loyal retainer.

“His Highness, for sure. (F/N), she... I’ve done everything I could to patch her up, but...”

“So... The best thing we can do is just... wait?”

“That’s the only thing we can do, Professor.”

Dimitri heard footsteps approach his bedside, then shortly congregate to elsewhere. The royal, disheartened and spirit-broken, let out a pitiful gurgle akin to a cry.

“Dimitri!”

“Your Highness!”

Through brute force and sheer will, he wrested his eyes open. The gentle morning light harshly struck his still-delicate pupils, making him wince. A raging headache tore through his temples, threatening to split his skull open.

“(F-F/N)...” He found himself muttering. “Where--? Where is--?”

“She is here, Your Highness.” Dedue motioned to the still figure beside the prince. “She is... not in the best condition.”

“I heard.” Dimitri dismissed the oncoming report, knowing his heart would all but collapse from within if he had to hear your grim fate iterated again. “I heard... everything.”

“Dimitri,” his professor began, “do you need anything?”

“Actually... May you please help me sit up?”

I can’t get a good look at her from this angle...

“No can do, Prince Dimitri.” Manuela retorted. “Even though your wounds are not as severe as (F/N)’s, we really shouldn’t put your body under any more stress.”

“Ms. Manuela, please. I beg of you.” Dimitri paused. “T-Truthfully, this position is rather uncomfortable. I would feel much better if I were to be readjusted.”

Manuela sighed, glanced over the royal’s swollen limbs and cut appendages, and reluctantly nodded.

“All right, fine. Let us know if anything starts to hurt.”

“Of course. You have my thanks. All of you.”

While Dedue busied himself propping and fluffing the pillows to Dimitri’s comfort, Manuela and Byleth worked together to assist the royal. They slowly managed to complete the task, doing their best to inflict as little pain as possible to the wincing and grimacing male.

“T-Thank you.” He breathed out shakily. “I feel... better now.”

“Do you require anything else, Your Highness?” Dedue questioned.

“I am fine, thank you. I just need time to... reflect.”

“I understand. I will wait outside should you need anything.” Dedue arose mechanically, bowed, and went outside to his station.

“Well, I need to run to town to restock on some medical supplies. I will be back as soon as I can. Goodbye.~” Manuela winked, patted Byleth on the shoulder, and sauntered away.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Byleth asked again, double-checking on the fluffed pillows.

“I am fine, Professor. Thank you for your help, as always.” Dimitri smiled slightly.

Byleth nodded, glanced at their other student, and leaned down.

“She’s going to be okay, Dimitri.”

Dimitri said nothing, the words meant to reassure only fueling his anxiety. All he could muster was a feigned smile and a small nod.

“Thank you for the encouragement, Professor.”

And Byleth was off, no doubt hurrying back to the rest of the Lions.

Now Dimitri was alone, save for Dedue who was ready to attend to his lord's every whim and command.

And... you.

Dimitri’s head lolled to face you. You were neatly tucked in the infirmary bed, a thin blanket cascaded over your body. So thin, in fact, that he could see the outline of the thick bandaging about your torso and shoulder.

Memories of the previous battle flooded his mind.

Distinct, biting, and painful memories that he’d do anything to bury in the oblivion-- to tuck away in the dark recesses of his mind, never to see the light of consciousness ever again.

He lifted his arm, forgoing his body’s desire to rest the battered limb, in a futile attempt to reach you-- to hold you.

So close, yet so far.

He remembered how his name was the last thing to spill out of your shaking, colorless lips as the lilting (E/C) hues he fell in love with gave way to a hollow, lifeless sheen.

How you were within his grasp-- within his reach-- yet he could do nothing to save you.

Except needlessly pulverize a dead man’s body into literal shreds.

Oh, Goddess.

His classmates.

His fellow Lions.

He had no direct memory of the faces or expressions he saw in his frenzy, yet he remembered it so distinctly. Although he possessed no recollections to base this on, he could clearly see each and every one of their faces painted with horror and quite possibly revulsion at the murderous monstrosity he managed to commit.

“Deem...”

Dimitri almost choked. He very nearly jumped out of bed if the shooting pain in his legs didn’t remind him of his sorry state.

“(F/N)...?!” Groaning, he turned his whole body to face you. “C-Can you hear me...?!”

“...ma.”

Your eyelids shuddered before stilling once more. He heard a quiet, labored wheeze rise from your chest before you succumbed to another deep sleep. A rush of emotions throbbed through his heart, each one too complex and short-lived for the prince to process.

“(F/N)...” He reached out his hand again, knowing full well that you were beyond his grasp. “I do not know if you can hear me, but please... Live.”

~*~

Within a day Dimitri’s body was healed of most of its external wounds, but his soul was still as ravaged as the battlefield you fell in. While the rest of the Lions greeted their leader with open arms (all except one, spitting out how his display in their previous skirmish proved he was “nothing but a feral boar,”) Dimitri could only return a fraction of their enthusiasm. He still smiled and trained and attended lectures, but the dark bags forming under his blank eyes were a physical manifestation of the raging storm within.

“Ope! Gotcha again, Your Highness!” Sylvain fisted the air triumphantly, hoping his smug arrogance would arouse a competitive flame within the despondent teen.

“Ah... It appears you have.” Dimitri mumbled, more so to himself than to Sylvain, and slipped into a fighting stance. “Let us try again.”

“Actually, Your Highness...” Sylvain leaned on the wooden training lance. “How about we take a short break. We’ve been training all afternoon.”

“Has it been that long?” Dimitri blinked, looking up at the still-blue skies.

“Yeah. C’mon. I’ll take care of the lances, you just sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Although Dimitri would typically fight and say something along the lines of how he couldn’t possibly allow someone to take care of something he could so easily do himself, Sylvain found the lance slip out of the royal’s fingers with ease. After propping the training weapons on a rack, Sylvain joined Dimitri on a bench.

“So Your Highness,” Sylvain slid to his friend’s side, “we... couldn’t help noticing that...”

“Yes?”

“Well...” Sylvain trailed off again. “Ever since... you know... You haven’t been your usual self. At all.”

“Is that so...” Dimitri mumbled, staring at the ground with great interest.

“Yeah... We’ve all been really worried about you, Your Highness. We just... We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Dimitri stared unblinkingly at nothing, utterly reaction-less to his friend’s voiced concern. He remained unmoving for a long time; Sylvain thought that if he so much as laid a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, he would all but shatter into irreparable shards.

“... I apologize for my rudeness Sylvain, but I must go to the infirmary.”

“Huh--?”

“It is of utmost importance. Please excuse me.”

“Ah--! Hey, wait--!”

The prince managed to just barely slip out of the redhead’s outstretched palm, gracefully bobbing out of reach and the training grounds.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

“You have to take care of yourself too, you know.” Manuela clicked her tongue disapprovingly, setting down a lit candle on a nearby table.

“Thank you for your concern Ms. Manuela, but I can assure you that I am feeling just fine.” Dimitri replied flatly, his glossy pupils not leaving your frame for a second.

“Sure, but the bags under your eyes say otherwise.”

Dimitri’s fingertips grazed the sensitive stretch of skin on his face, his upper eyelid twitching in response to the gentle touch.

“I do not care much for personal vanity.”

“It’s a sign that you’re not getting enough sleep.” Manuela retorted sharply, smoothing out the crinkles on a nearby bed. “Here. I prepared a bed for you. If you’re going to spend the night here, at least do it on a bed.”

Sunken azure hues rested on the stiff, plank-like cot longingly before snapping back to your ashy complexion.

“Thank you, Ms. Manuela. I will make use of it later.”

“No, Prince Dimitri. Rest. Now.”

Brown, fiery eyes clashed with bleary blues as the healer and prince remained locked in a fierce staring match. Dimitri’s eyes began to water as he stifled a yawn, reluctantly accepting defeat as he slowly stood up and headed for the bed.

“Good. Thank you.” The prince’s yawn seemed to rub off on Manuela as she stretched her arms to the sky. “Go to sleep, all right? Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, Ms. Manuela...”

Manuela initiated one last check on your battered body, bade a goodnight to the royal, and slipped out of the infirmary.

Dimitri peered blankly at the barren ceiling, a cacophonous symphony comprised of self-hatred and regret premiering at the forefront of his thoughts. And the soloist singing for eternal damnation to his soul was none other than you-- you, whom he so lovingly adored. You, who helped pull him from the abyss more times than he could count. You, the light that warded off his thickening darkness. And how did he show his profound appreciation towards you?

By sentencing you to eternal sleep for his carelessness.

Dimitri twisted his body to face you, the delicate mask that he had so calculatingly designed crumbling at the near-lifeless shell before him. The shallow, unsteady rise and fall of your chest was the only indicator that your soul hadn’t left your body; he grew terrified at the prospect of it dipping and never rising. He made conscious effort to avert his eyes from that region-- not only out of the high regard he held towards you, but...

The more he lingered on images of your stilling body, the tighter his chest grew.

Just thinking about it threatened how much air his lungs could take in.

He rocked himself to a sitting position and slipped his feet out of bed. He dutifully made his way back to his original post-- on a rickety stool by your bedside. He firmly planted his rear on the round slab of wood and tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead.

Goddess you were so, so beautiful.

He felt almost guilty admiring you while you were in such a state, but the way the singular lit candle contoured every feature, every dip in your face in the most heavenly way possible... He couldn’t help it. His hand found residence in yours, taking painstaking note of the very obvious size difference. His other hand busied itself smoothing your unruly hair, quelling the frazzled strands from a complete uproar.

He’d trade his life for yours in a heartbeat if it meant that he could witness the lively (E/C) hues he fell so desperately in love with shine once again.

A lone finger hooked under your jaw and the rest of his digits caressed your icy cheek.

“(F/N)...” His voice cracked out, “I am so, so sorry...”

Something hot leaked out of his eyes and splattered onto your cheek, in which he alarmingly wiped away. He reached up to halt the steady stream of tears pouring out of him, but the dam had broken. His large frame hunched over into a quivering mass, broken sobs echoing off of the indifferent walls of the dark infirmary. Only half-empty bottles of medicine bore witness to the royal’s breakdown; his sloppy apologies and implorations fell on the earless bushels of medicinal herbs.

The small candle that Manuela had previously set up was nearing its end, the stumpy mass of wax and wick now a mere puddle of its former self. Before the few remaining trickles of light embarked on their last pilgrimage across the room, Dimitri made one last guttural plea.

“Wake up, my Beloved...” He called out, the name he had granted you only in his mind slipping out in his desperate hour. “Please, wake up...”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

The mellow arias of songbirds heralded the beginning of a new day. A biting breeze blew through an open window and sliced your exposed skin, eliciting little goosebumps on the affected areas. With a breathless sigh and a pain-stricken moan, your eyelids managed to wedge themselves open. A bland ceiling was the first to welcome you back to the land of the living-- along with a large, dark mass hovering beside you.

You felt the remnants of a scream scratch out of your sorely unused throat and a sudden barrage of aches and pains besieged your frail body. You opened your mouth to yell, to cry for help, but no sound manifested. You felt something rough but warm adjust its grip on your hand, further sending your mind into a groggy panic.

“Mmph... (F/N)...”

That... That voice...

You stilled yourself (not that you were moving much anyway) and silently studied the steadily breathing shadow beside you. The dim dawn’s light reflected off of a bundle of disheveled gold locks, as well as a bright blue cape that was messily slung over a male’s shoulder.

A maelstrom of memories swirled through your mind.

A ruffian racing towards Dimitri, the edge of a bloodied and rusted axe swinging right for his neck.

Your legs discovering a mind of its own as it placed you right on the receiving end of the strike.

Your head throbbed, each surge of memory more painful than the last.

Darkness, followed by the putrid, metallic smell of blood in the distance and other auditory sensations too disturbing to fully comprehend.

Something warm and comforting pricked the corner of your heart as you recalled a certain sensation akin to embracing before you blacked out. Your thoughts frustratingly hazed into nothing. It felt like a certain memory was locked, forever lost behind an impenetrable brain fog. You wracked and sifted through your fragmented memories, but pieced together nothing.

The first few rays of light began to peak over the horizon, streaming into the room in gentle waves; you squinted your eyes, still unused to any light source brighter than a candle. As your vision slowly readjusted to the brightening room, your eyes caught sight of something that almost sent you back to sleep.

Your fingers tightly entwined with Dimitri’s.

Your weak heart thundered loudly in your ears-- so loud, in fact, you worried that it would be enough to rouse the slumbering prince. As cautiously as you could, your body writhed itself in a futile attempt to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the prince, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

You shifted your stiff legs a bit; the frame of your bed let out a booming groan.

Dimitri quietly snorted and his neck reeled upwards; alarmed blue eyes met with equally alarmed (E/C). The veins in Dimitri’s neck swam to the surface of his skin, growing more and more defined as every choking second passed.

“H-...” You began. “Hi...”

“(F/N)!”

Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into something solid but so, so... warm.

Ah...

You remembered now.

This tenderness.

This contentment.

This warmth.

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling rushed whispers as he did the day you fell.

“(F/N)... Oh, (F/N)...”

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening the incoherent whispers he sighed into your hair. Your arms weakly wrapped around his heaving back, rubbing it as soothingly as you could. He pulled you closer in response-- closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

“Dimitri...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled. “It’s okay... I’m okay...”

“(F/N), I--” Clear, shiny beads of remorse pricked the corners of the prince’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. Goddess, I am so sorry, I... I’m so--”

You reached a finger to his lips, your heart splintering into tinier and tinier pieces as you watched the man you love slur apology after apology for a crime he did not commit.

“It’s okay, Dimitri... I'm okay now... I’ll be okay.”

The door quietly clicked open and a slender leg slipped itself into the tiny crack. The rest of Manuela slid in, along with a tray of vials and herbs.

“Oh--!” The healer tripped on her own two feet, dropping the tray and all of its contents onto the ground. She stumbled over the tied wad of herbs and leaking bottles of medicine that she had so desperately haggled from a travelling merchant.

“(F-F/N)?” She stuttered, slowly closing the distance between you two. “H-How are you feeling?”

“Um, w-well...” You peered down sheepishly, suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “I am a bit achy all over but--”

“Ah!” Dimitri immediately released you from his arms and he shot out of his stool, almost tripping backwards. “P-Please forgive me! I was so caught up with my emotions, I did not even ask for your consent to hold you in such a way, a-and your wounds--!”

“Oh! N-No, Dimitri, it’s all right! I-- Uh--”

A rich chuckle from the older woman padded the shrill squeaks that poured out of you and your house leader.

“Well, Prince Dimitri... I’m afraid you can’t have her just yet. I still have to do a thorough check up on her. But after that... she’s all yours.”

Scarlet seeped into the royal’s cheeks, his sickly pallor bursting into hearty ruddiness. Broken vowels tumbled out of him as he clumsily rested his arse back onto the wooden stool.

“Actually Prince Dimitri,” Manuela began as she checked your vitals, “can you notify the professor that (F/N) has awakened?”

“You can count on me, Ms. Manuela.” Dimitri dutifully stood up and bowed. “I will deliver the news to Professor Byleth.”

Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, Dimitri hurried out of the infirmary to complete possibly the most important mission ever entrusted to him.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After your awakening, your classmates and professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts, constantly reminding you that they were right alongside you on your road to recovery.

But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved house leader.

Every morning, without fail, he would grace your presence with the pleasant aroma of freshly prepared breakfast.

Every afternoon-- after class and training-- he spent his days with you, informing and personally tutoring you over concepts the class learned that day. Or simply providing his company, ensuring that the sinking and crushing feeling of loneliness never found residence in your heart.

Every evening, after all of his academic and princely duties have been met, he delivered your dinner trays with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his lips.

"Is everything all right? Is there anything else you would like to go over from today’s lesson? If not, perhaps I can fetch you a glass of water in case you grow parched during the night.”

“Dimitri,” you laughed as you slowly rested your weary back on freshly-fluffed pillows, “you’re just downright spoiling me! I’m going to miss all this special treatment when I’m finally discharged.”

“W-Well, I would be more than happy to continue doing this long after you have been discharged.” Dimitri coughed. “I love-- er, rather, I find my time with you to be quite enjoyable.”

“Even though you’re constantly running around and fetching me whatever my heart desires?” You giggled.

“Why, of course! Seeing you content and well brings me insurmountable joy.”

“You’re so thoughtful, Dimitri.” You couldn’t help but grin after seeing how flushed his face turned. “Thank you so much for everything. You and all the other Lions have made my time in the infirmary so much more bearable. It’s... nice to feel loved like this.”

“You are loved, (F/N).” Dimitri threw the thin blanket over you. “You are an integral part to our house... and... t-to me.”

“Pardon?” You leaned forward, hoping to catch whatever he stuttered.

“N-Nothing. Please do not worry yourself over it. It is not very important.” He shot you a reassuring smile before your bandages entered his field of vision. Shame streaked across his features; his hold on the edge of the blanket loosened as he unconsciously stepped away from you.

“Dimitri...” You reached out for him, hoping he would take your hand as he always did. The prince kept his distance however, refusing to even look at you.

“(F/N)... (F/N), I’m--”

“Dimitri,” you raised your palm, “stop.”

Pure, unmasked horror bruised his handsome features.

“I-I apologize if I have offended you in some way--”

“It’s not that. It’s...” You sighed, closing your eyes. “Dimitri... What happened that day is not your fault. There is not a single drop of rage or bitterness in my heart. I can’t forgive you, simply because I was never mad at you to begin with. So please... Don’t look so pained when you see my bandages.”

Your stomach knotted painfully as a second alternative was made clear in your mind.

“Unless... Perhaps my wounds disgust you in some way...”

“Goddess, no!” Dimitri interjected immediately. “That cannot possibly be further from the truth. Your beauty has never waned-- not even for a second.”

The royal’s hand flew to cover his mouth while you both peered at each other, sharing the same shocked expression on your faces. Dimitri had never possessed such a strong desire to catapult himself into the sun. He remained frozen in fear, unsure how or if he could even save himself from his slip.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and looked down, the corners of your lips slightly turned upward. Dimitri found it unnecessary to fling himself into the sun since his cheeks had practically burst into flames at this point.

“O-Oh... Um... Thank you...” You managed to mumble, fidgeting with your blanket sheepishly.

“Um--!” Dimitri cleared his throat, jumped out of his seat, and bowed deeply. “I-It is getting quite late, is it not? I am afraid I must retire for the evening. Goodnight (F-F/N).”

The upper half of his body snapped downward in another deep bow as the prince hastily retreated from his social blunder. When the door clicked closed, you had all but broken into laughter. You pleasantly recalled Manuela’s previous remark towards the prince, and your heart danced in your chest.

“Your beauty has never waned-- not even for a second.”

You buried your face in your palms and let out a quiet, airy scream, a delightful rush of emotions coursing through you. You laughed almost maniacally to yourself, and you were certain if someone were to walk in on you right this moment they would think you had gone absolutely mad. Look at you! Acting like an antsy little schoolgirl! How embarrassing!

Then again, there should be no shame in experiencing such highs. Especially when it’s related to Dimitri! You gingerly twisted your body so you that you were face-first into your pillow before letting out a happy, muffled scream.

Meanwhile, Dimitri was marching back to his room, head down and thankful that at least the cover of night was enough to hide the flushed tone of his face. Like you, he replayed that one line-- that little slip of his tongue-- in his head over and over again. Unlike you, he wished to chain his feet to a cinder block and toss himself into the lake. Hopefully the fish would be willing to share the same space with an idiot of his caliber.

Still, even as he flung himself into the comforting embrace of his bed, his thoughts couldn’t help but drift to your response to his idiocy. The way you looked down, smiling gently at his words, the tips of your ears adopting a shade of baby pink...

You were so...

So...

Cute...!

Dimitri subjected his poor pillow to a bone-crushing hug as he buried his face in the mushy thing, imagining the soft, velvety texture of his pillow to be your skin and the warmth of the stuffed fabric to be your body pressed flushed against his.

Racing thoughts and rose-tinted fantasies propelled you both further and further away from Sleep, who desperately sought out her sleepless prince and fidgety (Favorite Class). When Sleep finally took hold of you, she could do little to obstruct the joyous meeting you both shared with each other in the forgotten land of dreams.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

“Are you ready, (F/N)?”

You met Manuela’s steady gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied,

“Yes.”

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your chest to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Manuela clicked her tongue softly and slowly traced your shoulder.

“The wound’s all healed, but I’m afraid this scar’s here to stay...”

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“I see...”

“You can apply certain creams on site to reduce its appearance, but it’ll never go away completely... I’m sorry, (F/N).”

“It’s all right, Ms. Manuela.” You flashed her a controlled smile. “Honestly, with all the regular outings to dispel bandits and whatnot... It was only a matter of time before I bore my first battle scar.”

Manuela’s lips curved upward and she patted you on your unmarked shoulder.

“Do you need anything else, (F/N)? Some water, or food?”

You hummed thoughtfully, then shook your head.

“All right. Should you need anything, all you have to do is holler.” Manuela gave you one last smile before excusing herself from the room.

Dimitri stood unmoving and unblinking, countering your hard stare with blatant refusal to look at your scar-- a physical memento of his failure.

“Dimitri.”

The prince visibly recoiled at the sound of his own name.

“Look at me.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince.

“Look at me, please.”

He refused.

“I don’t blame you for this.”

. . .

“And I’ll never blame you for it.”

. . .

“If it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again.”

This struck a chord with the prince, his enraged face suddenly mere inches away from yours.

“Don’t you dare say such a thing.” He growled lowly. “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me.”

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into. “I’ll gladly do it again because... Because... I love you.”

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. The tips of his bangs lightly dusted the surface of your skin, tickling your nose with the crisp smell of Faerhgus pine. A pair of gloved hands caught either side of your face, thumbs rubbing shallow circles into your cheeks as he pressed his lips further into yours. His mouth moved sloppily but lovingly, awkwardly yet ardently adoringly against yours; a medley of celestial colors you’ve never seen before flashed brilliantly at the forefront of your mind, casting you into a dreamlike stupor.

Dimitri leapt back, panic stewing in his deep briny blues. His fingers brushed his still-tingling lips as he bowed lowly.

“F-Forgive me (F/N), I-.. I have no idea what possessed me to do such a thing! I suppose I was just, um, c-caught in the moment and--?!”

More than tired of hearing his apologies, you grabbed his shirt’s collar and jerked him back to where he was before-- contently and firmly pressed right against your lips. Your fingers bunched themselves into patches of velvety, wispy gold while your lips moved sanguinely against his, happily leading your mouth and his in a spicy dance. A small moan escaped your slightly opened lips and Dimitri, consumed by nothing but base desires, surprised your tongue with a face-to-face meeting.

The wet muscle wrapped about yours, pulling you into an unyielding fight for dominance. You felt smooth sheets hit your exposed back; you hadn’t even noticed Dimitri progressively lowering the both of you onto your bed. He planted his hands on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravaging kisses.

Not that you wanted to anyway.

Dimitri’s lips left yours to wander around your face and neck, taking particular interest in the latter. He nipped the exposed skin, teething and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites.

Then he caught sight of your cleavage, simply irresistible and downright begging to be marked with his love.

Then he suddenly remembered that you two were in a very public place and not in the private confines of his bedroom or dreams.

“Ah-- Um--” Dimitri stammered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. “P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...”

You whined, wanting nothing more than to be showered with kisses and bathed in his worshiping love. But your senses, hazy as they may be, pulled through the fog and coldly reminded you of your current whereabouts.

“Fine...” You pulled his fingers to your sultry lips and pressed a hot kiss on each digit. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the prince desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

“My Beloved,” he purred sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “rest now. When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I swear it.”

You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

You nodded sleepily as he pulled the covers over you. He graced your lips with one more kiss before he stood up.

“Class will be starting shortly. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Mm...” You looked up coyly. “One more kiss, please!”

Dimitri chuckled, happily fulfilling both of your wishes.

“My Beloved is too cute for her own good...” He murmured huskily into your ear. “It should be a crime to be this captivating.”

“Then maybe you should punish me tonight~?”

“T-That’s...” Dimitri’s smug confidence had instantly dissipated. “S-Sleep well, (F/N).”

You had never seen a person’s cheeks go so red so fast. Dimitri zoomed out of the infirmary with a chorale of laughter bubbling out of his beloved.

Not a moment later after the door closed, it opened again just enough for the prince’s head to pop back in.

“Oh, uh, (F/N)?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I...” He cleared his throat loudly and shyly smiled. “I love you too.”

bonus: your discharge from the infirmary prompted a day of celebration in the blue lions house, with byleth cancelling lectures and training for the day to celebrate your miraculous recovery.

the rest of the lions organized a mini ‘welcome back’ party; the desks that previously held books and other study things now harbored all your favorite dishes on one side and a cluster of gifts on the other.

and when the sun dipped below the horizon, well... let’s just say dimitri made good on his promise from that night onward ;)

#fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h dimitri #fe3h #6039 words #yOU GUYS #i love this man sm #it got pretty ~smexy~ towards the end #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)#fire emblem three houses fanfiction #fire emblem three houses

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