#not that she isn’t right. but still. pot meet kettle and all that. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

multistanisms · 2 months ago

Text

Let Our Circle Be Unbroken; Chapter 3 || Multi-Group

FANDOM: NCT [other groups will be featured/mentioned]

PAIRING: Jaehyun x Taeyong, Yuta x OC

WORD COUNT: 2,983

RATING: PG-13

POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: N/A

SUMMARY: Surviving a near death experience comes with a lot of surprises when warlock Jeong Jaehyun finds a dragon in a place that holds tragic memories for him. Nothing is as whirlwind, though, as when Jaehyun begins to meet the little clan of misfits Taeyong has gathered over the years and a mystery is revealed.

TAGLIST: @no1likemybbgcharlie

Previous || Masterlist || Next

♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦♢♦

The morning sun is shining behind the curtains of Taeyong’s room when the dragon wakes. Stirring among the blankets, he stretches before climbing from bed to head down into the kitchen. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, head tilting at the familiar scent of coffee. Curious, he finished the brief distance to the kitchen, looking around. Nothing seemed overly out of place, aside from the coffee pot being mostly full of fresh brew and a kettle sitting in the middle of the stovetop with steam escaping. A brief, thoughtful sound escaped Taeyong as he walked over to make himself a cup of coffee, walking out the back door to the large patio and sitting on the porch swing that hung in one corner. He sensed the presence before he heard the footsteps coming from around the front, sipping at his drink quietly.

"Love the new setup here, Yong-ah." Platinum hair falls about a very attractive face, dark eyes taking in the surroundings as the male finds his way to where the dragon sat on the porch, leaning backwards on the railing nearby, forearms atop the wood to let his hands dangle.

"With the clan as big as it is, we needed the room. And this place needed some love." Taeyong replied, shrugging one shoulder as he watched the garden. "We were expecting you, Seonghwa."

"Of that we had no doubt. Although I am surprised Youngjo’s clan isn’t here first, or at the very least Youngjo himself. It's been a few days since Wooyoung and San rushed out on us." Seonghwa states casually, moving to lift himself up and perch on the porch rail with a grace only a nonhuman possesses. "What happened this time, exactly?"

"Hwa is that a question you really need to ask?" The voice is gentle but strong, and Taeyong smiles as his gaze moves to land on the leader of the Aurora pack; shorter than Seonghwa but clearly powerful in the way he holds himself, as he appears from inside with two cups in his hands. "She was helping the warlock."

"It's nice to see you as well, Hongjoong.” Taeyong greets with a smile, rolling his eyes. “Jaehyun will be fine soon, he was just in bad shape when he got to us. Arashi will be fine, too. You both know that, right?”

“Never doubted it.” Hongjoong replied. “She’s a fighter, that one. Is that going to stop Wooyoung from scolding her when she wakes up, though?”

“Definitely not.” Taeyong and Seonghwa agree with quiet chuckles.

“He should be scolding me, though, Joong. I’m the one who asked for her help.” Taeyong replied.

“Arashi is very capable of making her own choices, Taeyong.” Hongjoong retorts, moving to lean against the railing next to where Seonghwa is. “Her heart can be too big, is all. You know she cares about everyone. Sometimes too much.”

“That may be the case, but I'm still the one who asked.” Taeyong shook his head a little, lifting his mug for another sip of his coffee. The conversation takes a pause as the door opens and Jaehyun appears from inside with a mug of his own. “Morning, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun nods, moving to sit on the swing with Taeyong as he takes in the pair at the railing. “I thought I sensed company.”

“This is Hongjoong and Seonghwa, the leaders of Wooyoung and San’s clan.” Taeyong introduced as Hongjoong lifted his free hand in greeting and Seonghwa gave a polite nod.

“A pleasure, gentlemen.” Jaehyun greets, giving a small nod of his own. “Do we have any word on Arashi?”

“She’s still asleep, as far as I know. I thought about glancing in on them, but if anything had happened, one of the others would have let us know.” Taeyong answered.

“Do you mind if I go check on her?”

“Not at all.” Taeyong assured. “I should get started on breakfast, though. With these two here, the others aren’t far behind.”

“We’ll help, of course. You won’t do it alone.” Seonghwa assured as Jaehyun stood and gave a little bow before heading inside.

Jaehyun set his mug on the counter by the door before starting up the stairs to the room he’d been told was Yuta and Arashi’s. He stops himself for a moment, unsure if he should knock, before he's startled by a voice resounding in his head.

“You can come in.”

It's Yuta speaking, causing a brief surprise in Jaehyun as he slowly opens the door. Entering the room, he glanced around before he spotted the bed. Yuta is sitting up, a book held elegantly in one hand while the other rests at Arashi’s side. Arashi herself is sleeping on her side facing the vampire. Curled against the back of Arashi's legs is a bundle of multicolored fur, which Jaehyun surmises must be San and Wooyoung. “I came to check on her.”

Yuta chuckles, eyes not moving from his book as he speaks. “She's alright. Hopefully she'll be up and moving soon.” The hand not holding his book moves to pet through her hair. The touch causes Arashi to stir just slightly, arm moving to drape over his legs. “You need not feel guilty, you know.”

“I'm the reason she's in this state, Yuta.” Jaehyun countered. “I'm responsible.”

“While that is technically the case, Jaehyun, I can assure you that you were not the only thing that had her focus.” Yuta replied, finally lifting his eyes from the pages. “She's very stubborn, and even if I had been more insistent that she be cautious, she probably would have kept at it. How are you feeling?”

“Physically, I'm really well. My magic is still very weak, though.” Jaehyn answered. “Not that that's surprising. I know I was in pretty bad shape. Regardless, I need to thank you. All three of you. I don't know what would have happened if you guys hadn't helped me.”

“Nothing good, I imagine.” Yuta mused, a slight hint of playfulness in his voice. “Do we have any more friends?”

“Hongjoong and Seonghwa?”

“Of course the leaders would be first.” Yuta chuckled. “No doubt they'll have started breakfast by this point.” He reaches over to pet the pile of fur, chuckling as a fox head popped up and wriggled free of the multicolored feline curled into him. The fox hopped over to Yuta’s lap and laid a paw on Arashi, chirping softly. “She's okay, Woo. Hwa and Joong are here. Did you still want to go help cook?” The fox shook its head, adjusting to slink under Arashi's arm, tail wagging a little. Yuta laughs at the gesture and pet Wooyoung gently. “Okay, I'll go down. Keep her safe, okay?” Leaning over, he placed a kiss on Arashi's forehead, whispering something before carefully sliding from the bed to stand. He motioned for Jaehyun to follow as he led the way out, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“You two are quite a pair.” Jaehyun admitted. “Even in her current state, your energies match very well.”

“I've heard it said that healers fall in love with protectors.”

“That is true.” The two are quiet for a moment as they descend the stairs, and Jaehyun speaks first. “Would I be intruding if I asked you a question?”

“That depends on the nature of the question, Jaehyun.” Yuta replied.

“Your breed is hard to come by these days. Born vampires, I mean.”

“I can't say that notion is entirely wrong. Borns tend to stay in places that are familiar. I don't know many who leave their homes. If they do turn fledglings, they usually venture off once they're strong enough and in control.” Yuta explained. “Of course, any vampire can turn someone, born and turned alike. Though I doubt that answers your inquiry.”

“I was wondering where you're from?”

“I was born in Osaka.” Yuta replied. “Middle child and only son to my parents. My two sisters are still back home.”

“I don't remember the last time I was in Japan. Forty years at least.” Jaehyun thought aloud as they entered the kitchen, the sounds and smell of cooking greeting them. “I don't believe I've ever been near Osaka, though.”

“Osaka is beautiful.” Hongjoong chimed in with a grin, busying himself with gathering plates and such for the large table. “I prefer it in the fall, though.”

“Or winter.” Seonghwa teased from the stove where he stood with Taeyong.

“Not the spring?” Jaehyun questioned.

“Someone doesn't like massive crowds.” Seonghwa clarified.

“It's an overload for me, there's always too many energies clashing. I make myself tolerate it for the children.” Hongjoong claimed indignantly, going about setting the table. Seonghwa steps from the stove to walk over, apparently intending on kissing the blue haired male, but Hongjoong turns away. “No, no. Kisses will not make it better.” He protested with a playful pout. Laughter echoed in the kitchen as Seonghwa sealed the smaller male in his arms and dipped his head to steal a kiss anyway, the others laughing.

“Come on you, you two lovebirds.” Taeyong teased, working on what looked like vegetables. “You're too cute for your own good.”

“You’re certainly a family.” Jaehyun noted, going over to join Taeyong.

“We've had time to get used to each other, even if we spend a lot of time apart.” The dragon answered with a smile. “With three clans connected, it's basically a family reunion when everyone gets together. That's why this place is perfect.”

“Perfect?” Jaehyun can't quite cover the disbelief in his tone as he arches a brow at Taeyong, who turns to look at him with an understanding smile upturning his lips.

“Everything can have scars, Jaehyun, homes included. And while this place may have wounds of its own, love and time can bring a new life, better things, to even the darkest of corridors.” His voice is so gentle, so calm, that it catches Jaehyun off guard for a moment, the two of them watching each other quietly.

“Awwh, look at our dragon, being all deep and poetic.” Hongjoong teases with a giggle, dodging as a carrot flies his way when Taeyong turns away from Jaehyun. “Oh, come on now, dragon-hyung! That was a good one!”

“I should smack you.” Taeyong teased, rolling his eyes.

“You wouldn't dare.” Hongjoong snarked back.

“Maybe have Seonghwa do it, then.” Yuta chimed in, a smirk evident in his voice as he looked up from cutting more meat.

“Regardless of who smacks him, he'd smack back.” Seonghwa says in a faux forlorn tone, sighing dramatically.

“Who are you, Wooyoung?” Hongjoong nudged Seonghwa gently, smiling even as he spoke. “Gods, I hate all of you.”

“Lying is unbecoming of a leader, Joong.” Yuta teased.

“Maybe you're just unbecoming, Yuta.” Hongjoong countered. Yuta had opened his mouth to retort, but a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in!” Taeyong called, the sound of the door opening soon following. “We're in the kitchen.” Three pairs of footsteps were heard approaching. After a moment, three men entered. One redhead, a blonde and one with greenish-turquoise colored hair. “Hello boys.”

“Hey there, Taeyong.” The redhead gave a nod, eyes finding Yuta. “I take it Woo is with her?”

“Yes. You need me to show you, Youngjo?”

“I can find my way.” Youngjo replied, slipping past the pair he'd entered with to head upstairs. The green haired male and the blonde watch him go before returning their eyes to the group in the kitchen.

“How is our little witch?” The blonde asked.

“Still asleep, but doing better. Thank you for coming, Yeosang.” Yuta replied.

It didn't take much to fall into a comfortable atmosphere, everyone working together, talking and laughing as they made food and coffee. Others came slowly; two from Taeyong’s, the remaining three from Hongjoong's clan and two more from Youngjo’s and Jaehyun did his best to make sure he caught each name and matched it to a face, mind once again letting him feel at ease with a distraction. San appeared to get food for himself, Wooyoung and Youngjo, carrying two plates upstairs before returning for drinks and disappearing again. Once breakfast was made and dishes done, the now large group found their way to the den, everyone easily finding places. Jaehyun found a place near Taeyong and Seonghwa, sipping a cup of soda as he listened and occasionally engaged with the group, but he was tense and on edge, fingers on his free hand tapping at his thigh. He was lost in thought when a tap on his knee drew him back into the moment.

“Would you like to come outside with me?” Taeyong’s voice is gentle and soft, offering instead of demanding, and Jaehyun finds himself nodding. Taeyong lets the others know he’s stepping out, and Jaehyun follows him out to the front part of the wrap-around porch. The dragon moved to sit on the porch swing, tucking one leg under the other as he gently swayed the swing with his other foot. He watched as Jaehyun moved to lean on the railing, head tilting. “What’s bothering you, Jaehyun?”

“What do you mean?” Jaehyun asked back, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re tense.” Taeyong's voice is matter-of-fact, eyes watching the other male patiently.

“I’m fine, Tae. I'm just not-”

“Jaehyun, I know you're not used to this scene, and I know we've technically only known each other a couple of days, but I can tell something is wrong. How much of that is where we are and how much of that is how you live out in the world, I'm not sure. But I sensed the change hours ago, so please, don't lie to me. I'm not saying to trust me with your life story right this second, but I need you to know that you are safe here, with all of us.”

Jaehyun is listening, head lowered and eyes shut. “Safe isn't exactly something someone like me knows, Tae. That's why I do my best to help our kind. This property though…” he trails off, lifting his head to look out at the vast yard. “I know this isn't the same place from my past in many ways, but it still feels haunted. And not in a fun way.”

“I can't say I know exactly how that feels, but I can say that the past can be healed over time. If you let it. There's certainly a few of us in the clan who can attest to that.” Taeyong replied, lifting his glass up again.

“Are there any actual humans in this clan?” Jaehyun manages to tease, turning to finally look at the dragon.

“Just plain ol’ human? A few, though they do have psychic gifts. Just member wise, my clan is in the twenties, and that’s not counting mates.” Taeyong smiles as he takes another sip from his mug. “All joking aside, though. What’s wrong? You don’t have to dive into the deep end of your past, please don’t make yourself uncomfortable. If I can help, though, please let me.” He watches as Jaehyun turns back to once more face the yard, patient as he listens to the sounds of the day waking up around them.

“When I was little more than a kid, my mom sold me off for a pretty penny.” Jaehyun’s voice is quiet, but the silence of the porch makes it easy for Taeyong’s sensitive ears to pick up on. “At that time, warlocks were a commodity. Demons spawned halflings like no one’s business, and once we were old enough, all kinds of people would pay top dollar for us.”

“Black market slavery.” Taeyong mused. “Every species has one, though I can see why warlocks would come in handy. Your magic has a variety of uses.”

“So do our marks.” Jaehyun replied, tone sad. “Especially when they can be preserved.”

“Like your eyes?”

“Exactly like my eyes.” It goes quiet between them, but Jaehyun is very aware of Taeyong’s eyes on him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes before continuing. “I thought I was lucky at first, until I ended up here. We were little more than toys, and the headmistress used berserkers to keep us in line.” He stopped, one hand gripping the railing.

“Oh.” The realization in Taeyong's voice is evident without having to see his face.

“I know it isn’t the same, Taeyong. This place, your family-”

“But your mind still registered Geonhak’s aura and it triggered fight or flight.”

“Sort of.” Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head. “I learned quick berserkers don’t react kindly to either the fight or flight mode.” The swing creaks and he hears Taeyong stand, and soon the rainbow haired male is at his side. “I managed to stay because none of you were bothered by his presence or reacted negatively.”

“Well, I can say with utmost confidence that Geonhak is very tame for his species. Especially when Yeosang is present.” Taeyong moves to rest his forearms on the railing. “I am sorry you went through such darkness, but I need you to know that you need not be uncomfortable. It’s okay to feel, to step away if it becomes too much.”

“Old habits are hard to break, my friend. Especially ones based on survival.”

“I’m not your only new friend here, Jae.” Taeyong remarks. “And we’ll all do what we can to help you, in our own ways, Mind you, this is all if you decide to stick around once Arashi says you’re okay.”

“How are you so sunshine coded?” Jaehyun teased, looking at Taeyong curiously.

“We all have our own battles with darkness, just like we all have to figure out how to fight against it. Some people let it consume them, others of us choose to try and be a light. I’d like to think that despite all of our own stories, these guys fall into the latter category.”

Jaehyun nodded a little as he thought, looking back out into the yard. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out then, won’t we?”

#my fics #making a fantasy…a beautiful galaxy ✾ my fics #Let Our Circle Be Unbroken #Locbu #nct fanfiction #taeyong x jaehyun #yuta x oc #ateez fanfiction #san x wooyoung #hongjoong x seonghwa

3 notes · View notes

camillathe6th · 2 years ago

Text

Snippet. No Punch Pulled.

DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to Malin Rydén and Fallen Hero. This one’s on the Retribution time-line (which you can wishlist on Steam etc etc). CONTEXT: Apparently I’m posting twice in three days, what the fuck. The Daniel POV faucet Hath Been Open. WHAT TO EXPECT: Daniel and Ortega discuss less than civilly about a roof-punch (Retribution’s open alpha spoilers ahead).

2020.

Under the ice pack, my eye still smarts, all the way down to the jaw. Of course it’s not that big of a deal, and I guess I deserved it a little; at least if you count unbridled violence as a communication style.

I don’t, for the record. But I understand how one can get there. I should have known; she’s always trembling with it.

I grasp too late how bad a refuge the break room is. As the pain just starts to wane, the door opens. Ortega throws me a glance and snorts. He takes the time to grab a beer in the fridge before he snarks:

“Rough morning?”

Under his laughing gaze, my pride smarts worse than my face.

“Just a little,” I mumble.

Shit. I would rather not tell him, but she’s going to, isn’t she? These two don’t share anything but the secrets of others. There will be no mercy for me, not from her, I’m sure of that. That means hiding it now will only come back to haunt me later.

“How’s the other guy?” Ortega adds on the tail of a generous gulp of beer.

“Unscathed. Una is the one who decked me.”

The next gulp goes down the wrong pipe.

“What?” he sputters.

“It’s m…”

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Oh, that’s rich. I bristle, cut to the quick. Of course he’s jumping to conclusions. Maybe he’s not wrong, but come on! He could have hesitated for one more second. It’s not like she’s a paragon of self-control.

“What?” I retort, “why would it be my fault?”

“Isn’t it?”

“I just wanted…”

“What did you do, Daniel?”

“Will you let me speak?”

“Will you stop justifying yourself and get to the point?”

I put the ice-pack down and breathe. I hope against hope that I’m not pink and blue and red and flushed. I feel cotton-headed and chest-boiling. I hate, I hate when he talks to me like I’m a disobedient little kid. When will he get it? I’m his ally, not his burden.

“I wanted to talk about Heartbreak, since nobody here will tell me anything. I flew her to a roof so we would be out of earshot from anyone…”

Oh. The silence that follows is much worse than his impatience.

The silence breathes with ozone.

When I look up, I’m greeted by a glare so dark I hold my breath. I stay seated, but my feet leave the floor, discreetly—anticipating the blow this time.

“Let me get this straight,” he says at last, voice very soft, soft enough to grate. “You flew a Heartbreak victim to a Los Diablos rooftop in the hopes that she would tell you, a perfect stranger, about the traumatic experience that lead to her almost-death?”

“I…”

“You do know she threw herself out a window and crashed on the ground several stories below, right?”

I wince. The image hurts me in the teeth. He looks like he relishes it: a savage scratching of a purulent scab, dirty nails deep.

“Ortega, I… She wasn’t…”

“She wasn’t WHAT?”

The scream comes from nowhere and hits like glass shattering. I haven’t seen him like that in a—a while. I wish I could disappear into thin air. This is worse, this is much worse than a punch. In front of me, Ortega has turned on his heels and paces up and down the room, tensed from nape to fists. My vague grasp of Spanish unlocks only fragments of his hissing:

“Can’t believe this… for months… and now this little shit… ruin everything?!”

Fine. I get the gist.

“She’s fine!” I plead. “She’s completely fine. She’s not going to vanish out of nowhere.”

“Shut up,” he snaps back to me. “Just because you collect Sidestep comics doesn’t mean you know her. If she does vanish, it will be your fault and your fault only.”

I clench my jaw. Yeah, I’m sure it won’t be about the obsessive nosing around he’s doing on his own free time. Pot, meet kettle.

“She won’t vanish,” I repeat. “She wouldn’t have agreed to train me otherwise. We’re meeting up again next week.”

That flies better than my apologies. He stops in his tracks, face tilted.

“Training? Training for what?” he looks at me vulture-eyed.

“For fighting, of course.”

“Una agreed to train you? She’s retired.”

“So? She was still the best fighter on the team, back in the day.”

“Second best. And it was seven years ago.”

I arch an eyebrow. What is he getting at? He’s stopped moving now, and his stillness makes me itch. This is no casual conversation.

“She still landed a punch on me today. Like riding a bike, I guess.”

“Only if you keep at it.”

“Fine,” I groan. “I’ll work more consistently.”

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. Not his point. Silly me—why would I ever be his point?

“What did she say about training? No—how did she hit you? How was her stance? How was yours? Was there any force behind the blow? Describe the scene to me.”

Oh, he wouldn’t dare, would he? Of course he would. Of course. This time I don’t avoid his gaze.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“What?” he barks, hackles raised.

“You’re trying to sniff out intel on her five seconds after ripping into me because I did the same? Get lost, Ortega!”

“Oh, get off your high horse! It’s not the same!”

“You’re right,” I throw back. “At least I asked her to her face.”

This one lands wrong, I see it on his moving face; but insults are less important than the bone he’s trying to gnaw at. He doesn’t let up:

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“If you think you’re helping her, you’re not. She needs me. What she doesn’t need is a little shit-stirrer clinging to her skirts.”

Getting better and better. Shit-stirring advice from the shit-stirrer in chief. Did he forget he can’t catch flies with vinegar?

“I’m not going to be your spy, Ortega,” I seethe. “Maybe try having a conversation next time.”

“Why, thank you for the suggestion,” he coos, poison-honeyed. “What do you recommend, kidnapping?”

It takes a lot not to clench my fists.

“Don’t be jealous,” I snap back. “I know you wouldn’t hesitate if you could fly yourself.”

I didn’t notice the space closing, not until he smacks his hands on the table between us and looms above me. I’m still seating, and I curse myself for not standing, earlier. Rookie mistake. There’s nothing I can do now but feel like a scolded brat, facing a resentment so cold I could shiver.

“You need to stop running your mouth about things you don’t understand.”

“You could make me understand,” I say, trying to summon my defusing voice, and failing. I’m still seeping anger, and his face is a locked box.

“You can’t. Back off. Just stay in your lane and don’t bother her again.”

“I’m not—”

He turns away. He’s done with me now. The dismissal is as disrespectful as his anger.

“Enjoy training, Daniel,” he throws over his shoulder, one last dart to ensure his victory. “You need it.”

Behind him, the door closes like a fist.

#notebooks #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #herald #charge #una

43 notes · View notes

emmebearpaw · 6 months ago

Text

“What do I do when I’m angry?” You ask without even asking. You are small, these emotions are new, the people around you teach you about each. Being happy is yellow and you show you are happy with a smile. Being sad is blue and you show you are sad by crying. Being mad is red. “How do I be angry?” They don’t really answer it.

You learn later that being angry is being loud and scary. Being angry is when your parents yell at you for doing something you shouldn’t have. Of course your parents yelling is scary. Being angry is being scary.

But being scary isn’t exactly an action to do. You can yell. Yelling is a good way to be angry. People already tell you are loud a lot though, like when you are excited! What’s another way to be angry.

The animal inside of you responds. Being angry is to be violent. The best way to get rid of the pain of holding the boiling pot of rage is throw it on someone else.

You scratch the girl you were mad at in first grade. You really should have gone to the principals when she told on you. You realize in that moment and dozens before you can’t hurt someone when you are angry. You lie to the teacher and say it was an accident, your nails were long and you didn’t mean it. But you didn’t have to hold that pot. You don’t do that again, being a good girl means you can’t be hurting anyone.

You are holding the boiling pot yet again and it hurts and it hurts and you have to do something. The pressure is mounting with deadlines for projects and extracurricular activities and now you need to do all of that work all over again and you kick a fucking hole in the wall at your middle school.

You know you shouldn’t have done that but nothing chills the pot like guilt sliding down your throat. You already knew by then that the boiling anger can’t go onto objects either. Only special objects can be hit. “You can punch your pillow if you are mad.” Your parents say. You can’t punch your fucking pillow when you are at SCHOOL. You can’t punch your pillow on the bus you cant you can’t.

So you learn to hold the boiling metal. You scream about it next time it begins to boil. Everyone looks at you and goes silent. Your friends tell you they were scared you’d hurt them.

you can’t do that. You can’t do that.

You go silent as the anger seeps through you. That’s weird. Why aren’t you talking. You talk. You sound angry, why are you angry. You leave the room. You can’t do that, we are busy right now, you can’t leave without permission.

You are trapped there. You have enough brain power left as the rage seeps into your skin to realize you are the only one who is angry in the situation you are in. Because you are angry at things you did and didn’t do. Because you have to be a good girl. That’s who you are. You set expectations for yourself and for others and you can’t even get yourself to meet all of them, how could you ever get someone else to. The kettle whistles louder and louder as the kids around you in class get off topic as the teacher runs to grab something. This is a discussion you want to scream. We have a topic to talk about you want to beg. You are sitting criss cross applesauce on the fucking floor with a hot iron pressed to your chest and you can not leave. You can not fix it.

So what did you learn to do? The anger has to go somewhere. It doesn’t sit in you well. You know you should be able to handle the searing metal but you can’t. It has to go somewhere. It can’t go on others, they’ll hurt. It can’t go on objects. They’ll break. It can’t go in the air it can’t be pushed into the ground it can’t leave the room all the time.

You pour the boiling hot anger onto yourself. It’s the only place for it to go? Isn’t it. It doesn’t solve the fact the water is still boiling. Now more is burned, but your hands don’t have to hold it. The sound of your fist hitting your own head provides some relief. The rattle in your brain after you slam it against something can distract you from the rage. You can punish yourself for the fact that no one else seems to have this problem that you do.

You know you picked the wrong way to pour out the water. it’s too loud. Too noticeable. You get in trouble for doing it. People get angry at you. Concerned for you. Scared of you. You look one of your best friends in the eyes and you want to punch them for something they said. You don’t remember what it was at this point you just remember you thought you should punch her.

But that was the first thing you learned wasn’t it? You can’t hit someone. You look her dead in the eyes and punch yourself with the force you wanted to hit her with. You get in trouble with your parents for doing it, grabbed by the arm to stop you from giving yourself a concussion in a parking lot as you sobbed over not knowing what item you wanted at the craft store.

they still haven’t answered what you should do instead.

You still don’t have a better answer. You become an adult, far past the point of learning that anger is red and you still don’t know what to do about it.

you learn to be quieter about it though. You try counting how many times you wanted to do it in a day. The people around you ask you to stop the ominous counting at the things you used to get mad about. You stop doing it on the second day. You try not to think about how you didn’t hit yourself at all yesterday, despite the rage. You start doing it again.

You learn that biting isn’t quite as good as hitting but it’s quiet and clean and easily hideable as you twist your hands to hide the teeth marks.

You stop being as angry when you leave high school. It turns out not being locked into rooms with the things that make you angry, helps a lot.

and yet.

One day you realize your sibling got to go to therapy for their anger issues. They went to therapy for it because they didn’t learn. They kept hitting and breaking and yelling. They got cards to give their teachers to take a walk when their pot started boiling. The reason you didn’t is because you learned. The reason you didn’t is because you hit yourself instead of others.

At that realization, the pot starts to simmer once more.

this time you cry.

#my post #XD I can’t go to bed until I stop crying because if I don’t I’ll get terrible eye bags!!!#If I put enough LOLs and LMAOs it’s almost like I’m fine!!!#I don’t know why I always want to write about my emotions it always just seems to prolong how long I feel bad because I feel bad while #writing about feeling bad. Like logically the best thing to do with all the bad emotions is to go “wow I feel X” and then stop feeling it.#And yet here I am writing fucking poetry for strangers on the internet instead of sleeping.#I hope you have a good time of day #Edit: you know I realized I’m spending several hours with the person I wrote about wanting to punch one time tomorrow. And we are mutuals #Oops promise I don’t want to punch you if you see this

3 notes · View notes

shallowseeker · 3 months ago

Text

#oooh this is good#cas stating that jack is not exactly himself is such a tell#their relationship was born precisely because of power and lack thereof #and about the power of protection and being protected#because he felt weak jack had to grow up instantly thinking it would make him less vulnerable #which is kinda interesting if you think of s6-7 Dean comparing Cas to a child and a baby#there's something here at play between power. being a literal and metaphorical child and being weak seen as being stupid#“without youe power you're just a weak and defenseless baby in a trenchcoat that I have to protect from doing stupid things” kind of vibes #it's humans vs angels at its finest because the base emotions are love and worry but these people can't articulate them#like. most of the time with Cas power is used as an excuse to avoid talking about the Real Thing and i find it intriguing via @ananke-xiii

Oooh, wonderful addition! The push-pull between fighting alongside people you love is...hmm. It's horrible, really.

And Dean and Cas hurt Jack's feelings so bad, ahaha! I'm not dogging Sam, but in 14x01, Bobby was SUPER against Jack going to the fight, and Sam let him go.

Cas-Mary-Bobby-Dean are very united in having Jack sit the bench while he recovers, and that's so interesting to me. In 14x01, Sam's instinct, because he himself was so often at the kids' table was to bring him along:

This is my FAVE Sam theme: safety vs autonomy/independence, but as you can see... Bobby was horrified. This right here, and what later happens to Maggie, is part of what sets up the huge fight between Sam and Bobby. That, as a leader, Sam is playing too loose and fast with the trainees, and that his judgment isn't great for knowing when someone is ready.

I talk a little more about this in my Claire-and-Sam parenting post:

Overall, it's just so...fascinating that Dean agonizes over the hard stuff, and Sam...doesn't. Sam is agonizing over comparatively smaller stuff, like "calling Mom," and perhaps accepting the earth-shattering decisions (werewolf cure) without much fanfare.

Dean on the other hand, unlike Mary, gets so prickly about keeping people safe. Mary is a little more stoic in this arena--her own person. She has a degree of my-way-or-highway, but she's a little aloof, abrupt. Perhaps due to growing up in a hunting family, she's more levelheaded, although we have seen her default to lone-wolfism and secret-keeping in order to protect others.

As for Dean, as I say here:

Dean's neurosis is wanting to protect everyone, and this is often fundamentally, violently incompatible with letting your family fight alongside you. Despite his discomfort, he tries to marshal everyone under one roof, and that often results in a degree of my-way-or-the-highway type rigidity as a means of neurotically trying to keep everyone safe. And that can come out mean. Some time-honored coping mechanisms:

(A) Goad him into being more powerful and better so he's safe (B) insult him to underscore that he's in danger and maybe shouldn't be fighting at all (C) go full denial and pretend the situation isn’t that serious

When he's super stressed in 14x04, we see Dean default to saying something mean. Despite this, Jack will STILL at ease throwing his real emotions at Dean in Optimism 14x06. (Because, on the whole, Jack would rather people be mean than fake/lie. This is a tendency he shares with characters who want to be over-prepared, like young John Winchester in 4x03.)

Aaaaand we get Jack's own "save-everyone" and "everything is my responsibility neurosis" on display. Michael is MY enemy. I'M the one you got Kaia killed etc etc. Interestingly, when he displays these neuroses, it's Dean who remains in the shot with him... because Dean has the same ones.

Dean rolls his eyes, like OMG KID IT'S NOT ALL ON YOU. Ahem, pot meet kettle (Optimism 14x06, in fact, is all about pot meet kettle. Exhibit B: "Kid, you did nothing wrong," and "Neither did you! But that doesn't make it easier, does it?")

Anyhoo, Dean knows how hard Jack believes these things, so he shuts him down equally hard. And Jack, to quote a friend, hilariously "sad-Charlie-brown" walks away.

JACK: *DEVASTATION*

DEAN: OOPS.

And Jack, having learned the silent treatment from the best... decides at that moment that he's going to turn his back and give the silent treatment like a boss... And actually! Because he's a dumbass, he's already planning to write a letter to them and run the fuck away to fight Michael on his own.

JACK: *not listening* Goodbye, forever.

///

*cut to later*

"Yup, this seems like the only option for me."

Jack is not going to be kept at the kids' table. Even if that means wanting to do dumb shit like this.

Okay, so let's take a minute to appreciate Jack getting chewed out:

Cas is literally chasing him and Jack is simmering

and then Cas puts his foot is his mouth and Jack's reaction is SO funny—look:

WEAK AND DEFENSELESS YOU MEAN 💩💩💩💩💩🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 I SHOULD GO BACK TO THE KITCHEN YOU MEAN🔪🔪🔪🔪🍳 🍳 🍳 🍳 🍳 🍳 🍳 🍳

...

....

...

>8((((((

CAS: *drops voice, juts jaw forward*

*moves in aggressively closer*

JACK: I thought it'd be good to meet the only real family I have left.

*REAL* family????

GRRRRRRrrrr

Okay but listen. Here's the thing.

JACK SAID THAT TO GET A RISE OUT OF CAS

Because he is tired of being benched and SOOOOO -ANNOYED- that Cas is chasing him and chewing him out; he's answering Cas's aggression with aggression.

Looooooooooooook at this face

THAT IS THE FACE OF A GUY WHO SAID THAT ON PURPOSE KNOWING exactly how it would land. This is COMPLETELY bringing Dean in Point of No Return vibes, 'yall.

///

#jack and dean #jack and little john comparisons #complex john #jack got the worst of all of his caretakers #lol #this unfortunately feed my theory that john and jack would get along like a house on fire #and it would go badly ofc #but it'd be good at first

122 notes · View notes

feirceangel · 3 years ago

Text

Imagine | Eavesdropping (Benny Lafitte)

Imagine arguing with your brothers when they try to stop Benny from seeing you.

Word Count: 577

"I can't believe you two," you huff at your brothers, Sam and Dean.

You had overheard them talking to Benny on speakerphone when they thought you were out on a supply run. They ordered him to stay as far away from you as possible, stating that they did not approve of your relationship at all.

Benny's response was too quiet for you to overhear, but from Sam's threats, you could tell that he refused.

After Sam hung-up the phone, you barged in there like a furious lioness. Caught off-guard, they stared at you like deer in the headlights.

Now, you cross your arms and glare.

"Uh, you heard that?" Dean asks.

You scoff, "Yeah, Dean, I heard that, and, news flash, it doesn't matter. I love Benny and he loves me. You two aren't gonna be able to stop us, you know that right?"

Sam frowns, "Y/n, he's a monster. You can't seriously love him!"

"Honestly," you roll your eyes at the long-haired idiot in front of you. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Remember that whole Ruby fiasco, Sammy? At least Benny isn't a demon trying to manipulate me into releasing the actual devil!"

He releases a breath slowly, obviously trying to keep his calm during this argument. You glare up at him, amazed at how he thinks he has the right to ban your relationship with Benny.

"Sam, you don't know Benny. Dean and I would be dead without him, not to mention that we would still be in Purgatory! Dean, you can't agree with this, you know Benny. He's changed for the better," you look Dean in his green eyes, daring him to disagree.

He sighs, "Sam, she does have a point. You don't know Benny like we do, he's good."

"How can you say that?! He's a vampire!" Sam yells, clearly agitated.

"He doesn't kill people, Sam, not anymore!" You yell back, fed up with this whole conversation.

Dean places himself between you and Dean, raising his hands in an attempt to get you to cease arguing. "This isn't gonna get us anywhere."

"You're right because she's too stubborn to see the truth!"

You scoff, "I do see the truth! You're just being overprotective! I'm not going to stop loving Benny, and there's nothing you can do to make me change my mind!"

Snatching your coat from a chair, you head out of the bunker, hoping the walk will help calm you. The cold night air greets you as you meander down the gravel road, appraising the stars in the sky.

Sam doesn't know what he's talking about. Benny's not a monster. He's kind, compassionate, caring, and he really loves you.

Your phone rings, so you take it out of your pocket and see that Benny is calling. Smiling, you answer.

"Hey, Ben."

"Hello, Y/n. How are you?"

You sigh, "Good, but I'm mad at my brothers for trying to screwup our relationship. I can't believe them!"

"They just want what's best for you."

"Yeah, but I know that you're the best for me. I love you, Benny."

"I love you too, darlin'. Nothing'll ever change that."

"I wish you were here right now," you say, picturing his ocean blue eyes.

You practically see the smile on his bearded face, "So do I."

"Why don't we get dinner tomorrow? We could meet halfway." You suggest.

"That sounds great. Text me the time and place and I'll see you there."

Grinning, you head back into the bunker and text him the address of the place you have in mind.

#benny lafitte #benny x reader #xreader #imagine #supernatural #supernatural x reader #sam #dean #sam and dean #spn #female reader #reader insert

60 notes · View notes

maadorii · 4 years ago

Text

JJK + domestic things they do with you pt.2

max.notes: the last ones did really well... surprisingly and some of my irls were talking about how i didn’t include some characters last time so i was convinced to do this at the end, so here you are shawties.

characters included: k. nobara, choso, s. gojou,

part one

warnings/tags: more fluff

NOBARA; skin care

nobara’s hands were gentle as she spread the creamy face mask across your cheeks; it was a new one she found on one her regular escapades and decidedly to impulsively buy it for the both of you to try together. you sat perched on the bathroom counter, nobara situated just right between your legs. you can feel her breath softly fanning against your neck, leaving you squirming at the ticklish feeling. nobara’s brows arched downwards in concentration, her tongue just peaking out past her lips. your eyes loomed over her softened figured; how her eyes drooped with sleepiness. watching how her lashes, light and willowy fluttered against her round cheeks. you might’ve stared too long because now her amber eyes are shifting up to look at you. “what are you staring at?” her voice came, slightly deeper than normal. a giggle bubbled in your throat, “you, of course.” which resulted in a eye roll, a breathy snort out her nose, continuing to apply the face mask on your face. and in one swift motion, you leaned forward to place a kiss just below her eye. “ack–! what the hell, your getting the mask on my face dammit!” she complained as your laughter rang and echoed through the bathroom walls. the pure and utter joy in your voice coax nobara into a smile, a laugh bubbling in her chest.

CHOSO; cooking dinner

choso doesn’t know the first thing about cooking; man can’t even boil water without almost setting the house down. but it doesn’t stop him trying. you couldn’t help but feel the love swell in your chest watching him grow over the weeks of his persistence. one day you come home from work, the time is late with the sun already setting— body rigid and bones recked with fatigued. you were greeted with pleasant smell of parsley and oregano wafting past your nose, humming at the delightful scent. following it to the kitchen, you meet choso standing at the counter, border shoulder and all cutting a wide variety of different vegetables. a large pot sat on the stove on a low simmer and what seems to be... curry? a stew? you didn’t know, but it smelt amazing. you sneaked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist feeling how he jolted from your touch. “woah, don’t sneak up on me like that. i do have a knife in my hand.” he grumbled. “well hello to you too.” you whispered, placing a wet kiss on the back of his neck. peering over his shoulder, you watched dutifully as choso worked on a cutting an onion, albeit with some struggle. “do you need help?” you asked. choso was rather reluctant on answering, choosing to continue to cut the onions. but several more minutes passed and he hasn’t made much progress and he can feel the stare of your eyes intensify. and with a heavy sigh, he shifted the kitchen utensil in the direction of your already stretched out hand ready to grab it. unbeknownst to him, your hand gently pried his fingers off the handle to where the knife still sat loosely in his hand, shifting it around until the hilt of the blade sat between his index finger and thumb. “you hold the knife like this, that way you have more control of it.” you soothed, choso nodding along, his eyes never leaving your hands as they rested on top of his, guiding him.

GOJOU; movie nights

it’s nearing midnight and the smell of popcorn– sweet kettle corn, wafted in the air of the small apartment room. you stood idly in the kitchen, lazily watching the bag of popcorn slowly move around in a circle in the microwave. heavy footsteps made their way towards the kitchen and out of the corner of your eye, you see gojou's tall, slender body lean against the headway. dressed in his casual clothes with those damn circle-rimmed glasses. you always told him he needed a new pair. he wore a sly smirk on his lips (when did he not?) as he strode over to stand next to you. “ what movie did you pick out, satoru?” he didn’t immediately respond, which you considered a bad sign already. “it’s a surprise.” another sign. you sighed through your nose, knowing there was no way out this. settling on the couch, gojou pressing play, the opening credits appeared revealing the movie he choose. “stuart little? are you fucking serious right now?” you deadpanned, half your body turning to look at your boyfriend as he fell over on the sofa laughing like maniac. “w-wait, oh my god you should see your face!” gojou wheezed, arms holding stomach as he laughed some more. when he finally finished, he changed it the movie, thankfully, to something you were more willing to watch. half way through the movie, you feel the soft strands of gojou’s ivory hair tickle your shoulder, peering down to see him rest his head upon it; his body inching closer to snuggle in the heat that radiated off your body. gojou was cute sometimes, when he actually isn’t being an asshole.

315 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 4 years ago

Text

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

#thor x reader #king!thor x reader #royal au #arranged marriage au #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfiction #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt01

1K notes · View notes

cantillat-moved · 2 years ago

Text

The princess’ presence was a welcomed one regardless of the situation he found himself in and Shirou would be remiss to don’t acknowledge how grateful he was that it had been Sonia who found him. Out of all the national lines he could have crossed, all the allies he could have stumbled upon, it is very likely he owned his life to her right now or at least his continuous safety. It was such a ridiculous amount of luck that he doubt that even the so-called Ultimate Luck would be able to pull something so outrageous. Still, he would rather not question it and merely be grateful for her assistance. Bless her heart. ❝ I believe I heard the pot calling the kettle black. ❞ the barb was gentle, displaying his concern. Whilst Shirou admitted to be a stubborn man who have been following the path he created for himself in almost obsessive fashion he also knew how devoted the princess was, oftentimes neglecting her own physical and emotional needs in order to help others. The biggest difference, of course, is that she was in a fine outfit out of a high class dinner and he was stitched up in bed wearing pajama pants and little else (he should probably be content to be wearing anything at all, but rather not think too hard about it).

The cute roar from her stomach caused him to chuckle. ❝ That brings me memories. ❞ it were his instincts of procuring meals for famished blonde royals that led to their fateful meeting that day. ❝ Not many things beat comfort food, no matter how fancy the meal might be. ❞ the young man actually had a stint as a chef during one of his many jobs – one of those noveau rich families trying to pretend to be highest of high class would demand him to use all the finest ingredients and make the best meals “like in Europe” they would say but would actually express dislike towards properly prepared elaborate meals and be head over heels about something seasoned with simple store-brought mayo and ketchup. It was downright mortifying and ridiculous at the same time – how come a real princess to be far more humble than some people ? Shirou knew the answer for that, something that he’d known for a very long time: Sonia was a good person.

❝ If you ever wanted to know why I haven’t joined the Mage’s Association, that’s why. ❞ he mentioned upon hearing about her misadventures during dinner ❝ You have my deepest sympathies and, knowing you, you showed them that Sonia Nevermind isn’t someone to be underestimated or taken lightly. I’m sure it was fruitful for your project. ❞ Shirou kept smiling, imagining a room full of snobbish nobles and important individuals underestimating her for her young age and beauty and being severely outsmarted. The grace in which she usually carried herself even when treating those working under her were admirable but he knew Sonia wasn’t someone to be taken lightly – and could be rather stubborn in a way that makes one compelled into giving in. At least in his experience.

After watching quietly the exchange between the princess and the footman, he decided to comment: ❝ Maybe they should be trained about what to expect when a certain friend of yours shows up out of nowhere. To his credit he kept his cool pretty evenly. ❞ it was a jab at his own expense, of course. ❝ Should we start making plans for the next time I happen to show up at your doorstep without warning? ❞ his smirk as short-lived upon the mentioning Tohsaka.

❝ … Let’s say that her lungs are in perfect working condition; I didn’t even had to put it on speaker. ❞ yes, she was beyond herself, yelling at him, calling him an idiot and crying. Every time he caused that kind of grief made Shirou profoundly upset, the last thing he wanted was to have Rin or anyone sad because of him – he was doing all of that for a world in which no-one would have to cry anymore. ❝ In any case she’ll handle things on her end, call in a few favors to throw the people who were after me off my scent and they’ll never come to your doorstep. ❞

As soon as he tried to get up, Sonia was at his side, offering the use of her hand, or arm, or whatever he needed to pull himself upright. With the stitches still a bit fresh, she figured it would be a bit of a struggle to get himself into a seated position. But once he was, she turned on the lamp next to his bedside before sitting down in the cushioned chair nearby.

“You can hardly be surprised if that’s the case,” She chided him, though her smile was enough to indicate that she had no interest in actually reprimanding him. “You work very hard, physically and emotionally alike, to help those you can with the talents you possess. Eventually, it catches up to you: often when you least expect it and when you need it most, even if you cannot tell at the time.”

If one rumble from her stomach was embarrassing enough, a second was all but mortifying. Considering she had every luxury available to her, Sonia really had no reason to justify not eating her fill. Barring, of course, the only reason: luxury itself. She blushed fully for a moment before shaking her head, laughing at her own predicament. It was one of the only ways to deal with it. “Well, regardless, it smells heavenly,” She told him. “And fancy can be overrated quite often: I’m just thankful tonight was simply ridiculously small portions of elegant food and not a night of pure molecular gastronomy. Those can be fun, but you’re almost guaranteed to feel peckish afterwards.”

She paused, reaching to press a small button mounted on the wall near his bedside table. A buzzer of sorts, though it wouldn’t sound like anything to the two people currently in the room. “And it wasn’t the easiest: it never is, when dining is instead a debate and both parties have very different projects in mind. There are some deals where the price is too high, even for land that would be put to good use.”

Something she’d get an earful from her mother about later. The sons were, for the most part, perfectly agreeable in temperament and possessed impeccable manners, and their father was offering far more than what the land was worth in exchange for her romantic favor for any one of them. That had been the problem, with the roasted fowl and with the men: they’d been perfectly agreeable, nothing more. There had been nothing in the way of flavor or spice, nothing like the lamb Shirou had been treated to. It wasn’t long until a footman had entered, bowed, and asked what was needed.

“I’d like whatever lamb and lentils Mr. Emiya hasn’t eaten, in a bowl, sent up on a tray with a bit of yoghurt on the side mixed with honey and crushed nuts, please. Oh, and a suitable bottle of wine. Chef’s opinion is fine, no need to ring the Castle sommelier.”

“A..are you quite sure, Your Royal Highness?” The footman asked. He was young, younger than she was and relatively new to the post. He’d certainly been trained never to ask questions about any requests made by the family, but in this case, Sonia guessed it was purely shock that drove him. “And on a tray? Are you sure you wouldn’t like a setting in the dining room?”

“A tray will suit me fine, thank you,” She assured him, giving a pointed, don’t-ask-questions smile that she usually reserved for troublesome members of the aristocracy. “Ask the butler to find a folding table and ask another footman to accompany you in with it, along with Mr. Emiya’s own yoghurt. That will be all.”

A quick nod and the young man left, presumably to hurry down to the kitchen with the request. Sonia sighed: soon enough, the entire household would be made aware of how poor her evening had been at the Marquis’ residence. Her own staff wasn’t immune to one of the most pressing gossip in the country: would the Princess of Novoselic finally meet her match?

“So, how is Tohsaka-san doing?” She asked. For the meantime at least, she could ignore the fallout from her evening. “I’m sure she had plenty to say regarding you going so long without contacting her.”

#more than a princess #x emiya : Shirou #x Emiya : Shirou : tbd : non despair Sonia

28 notes · View notes

mikrowrites · 4 years ago

Text

cottages of constellations

c!wilbur x f!reader

warnings: angst, fluffy flashbacks, arson, character death

summary: there’s a place only known by two people, full of sweet memories and domesticity. but the world isn’t sweet anymore, and sometimes violence is the only universal language. rather, Sophie visits the cottage she and Wilbur shared before the war, and is met by an unlikely guest.

might make a part two w doomsday and revivebur, we shall see...

Y/n sighed, sitting upon her horse as the wind blew across the grassy field. Smoke still rose behind her from fires still not put out long after the destruction, the girl shaking her head to try and absolve the memory from her head.

She gripped the reins, goading the horse to move, Y/n riding across the field. She knew where she needed to go, she knew the coordinates by heart.

No one else knew about the cottage, just two people, and one of them... well, he’s dead. There’s no sugar coating that. It resided far from the server, a little place just for the two of them.

After a few hours, with the sun rising behind, Y/n rode into the woods. She kept going forwards until she reached the river, stopping the horse. She looked forwards, pursing her lips.

The cottage.

“This is the perfect place!”

Wilbur jumped off his horse, pointing to the small clearing along the river.

“You think so?” Y/n asked, walking up beside him to stare at the landscape.

“Of course.” He emphasized. “But of course perfect is wherever you are.”

Y/n scoffed. “Jesus, that was cheesy.”

Wilbur laughed, running down the landscape towards the small clearing. He turned back, smiling.

“Hey, are you coming?”

Y/n tied her horse to a lead, patting it in thanks before moving forwards, approaching the cottage.

It looked frozen in time, from when Y/n had left it to help fight for L’manburg. The flowers still looked kept, the farm out back unharvested. She smiled as she approached the cottage, taking in the blooming flowers.

“It’s a surprise, so no looking.”

“Okay, okay!” Y/n allowed Wilbur to lead her over outside the cottage.

Wilbur stopped. “Okay, you can look.”

Y/n opened her eyes, walking over to peer at several brightly colored flowers planted around the cottage’s exterior. The hues painted the landscape, causing her jaw to drop at the beauty.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur nervously asked, Y/n whipping her head around to cast him a bright smile.

“I love it, Wilbur.”

Y/n pushed the oak door open, the hinges creaking. She let out a few coughs as dust invaded her senses, stepping into the cottage. the lanterns were flickered out, pots of plants and flowers left withered and dead.

She walked past a set of bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of the books.

Wilbur and Y/n sat together, books in each of their hands as they read and relish each other’s company. A kettle of water was being heated in the kitchen, the sun filtering through the windows.

Y/n flipped a page, not noticing as Wilbur’s eyes lifted from the pages to her face, studying every bit of her. A soft smile crossed his face as he studied her soft green eyes, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows that were furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly her eyes flicked up, Wilbur’s face going red. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing! Nothing, no, not at all, no, uh—“Wilbur smiled sheepishly. “You’re... you’re just so ethereal right now.”

It was Y/n’s turn to blush as she tried to hide her cheeks behind the book, the boy laughing.

Y/n grasped a rung of the ladder in her hand, sighing for a moment before pulling herself up. Each step up the ladder her heart quickened, her lips trembled.

She climbed into the loft area, her breath catching in her throat.

The bed was still perfectly made from the day she left it. The sunset reflected perfectly into the room from the large glass window, casting the room into a beautiful orange hue. Y/n turned and saw the chest in the corner, the sight bringing her to her knees.

The letters.

“I’ll write you so many letters, Y/n/n!” Wilbur insisted, grasping her hands. “Every day! Until you can join me, we can send those letters.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “I’ll miss you, Wil.”

The boy pulled her into an embrace, the girl burying her face in his shirt. He smiled, tracing circles into her back comfortingly. “A letter a day for you, until we see each other again.”

And a letter a day she received.

The letters came daily, some recalling the events of the day, some poems, some love letters. Y/n read each letter enthusiastically, hearing of Wilbur’s adventures and the people he encountered. The nation he was creating, L’manburg.

Then, after receiving a letter detailing the start of the war for L’manburg, Y/n packed her bag, took her horse, and left for the server. She fought alongside Wilbur and the others, resisting for independence.

Y/n’s hands trembled as she sifted through and read each letter, the open pieces of parchment cast about the floor in front of her. Her heart ached as she read the words of a man whom she had lost so long ago, so long before his death. The Wilbur that had wrote Y/n songs and poems declaring his love and admiration had died in that war, leaving a man she could hardly recognize.

The orange glow of the sun was fading from the room, darkening the inside of the cottage. Y/n felt tears gather in her eyes as she finished reading the last letter, two teardrops pattering on the wood floor. The letter fluttered from her hand onto the ground with the rest, the girl wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She stood, looking out the window and noting how night was fast approaching. Y/n frowned, reaching into her pocket to produce a box of matches, walking over the the bedside lantern to light it. She struck the match, the flame igniting, lighting the lantern.

Y/n went to shake out the match before freezing, her eyes fixed upon the yellow light of the small flickering flame.

The fire crackled softly as melodic guitar chords filled the night with sweet music. The river rushed by near them, as well as the sounds of the rustling leaves in the wind, creating an orchestra of soothing sounds.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against Wilbur’s shoulder as he strummed the guitar. They sat on a blanket in front of the fire, one of Wilbur’s coats draped over the girl’s shoulders.

Peace. Both felt total and complete peace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Y/n mused, staring up at the stars.

“Maybe, someday, we will. We’ll just lay and chart constellations.” Wilbur responded confidently.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and letting the sounds of Wilbur’s guitar and the campfire lull her to sleep.

“I’d like that.”

The lit match felt heavy between Y/n’s fingers, the girl sitting amongst the countless letters once more. Night had fallen, the stars dotting the sky. Y/n stared out at the stars, catching sight of constellations and clouds and the moon.

She reached for a letter, parting her lips.

“You lied to me.”

Y/n stood once more and let the letter meet the match, the paper going up in flames. She dropped it, the flaming parchment falling to the floor and igniting the rest of the precious letters that could have redeemed Wilbur.

She stepped back, watching as flames set to the wood of the room, the bed, the carpet. The girl spared the room one last look before climbing down the ladder, throwing the match onto the bookshelf, and walking out of the cottage. Y/n walked backwards, watching as surely the cottage was caught in a fury of flames.

Y/n finally let herself breathe, exhaling deeply as if a weight had lifted off her chest. She watched her old home burn, finally feeling a sense of finality.

“You sure did a number on that house.”

Her eyes widened, spinning and quickly unsheathing her sword and raising it to the person behind her’s neck. Y/n’s eyes hardened, glaring at the unwanted visitor.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” She spat.

She could almost see Dream’s smile from under his mask. “Wilbur sure did love his secrets. Was will to impart a few to me in exchange for some TNT. I figured you might be here.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “He... he told you about the cottage?”

“Y/n... he told me everything.” Dream responded. She slowly lowered her sword, stepping away from Dream. “I understand everything now. Your blind devotion to him, the loyalty. The server that drove him to betray that trust.”

“You did.” Y/n insisted. “You drove him to his death. You caused all of this.”

“Wilbur made his own decisions.” Dream shrugged. “And as I can see now, so can you.”

Y/n turned to look back at the fire. “So, you’re here to kill me then, yeah?”

“No, I’m not.” Dream quickly replied, Y/n looking back at him. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer? What the hell does that mean?” She scoffed.

Dream approached her. “They’re rebuilding L’Manburg as we speak. They never learn, they never understand. They call Wilbur insane, yet maybe he was the most sane of us all. He saw and understood the truth, and that scared them. So here’s what I offer you, Y/n. Help me take them down. I’ll pay you a good price.”

“What could you pay me that’s worth my time?” Y/n raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms.

Dream reached into his pocket, throwing a few netherite ingots and several diamonds onto the grass in front of her. Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, looking up at him. “There’s so much more where this came from. And better yet,” Dream tilted his head slightly as he held a bundle of fabric to her, the brown shades and patches so very familiar; Wilbur’s coat. “you can finish what Wilbur started.”

Y/n stared wordlessly at the piece of clothing held out in front of her, before closing her eyes.

“Wil?” Y/n wandered over to where Wilbur sat in the darkness of Pogtopia, the girl kneeling down next to him.

“Hey, Y/n/n.” He smiled tightly, sitting forwards. “What’s up?”

The girl smiled sadly. “I don’t know. I just... everything’s all wrong. I don’t know how to fix it.”

The man pondered her words, considering how the events of the next few days would play out. The heartache and betrayal.

It was no secret Wilbur and Y/n had been drifting apart. The lingering trauma of her torturous life in Manburg and the loss of her first two canon lives, him grieving the loss of his country. They were both hanging on by a thread, and comfort was hard to be sought between the two of them.

Wilbur knew he would die soon. He knew that the end of his story was approaching, but maybe, he could have one more sweet memory with the girl he had fallen helplessly in love with.

“Let’s go look at the stars.”

Y/n perked up, her featured contorted in surprise. “What?”

“Like we used to, by the river. Let’s go stargazing.” Wilbur stood, holding out his hand to help her up. The girl took it, the boy pulling her up to standing and intertwining his fingers in hers, pulling her through the ravine.

They trudged up the stone stairs and through the hidden doorway, out into the open air. Wilbur led Y/n into a clearing, where he shrugged off his jacket, laying it on the ground. He beckoned her over, the two laying on top of the fabric and staring up.

The sky was exceptionally clear that night, the stars glittering beautifully against a dark sky. Wilbur turned to watch Y/n stare up at the stars, noting her lips twitch softly as she began to list constellations under her breath. He took her hand once more, looking up at the stars.

That was the last moment they shared together before he died.

Y/n opened her eyes, looking up at Dream, who held out a hand to shake. She sheathed her sword, nodding slightly before taking the jacket and reaching her hand out, clasping his palm in a firm shake.

The man chuckled from behind his mask, stepping backwards. “You’ll be hearing from me. Goodbye, Y/n.” With that he left, the girl left standing alone on the riverbank. She stood still for a beat before bending down, moving the items to her inventory, shrugging on the trench coat, and turning back to the cottage.

It was nearly burnt to the ground at this rate, the flowers outside catching. Y/n swore for a moment she could see a glimpse of a tall boy in a yellow sweater in the flames, but brushed it off. She made the trek over to her horse, climbing onto the saddle.

She cast one more look at the remains of the cottage before cracking the reins, riding away.

It was time to finish what Wilbur had started.

a/n: i wrote this before the philza lore where wilbur fabricated history in the letters, so just assume that wilbur was truthful in these letters and y/n arrived directly before the duel and the betrayal.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot imagines #c!wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot imagine #wilbur imagine #dsmp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines

230 notes · View notes

frostfireft · 4 years ago

Note

I would love to hear more about Southern Freed and British Laxus. Please, I beg of you, tell me more

Of course! this is combining the AU we made and bits of canon stuff so that it could be used in either context!

Freed:

-Freed has South Eastern southern accent because he grew up moving around the little area where Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina meet. (or in canon, whatever the closest equivalent may be. I honestly don’t know)

-He also talks really fucking fast, especially when he’s excited. This causes a lot of his words to turn themselves into weird contractions that can be hard to parse through if you don’t have experience with it. (Contrary to what you might think, if someone has a southern drawl, it doesn’t necessarily mean they speak slowly. It just means they elongate certain vowels and diphthongs sounds or even just the most prominent syllable of the word. (like how “going to” becomes “gonna” but is pronounces like “gun-na” with heavy stress on the first syllable) )

-example for the last one: y’ain’t gonna’lieve thi’shit (you are not going to believe this shit)

-He has the ability, if he’s not sleep deprived, to completely neutralize his accent. He learned how to do this explicitly because people stereotype southerners as stupid, and he enjoys seeing people’s reactions when he gets done presenting his theses or linguistic findings. He’s using their reactions to them finding out he’s southern and has a deep accent to write another theses about why judging people by their first appearance or based on stereotypes is a terrible thing to do.

-When he really sleep deprived his words slur so bad that his own momma wouldn’t be able to understand him.

-He’s written a few books, but no English major would be surprised to learn he’s southern. This is because no matter how well you nuetralize an accent, the tendedency to use certain colloquialisms is usually very present in any author’s style. (examples: Bless your heart, I reckon, pot-kettle, fisticuffs, doohicky, hissy fit, fixin’, Sir/Ma’am, calling a shopping cart a “buggy”)

-has used southern colloquialisms in his runes. This is part of what makes them so hard to fight and decypher. No one fucking understand them on top of them being hard to change regardless.

-He has some of the best insults, be it the super southern ones(“Well that’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.” and “She’s a few green beans short of a casserole, but that’s all right”) or just straight up sassy ones (”you’re why the gene pool needs a life guard” and “the bar was low but you brought a shovel”)

-Definitely called Laxus “highfalutin” before they became friends. (pronounced high-fo-loo-tin, means that someone is uppity and thinks their hot shit when they’re not)

-Drinks sweet tea with so much sugar that it’s damn near molasses, but hot tea with very little.

-Would punch a cop without hesitation, ducktape and wd40 can fix 90% of problems. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” “if it’s stupid and it works, then it ain’t stupid,” definitely knows how to make and/or owns illegal fireworks, definitely went to a horse camp as a kid and can ride.

Laxus:

-Grew up in Westminster and has an RP/Queen’s English accent(b-are-th pronounciation. this is the accent that’s most often mimicked by people and used in movies. once again, in canon he’d have grown up in whatever the most canon equivilent is. probably Crocus, and then he moves in with Makarov after Ivan(fucking cunt) gets arrested)

- He speaks so properly and it’s a drastic contrast to the way he looks.

-and by that I mean. This man has no fashion sense. None. This is because he doesn’t want to be seen as posh, and he decided that dressing like a blind man who ran through a thift store is the way to do it.

-Tried so hard to get rid of his accent. So. fucking. hard. He hates it because it reminds him of his dad.

-Insults people while trying to be “nice.” He doesn’t really realize he’s doing it until after he meets Freed and sees the way he intentionally insults assholes while being “kind.” He did not understand why everyone hated him until then.

-Would punch any other person who sounds and acts posh without hesitation. Makarov is proud of him.

-Used to drink a shocking about of black and milk tea, but Freed got him to try a bunch of other kinds. He still won’t touch the sweet tea though.

-His words tend to drip with sarcasm. Most people just think he’s being an asshole, but the few who understand his humor get the biggest kick out of it (Makarov, Freed, Evergreen, Bickslow, and then a few other’s later in life)

-Would also punch a cop without hesitation.

-he can’t handle spicy food. Like at all. He feels like he’s dying one bite into anything with crushed red pepper in it. Not that he’ll let anyone know that.

- Absolutely loves the rain, and not just because of his magic. It makes him remember what little of his childhood was actually nice and plesant.

-he sunburns really easy because it wasn’t sunny very often where he grew up for the first 12 years of his life. He peels really bad as it heals too.

Fraxus:

-the first time Laxus spoke to Freed while he was sleep deprived, he had no fucking idea what he was saying. Not a fucking clue. Freed tried four seperate times to seperate his words before just giving up.

-They argue about what the proper word for something is all the time. All. The. Time. (fries vs chips, cart vs buggy, cookie vs bisciut.

-Laxus once watched Freed mentally die inside when a waiter offered him sugar packets because there wasn’t actual sweet tea.

-There aren’t many dishes that they’ll agree on. Especially if they’re arguing about who will do the cooking.

-Freed has absolutely made the food “too spicy” just to get Laxus back for dumb things. watching his partner die inside from something that barely tingles will never cease to amuse him.

-They eventually get to a point where parts of their vocabulary make it into the other’s, and soon they have theis weird mix-matched dialect that confuses the shit out of other people.

-They use their hellish combination of sarcasm and insults disguised as compliments to subtly insult and cuss out homophobes, concervatives, TERFS, and basically any piece of shit they come across.

-They also argue over whether or not to fix something or buy a new one when it breaks

Laxus: Are you sure it’s safe to fix that with duct tape?

Freed: Duck tape is insulated enough for this-

Laxus: no it isn’t. It will catch fire if it gets hot enough.

Freed: Toaster’s worked fine with duck tape holdin’ the wire for the past decade.

Laxus: You fixed the toaster with duct tape?

Freed: It worked, dinit?

-He doesn’t mention that he also added runes to it too explicitly because it’s funny.

-There’s a lot of stuff like this: “You dumb mother fucker, how did I fall for you?” “Because you tripped.”

-If you insult one of them, you better believe the other will roast you so thuroughly that a bonfire wouldn’t compare all while the one of them you insulted kicks your ass into the stratsophere.

-They both have so much respect for each other. So. Much. Respect. They’re completely honest when alone, no sarcasm, no half insults, just them.

- Even when not alone, they fully trust each other. There’s no one else they trust to have their back the same way, even if Ever and Bicks are close seconds. No one can pick apart their mind and thought process the same way, and it comes from the fact that they argued so much before they were in sync with each other.

-Once they get to the point of being in sync with one another (let’s be real, it propbably only takes like a year) nothing can get in their way.

-Freed’s captain of the Raijinshuu for a reason goddamn it, and it’s not just because he and Laxus are together. It’s because he’s strong as fuck, should have been fucking S class, and he’s one of the only people who can talk sense into Laxus.

-is the last bit partially because they’re together? Yeah probably, but Freed and Laxus are equals damn it. He could at the very least, tie a fight with Laxus.

#Fairy Tail headcanon #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fraxus #this got really long #and has a handful of general headcanons too #Frost speaks

71 notes · View notes

itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

Crossword Clues & Coffee - Five Across

Summary: A chance encounter in Lebanon’s finest (read: only) diner leads Dean to find the one thing he never knew his life was missing.

Warnings: Tiny bit of language? Angst. LOTS of sass. Honestly, it’s a lot of fluff. No romance.

Author’s Note: Many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for always-masterful revision and editing advice, and to @thoughtslikeaminefield for encouragement and flails. I think we all need something a little more light-hearted these days, so here you go.

MAJOR NOTE: DO NOT QUIT IN THE MIDDLE. DO NOT KILL ME. READ TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER. You've trusted me this long, just read til the end of the chapter. One more chapter after this one.

Word Count: 1269

In Case You Missed It: CC&C: One Across | Two Down | Three Down | Three Across | Four Down

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Five Across

Winter brings chill winds and a rattling cough to Esther’s chest that has Dean this close to just picking her up, sticking her in Baby, and taking her to the doctor himself. She waves him off his “fussing,” swallows some pills, and puts her kettle on the stove for yet another cup of honeyed tea.

Dean gets it; she’s been along for a long time, and even before that she was the one who took care of everyone, not the other way around. Dean understands a little too well, actually.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

When Dean arrives at the diner the following Tuesday only to receive a message from one of the waitresses that Esther called and isn’t “feeling up to breakfast,” he turns on his heel without a word, stops for ten minutes at the grocery store, and is at Esther’s front door before Baby even has time to stop growling in the driveway.

He knocks once, for propriety’s sake (and only because Esther actually gives a damn about propriety in the first place), and then barges straight in, one arm cradling a small paper grocery sack as his eyes sweep the empty living room.

“Esther?” he calls. He drops the groceries on the table and heads in the direction of the coughing, his heart sinking lower with every little gasping breath he hears at the end of the coughs.

He finds Esther propped up in bed, not even dressed for the day despite it being an hour past their normal meeting time. She looks smaller than usual, the fluffy comforter pulled up around her shoulders as she holds a handkerchief to her mouth just before another round of coughs racks her frail form.

She doesn’t look surprised at Dean’s appearance, doesn’t even fuss at his unannounced arrival, and that honestly worries him as much as the coughing. He retrieves a glass from the kitchen, fills it with cool water, and holds his own steadying hand around Esther’s as she drinks slow sips.

He sets about making her honeyed tea and the oatmeal he purchased from the grocery store, adding some honey to the hot grain (sludge, he thinks with a bone-deep shudder). Then, sighing deeply, he adds a second bowl to the tray for himself.

She’ll be angry if he doesn’t eat, too.

She’s steadier after the hot meal, her coughs subsiding, and they manage a stilted conversation for a couple of minutes before Dean clears away their breakfast dishes and returns with the newspaper he brought.

Rather than handing it over, he pulls out his own pencil stub and starts reading the crossword clues aloud, waiting for input between coughing fits with an increasing tightness in his gut that he doesn’t quite hide behind the death grip on his pencil nor his deepening frown.

His teeth grind a little harder, and his gut twists a little tighter with every cough or rattle in her breath. She’s as stubborn as Sam on a quest to save the world, and Dean is irritated down to his soul. Every wheeze makes the fire burn a little hotter until he finally breaks, somewhere between Esther’s fourth coughing fit and the clue for twelve down (“Related to the lungs, 9 letters”).

“You won’t go to the doctor or the hospital, so does that mean you’re giving up? You done here?” He knows he’s being blunt, bordering on rude, but he’s past caring about manners.

“Because I’m not done with you. Not with coffee, not with dinners, not with… with fixing up your house. I still have… the flower beds to dig up, and you asked me to work on your porch, and… we haven’t even gone through a quarter of your recipe box. I’m not… I don’t accept it. You’re too damn stubborn to just quit.”

His torrent of words startles the truth out of Esther at last, and her eyes mist over a little. “Stanley died in a hospital. Doctors misdiagnosed him over and over, ignored some of his symptoms, just wouldn’t listen. Haven’t trusted them since. Figured if I can’t handle it myself, I can at least try to be comfortable at home.”

Dean mulls that over, his eyebrows drawn low, acid roiling in his gut. He probably looks angry, which is better than looking as scared as he feels. He’s got a feeling she sees right through the anger anyway.

“So you aren’t ready to die?”

She studies him for a long moment, taking in a slow, rattling breath but managing to forestall the next round of coughs with a sip of lukewarm tea.

“No, Dean, I’m not quite ready to go yet. Seems I’ve got a thing or two left worth sticking around for after all.”

Dean covers her hands with his once more, pressing his lips together to stop the tremor. He isn’t quite able to ignore how cool and fragile her fingers feel against his palm, how thin and papery her skin feels against his callouses. He holds her eyes with his own, his expression brooking no arguments.

“Good, I’m making a call to a friend. He’s not a doctor, but he’s going to help you.”

“You’re going to call a stranger over to-”

He cuts her off, his tone hardened steel to her iron.

“I’m calling a friend to help you. You said you’re not ready to give up. This is your option.”

Dean already has his phone, tapping in a quick text. His eyes flick to hers, not asking permission, but she nods anyway, and he hits send on his phone. There’s a whooshing noise, vaguely fluttering, from the hallway behind him, and Cas walks in, tie and trench coat in their usual disarray.

“What’s the emergency, Dean? Where’s Sam?”

“Heal her, Cas,” he says without preamble, his eyes locked on Esther’s. She raises her eyebrows, glances to Cas, but then looks back to Dean. He sees the questions rushing across her face, but for whatever reason, she chooses silent acceptance.

Her fingers tremble in his grip, but she redoubles her hold on him as Cas moves to her other side. The angel reaches out, places a chaste hand on her collarbone, and closes his eyes. The glow is brief and warm, and the rattle in Esther’s chest disappears.

Esther breathes deeply for a moment, her eyes wide with shock, and she looks from the angel to the hunter with her mouth agape. Her fingers grip Dean’s with more force than a moment ago, and relief floods through Dean so fast his head spins.

The tiny, elderly woman stammers for a moment, as off-kilter as Dean has ever seen her, before closing her mouth with a near-audible snap. She licks her lips, swallows, clears her throat, and then looks up at Cas.

“Go hang up your coat and put your shoes by the front door, young man. Straighten your tie, as well, and then go start the coffee. You’re skin and bones, too. Dean, I’m starving. No more oatmeal, we’re going to make a real breakfast. Now shoo, both of you. I have to get dressed.”

Esther swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing with a bit more alacrity than she’s used to, and she glances over at Dean, her eyes narrow.

“Hips not bothering you so much now, huh?”

“Dean Campbell, do not ask a woman about her hips; that is beyond indecent. Now get out of my bedroom, young man. Go be useful.”

Dean grins, shutting the door and heading down the hall to find Cas before the angel can destroy the coffee pot.

...

Next: Six Down

60 notes · View notes

the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 4 years ago

Note

If this isn't your kind of thing you don't have to write it 😌 Could I please request a Loki X reader, she's expecting Loki's Baby, they start decorating the house for Christmas and putting up their tree, baby keeps kicking her and Loki has to remind her to take things easier and rest more, she accidentally falls asleep on the sofa and Loki takes care of her. Thank you babe

A/N: this was so wholesome to write, thank you for your request. If I don’t have Christmas feelings, now I don’t know what. ❤️

✮.𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝒾𝓋𝑒 .��

"Here love, let me help", you huffed at Loki's words while glancing over your shoulder. As you did, you spotted the god setting down a box of tinsel on the living room table, before walking towards you. "I'm able to do things myself, you know", you turned around, continuing to hang candy canes on the tree before you. There wasn't much more room on the already ornamented tree, though you managed to find a place for the candies on some branches. As soon as the last cane left your grasp, however, you felt a notably accurate kick in your stomach. The suddenness of the hit made you wince, but the sensation quickly dulled and you couldn't but shake your head, all while placing a hand on the spot you felt it at.

Somehow you'd been so caught up in the moment, that you hadn't noted Loki had come to stand behind you, only noticing it when his arms encircled your waist. His hands gently draped over yours, the warmth emitting from his touch sent a tingle through your body. Thus he was careful of your rounded stomach, he only put a momentarily pressure on it to indicate you should take a step back and lean against his front.

"I do not doubt you can handle yourself, though it seems our little one is not so fond of me letting you work", you couldn't help a laugh escaping to his words, because it was true. During the whole day, you and Loki had prepared for Christmas by decorating the house. However, you and Loki's little darling had made a fuss over your sudden activity, manifesting it by regular kicks the entire time.

"Though it's a good excuse normally...", you sighed mid-sentence when feeling Loki starting to rock you slowly side to side. "I wish our little trickster could stop her jiving so we could finish the decorations". "I know you want nothing but perfection, but you must not forget to take it easy", he hummed, kissing your temple, then letting his head rest against yours. "As always, you're right", you breathed out, thinking back to all the times he told you to take it easy on yourself. You needed to admit, being pregnant wasn't always as wholesome as it seemed. Though the nauseous was jarring, the limitation in movement and actions took the most prominent tool on you.

"I will not argue against you", you heard the smirk on his voice. With a roll of your eyes, you turned in his hold. As soon as you faced him, you saw that you had indeed been correct when guessing a grin would meet you. Nevertheless, what you weren't prepared for was to see his shift. Although his smile didn't drop, it turned less teasing and more concerned, as his movement stilled and a slight furrow pulled his brows together.

"You look tired". "Isn't the easiest thing to carry a baby", you shrugged, feeling how one of his hands left their place on your waist to cradle your face. With a feather-light touch, you felt his thumb graze under the outer part of your eyes. His gaze followed the movement, much probably regarding the dark circles beneath your eyes. "You should rest for a while love, let me make you a cup of tea", Loki finally said. "Hot chocolate?" Your question pulled a chuckle from the god, along a nod of his head. "Anything to make my girl's happy".

As he guided you to sit on the sofa, he headed into the conjoined kitchen. Although you couldn't see what he did, hence your back was turned towards him, you heard him starting the kettle for his tea while picking a small pot to start on your hot chocolate. It was something about the smells, milk and cocoa powder along Loki's Christmas spiced tea, that only heightened the spirits already showcased in the house. The sense of serenity, with Christmas tree lights peacefully glowing, along with the humming from the god in the kitchen, brought drowsiness over you.

It couldn't be much more than ten minutes before Loki was done with preparing the cups of each of your chosen beverages before he turned in your direction again. Instead of seeing the uppermost part of your body and head over the edge of the couch, he saw nothing. Even though he knew you hadn't left the room, thus then he would've heard your shuffling, he hurried to close the space separating the kitchen and the living room. The moment he got a glimpse over the back of the furniture, he stopped his hastened movement. The sight which met him made his heart swell. Your former seated position had turned into a curled one on your side, head resting on one of the pillows. A few strands of your hair had fallen across your face, though it was no problem detecting your laboured breath, indicating you had fallen asleep.

The momentary anxiety that something happened to you trickled away, making Loki feel a smile pull at his lips. As silently as he could, he placed the cups on the table before you, swiftly searching for the blanket he knew would be near. Finding the quilt hung over his reading armchair, he draped it over your body. Before the thought of even tucking you in crossed his mind, he saw how you snuggled into the soft material by instinct. Everything up to your nose was covered by the fabric and was the reason, he guessed, he only caught your words as no more than a mumble.

"Stay", like the day you had told him you were expecting his child, he felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach at your words. "Always", he mouthed more than actually whispered as he kissed your forehead. Picking up his cup of tea, he seated himself by the end of your foot, picking up the book he had begun on the night before. With glances between the words on the pages and your occasional shuffle, Loki could defiantly say this was the best Christmas yet.

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #the god of mischief #loki fanfic #marvel #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #loki fiction #loki fanfiction #loki marvel #loki #fanfiction #fanfic #Loki x pregnant!reader

246 notes · View notes

jinxedpanda4life · 4 years ago

Text

DamiRae Hospital AU?

No I am not writing one, if I could write well I would though! So here are some HCs for a hospital AU. If someone decides to write this then I’ll be your first reader. Also I am sort of basing things off of Grey’s Anatomy just a bit and my limited knowledge of the medical field.

- Starts of as 1st year residents, specialties may vary

- The “Titans” are residents and 1st years that show great promise, this doesn’t really play a role its just what people call them behind their backs

- Dr. Kori Anders is a OBGYN (women parts and birth) resident, a year or two away from finishing

- Dr. Richard “Dick” Grayson is is a surgery resident, trained by the hospital owner Bruce Wayne (who is a world renowned surgeon, has awards, etc), specifically general surgery

- Dr. Garfield Logan is pediatrician (kid doctor) res, bonds well with kids, but is considering going back to school to become a vet instead

- Dr. Jaime Reyes is an oncology (cancer doctor), having had cancer as a teen and is now forever trying to rid the world of it, works mostly with kids and teens

- Dr. Jonathan Kent is a physical therapist that works with pain management. Up beat guy and is always trying to brighten his patient’s lives.

- Dr. Damian Wayne is a surgical intern, blood thirsty little thing, hoping to become a neurosurgeon (brain, spine) (or cardiothoracic (heart, lungs) both are competitive)

- Dr. Raven Roth is an anesthesiologist (the drug person that knocks you out) and is starting her surgical internship (she wanted to do more than just help people get high essentially or whatever) has no current preference for any specific surgical field

- Add in characters:

-- Dr. Jason Todd, trauma surgeon (fits too well)

-- Dr. Timothy Drake diagnostician (medical detective basically)

-- Dr. Donna Troy gynecologist

-- Terra Markov is a nurse (i don’t like Terra but nurses are the actual best)

- Story stuff:

- Damian and Raven meet as they are put under the guidance of the same resident

-Damian has an automatic dislike for Raven because she knows everyone already and is equally, if not much more, knowledgable about surgery, the OR, the ER, protocol, etc He also thinks she is cold because she rarely shows emotion (pot kettle Damian)

- Raven can always be found in the medical archives researching old cases and studying new ones, Damian stumbles upon her when looking for an old cardiomegaly case (enlarged heart).

- Raven gets along with all of the past ‘Robins’ making her a go to intern

- Garfield can be seen whenever he is not needed trying to flirt with Nurse Markov and often goes to Raven to sulk

- Damian and Raven are always early to pre-rounds and are typically the first ones there (usually early in the morning, getting there before 500)

- Jon bumps into Damian more often than not and they start becoming friends (Damian is reluctant at first and is still you know Damian about everything), Damian even recommends patients to him

- Though Damian doesn’t want to really ‘hang out’ with anyone he reluctantly hangs out with the Titans, because of Jon and Dick

- When in a large group when at a bar, club or whatever Damian tends to stay close to Raven because 1) they actually have things to talk about 2) she isn’t loud

- Raven & Damian are both assigned to a case that is frankly befuddling and have to start spending long nights and early mornings together to figure it out

- Over that period of time they learn things about each other:

-- Raven learns:

Damian has a dog (Titus) and cat (Alfred)

He is single (Kori told her) and lives in an apartment close to the hospital

He has lived in various countries

He is trained in multiple martial arts

He prefers his tea with brown sugar and a slice of lemon

His eyes are a true emerald color with a ring of gold and flecks scattered within

He may hide it well but when Raven compliments him he becomes flustered

He speaks to himself in Arabic when he curses, trying to remember something, doesn’t want anyone to know what he is saying

He isn’t always an asshole

When he actually smiles a true and genuine smile, she has heart palpitations

-- Damian learns:

Raven has two tattoos (neither are a bird), a gang tat (she is saving up to get it removed), and a mantra in Azarathian; Azarath Metrion Zinthos

She immigrated from Azarath when she was around 8

Her notes are in Azarathian

She actually feels a lot of emotion and knows how to control them

If she is not reading about a current or past case she is reading any book or file she can get her hands on, he has caught her reading in multiple different languages; Azarathian, English, French, Russian, Arabic, Dutch, Mandarin, (could be more or less)

She lives alone and has a cat, Nevermore, and thanks to Dick he already knew she was single

She likes all tea, no matter how prepared, but prefers the sweetener to be honey

Her hair is black but shines purple, especially under the ER lights

Her eyes are a purple that at first glance look blue, like Elizabeth Taylor, he realizes though her eyes are galaxies on their own

When she smiles the world actually stops moving, her eyes shine like stars and he never wants the world to start moving again

She always wears a necklace with a gold and ruby ring at all times (it was her mother’s wedding ring)

- When Damian starts having le feelings for Raven he considers actually seeking medical advice as this has never happened to him before

- Raven tries her best to contain her feelings when at work, going so far as one day a month staying home just to scream, cry and feel her feelings

- It does not help that new feelings towards Damian start popping up, especially since he starts bringing her tea and hanging out with her at work

- During the middle of their 2nd year of residency someone holds Raven hostage in the hospital to fix someone that person loves (this person had connections to Trigon and knew who Raven was)

- That was not a fun time for either Damian or Raven; Damian was outside the hospital pacing trying to figure something out with the other Titans trying to calm themselves and him down

- Shots are fired and when all is said and done, Raven gets shot in the abdomen and the hand (she was in ICU for a hot sec)

- Damian seemed to be there every time Raven woke up, he was always checking on her during rounds even though he wasn’t on her case

- Raven did have to have surgery on her hand and in her abdomen (idk where i’m not getting that specific), she hated being, in her words, coddled

- Even though Raven was right handed (the one that got shot) she learned how to do everything, writing, eating, going to the bathroom, etc. (many of the other residents are impressed since she keeps working on it after her other hand heals)

- Raven’s room also becomes a space for other residents to destress and just vent about their day. She listens and gives advice, all without looking up from whatever she was doing.

- During this time Raven becomes hooked on Pretty Pretty Pegasus

- Raven’s room is also full of cards, flowers, etc all from fellow staff and some from patients. When she leaves (she spends a couple weeks in thanks to multiple surgeries, recovery, and other minor injuries) all of the gifts litter her apartment, the cards end up in a box by her desk, she presses the flowers, and stuffed animals are donated to children’s shelter (she keeps some that she has grown attached to)

- During this time Damian is more of an ass than usual (people notice and tease him)

- Damian at some points keeps working without breaks/sleep for hours on end. Dick pulls him aside after noticing, scolds and forces him to sleep in one of the on call rooms. (He really wanted him to go home, but Damian wasn’t leaving)

- Once Raven was discharged Damian and Garfield help her back home (clothes + gifts + Raven w/a healing hand/other injuries = need help) the other Titans would have helped but were needed at the hospital

- Garfield leaves after dropping off Raven and Damian (and her stuff) as he is called in on a Peds case (could be fake, may not be) and Raven & Damian spend the rest of the time basically watching terrible movies. (with Nevermore sitting on both of them)

- That is the night Damian realizes that not only does he like Raven, but he like likes her. He starts devising plans on how to get her to date him.

- All his plans basically are thrown out the window because of one reason or another (he kept overthinking it)(poor guy)

- It is not until their 3rd year of residency that Raven realizes her feelings towards Damian (Have I made it clear she likes him? I can’t remember...)

- She realizes her feelings when she has to crash at his place for a night (because he lives ridiculously close to the hospital, like how expensive is that??) and he tries to make sure that she is as comfortable as possible

- She never realized how much he cared for her? Like she was always helping him out and there for him but she never realized he reciprocated that care? *Shocker*

- Raven becomes kind of a mess because of all her emotions that she is trying to bottle up. (all the corks are disintegrating and the jar is overflowing)

- Raven is during her Ortho rotation (bone surgeon people, they are cool, ik from experience) that she actually gets a good release for her emotions (setting peoples bones and drilling and hammering in pins is actually therapeutic)

- Raven thinks that may be the specialty she chooses

- Damian saw her as a mess and could not fathom why she was said mess, he figured it was about a romantic interest after someone made an offhand comment about her love life and she became a blubbering mess (very un-Raven like)

- After all of well *motions with hands* that Raven asks why Damian doesn’t have a s/o or someone

- He says there is only person that he has been meaning to ask out (looks pointedly at Raven)

- All Raven says is “Go for it.”

And that is where my HCs end. Now if anyone who happens upon this post decides to write a Medical AU with any of these please tag me, tell me, message me.

You do not have to give me credit, I just want to read it.

This took me a couple of days to write up, so if it is disjointed I apologize.

If anything needs to be corrected for any reason let me know!

I hope this fuels some imaginations!

-I may post more HC AU things if they come to mind, we will have to see.

#damirae #damian x raven #demonbirds #teen titans #raven #damian wayne #rachel roth #headcanon #medical au #au

152 notes · View notes

evening-starlight · 3 years ago

Text

Daddy’s Best Friend

Tag List is OPEN - Dm or comment if you’d like to join

All Works Master List

DBF Master List

Word Count: 1450

Amaris takes a steadying breath as she knocks on Tom's front door. It had been two weeks since the family dinner, and the forbidden lovers have kept their distance to avoid any more conflicting feelings. The only reason she's here is because Armel is busy in a night class, and her father is using the house for a business meeting.

The siblings came up with movie night tradition when Will first started to hold meetings in their family home. Tom was the first to offer, wanting to spend more time with his honorary family.

So when William told them about his meeting, they all rejoiced that they got to go back to their favorite tradition with Tom. Only, Amaris was freaking out on the inside. She had an hour between when her dad's meeting started and when her siblings would come to Tom's. Amaris was going to spend time with Armel; instead, he was going to a late-night class.

And here Amaris was, standing in front of Tom's door with a pounding heart. She knew she shouldn't be this nervous to see her best friend; he was always there for her. But that doesn't change the fact that when Tom opens the door in a tight white tee and grey sweats, her heart skipped a beat or two.

Tom won't lie, he chose that shirt for a reason. Maybe a little subconsciously, but he went with it. If he can't have Amaris, Tom's going to show her what she's missing. He smiles brightly, welcoming her with a signature Tom bear hug. "I'm so pleased we're doing this again." He smiles.

Everything was normal, Amaris had to remind herself as she stepped inside his home and slipped off her shoes. "I've missed our movie nights so much. The ones with Armel just didn't hit right," Tom smiles smugly as he leads the way to the kitchen, where he's cooking popcorn three different ways. One batch with no seasoning or butter for Danica, one with extra butter and salt for Juno, and a double batch of kettle popcorn for Tom and Amaris.

"Armel isn't as experienced as I am, so that doesn't surprise me," Tom says, his back to Amaris as he returns his attention to the popcorn pot. Amaris gets hit with a wall of emotions with the phrase. But why?

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks defensively as she sits on the counter, eating bits of Danica's popcorn bowl.

"Nothing, just that I have more experience making your movie nights the best." Tom shrugs, smiling over his shoulder at her. Amaris looks skeptical, eyeing Tom over while she eats a handful of plain popcorn. "When did you start eating that shit?" He asks, gesturing to his least favorite kind of popcorn.

"Armel eats his popcorn like Danica does, so I got used to it. Though, I can't wait to have your kettle corn again. I've craved it." Tom laughs at Amaris throws her head back, dramatically inhaling the scent of kettle corn before humming. "So good," She says as she dips her hand into her sister's bowl again.

Tom smacks her hand playfully. "Quit that; you won't have enough for my amazing kettle corn." Amaris visibly pouts but giggles as she thrusts her hand in Tom's face.

"Kiss it better; you hurted me." Tom throws his head back in a full belly laugh before leaning in and kisses Amaris's hand better, maintaining eye contact. It shouldn't be as erotic as it felt to either of them. It was nothing more than friendly antics they've shared before.

The tense silence that fell over them is cut short when the popcorn starts popping, tearing Tom apart her and his hand out of hers, where it belonged. They stay silent longer, thinking over the events that unfolded seconds ago.

"You know?" Amaris asks, changing the subject. Tom hums in response, glancing over at her. "You should teach Armel how to make the kettle corn. I think he'd enjoy your version of it." Tom rolls his eyes before putting on a fake smile.

"I'd love to teach your little french boy how to cook," The minute the words leave his mouth, Tom regrets it. He sees Amaris shift uncomfortably in her spot at the harsh words he used.

"What's your problem with Armel?" She asks as Tom pours the kettle corn in a bowl to cool down. Tom thinks over his words. He could tell her everything; that he's confused but can't stop thinking about that gorgeous mouth on his or stop thinking about having her in his bed.

But he won't. "I don't have a problem, darling. I'm just saying I'd love to..." He's cut off by Amaris raising her voice slightly.

"That's bullshit, Tom. You shut off when I bring up Armel and get snippy in your comments about him." She slips off the counter, standing with her arms crossed. "So what is it? Did he say something to you you're protecting me from?"

"I'm not protecting you from him," Tom huffs, running a hand through his hair. He can't say much more because if he does, he'll ruin everything.

"Than who are you protecting me from, Tom?" Amaris asks, voice softening.

Tom lets out a frustrated sigh followed by, "Myself, Mari." The words hang in the air between them, and Tom wishes he could take them back. But they're out there, so he might as well finish. "I know it's wrong, but I can't stop these feelings. I told you I didn't remember the kiss because I didn't want to. It was wrong to be kissing you, but I can't stop thinking about how perfect it felt since then. But you're with Armel like you should be. He makes you happy and loves you more than I ever could," He finishes, watching for any change in Amaris's demeanor. She stays shocked, processing the words coming out of Tom's mouth.

"I dated Armel to get you out of my head," She admits. "He makes me happy, yes, but he's not you. You're the one I've always wanted Tom," Amaris steps closer to Tom. "You're the only guy who's been able to keep my attention longer than six months. I've wanted to know what you tasted like since I was old enough to know what kissing was," She whispers, lips hovering over Tom's.

She shouldn't be doing this. She's with Armel, and he loves Amaris so much. But this is everything Amaris has dreamed about for years, only this time he's sober. They stay there, lips a breath away for what feels like an eternity. Both of them wanted this, so why was it so hard to make that final move.

Amaris takes the final leap, connecting her lips to Tom's. This was her choice, and Tom didn't force it. He was waiting for her to take the chance, for it to be her choice.

Tom's hands cup Amaris's face, bringing her closer while her hands wrap around the outside of his bicep that strains against the white shirt. The kiss caused sparks to fly in both of their minds, sending shockwaves down to their toes.

The kitchen counter bumps Amaris's bum as Tom backs her up. "Jump," He mumbles against her lips, helping her sit back on the counter where she was minutes ago. Tom rests one hand on the small of her back, pulling her chest flush against his while the other tangles itself in her hair. Meanwhile, Amaris has one hand on his well-toned bicep and the other in his hair.

Kissing Tom was everything Amaris imagined it would be. His lips worked against hers gracefully yet passionately. They felt like nothing she's ever felt before, raising goosebumps along her arm and neck.

Tom deepens the kiss by biting on her lower lip, enticing small moans out of Amaris's mouth, which Tom finds stunningly sublime. She pulls a small fistful of hair at his actions, pulling a low groan out of him.

The sound sends a pulse to her center, making her scoot closer on the counter towards Tom. He was like a drug to her, and she never wanted to come up for air. The kiss was all she ever needed to continue living. Fuck food and water; she just needed Tom's lips on hers.

They jump apart at the sound of the doorbell, startled out of their daydream. The couple stare at each other in shock, still holding each other. Amaris is the first to break out, pushing Tom out of the way to get to the restroom. She turns around to look at him first, pointing a finger at him. "No one can know. Understood?"

"Understood."

Taglist: @queenofallhobos @kingtwhiddleston @cynic-spirit

32 notes · View notes