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i-magines · 2 years ago

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Wildest Dreams: Chapter 7

Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

synopsis: You’re an assistant director in an indie movie set and fate makes sure you keep crossing paths with a certain Chilean actor.

disclaimer: This is my first Pedro Pascal’s fictional work + the first fanfic I write in English, as it isn’t my first language. Unfortunately, I do not own Pedro and this is all a product of my imagination.

rating: M (keep scrolling if your under 18 please)

warnings: age gap, mature content, eventual drinking and drugs, fem!reader, smut every once in a while, a little angst, protective pedro, panic attack (not detailed), just he being an angel mostly.

n/a: thanks for last chapter’s comments! they always put a smile on my face :D

word count: 1,751

After the extra days off in Berlin, life back at the movie set was not your cup of tea. New director, new schedule, new dynamics. You weren’t able to spend as much time alone with Pedro anymore, because they were redoing a big part of the movie and keeping the same end date for the shootings — that meant no more night sneakouts for both of you, not on working days at least. You still texted all the time and kept staring at each other every time you were in the same room, but you just missed how things were at the beginning, especially with this sparkle happening between you two. You eagerly waited for your off day announcement, hoping it would match Pedro’s for the first time in almost a month. When you got the paper, it upset you. Later, on the same day, you asked Pedro to come over to your cabin for a little, which he happily did.

You could see how tired he was, 3 months into the shooting. This was an ungrateful industry, for sure. You were tired yourself, being just an assistant. You hugged him once the door was closed.

“I’ve missed you so much, mi princesa”, he whispered in your ear. “This filming schedule will end up killing all of us.”

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to the final month, we are so behind…” You couldn’t help but worry about all the extra hours to come, but you didn’t want to spend your time with him talking about work. “I was wondering, I will have the day after tomorrow off. I saw you don’t, but maybe you could ask for it?”

“I can try”, he said, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “There’s something I’ve meaning to tell you about.”

Your anxious ass was already nervous. You stared at him, waiting.

“Donna asked me about the nature of our relationship”, a little pout on his face. “I didn’t give her an answer, but I guess people have been gossiping about it.”

“We don’t even get to spend that much time together anymore”, you felt upset. “That’s just so fucking unfair.”

He held you closer into his chest, giving you a little kiss on the top of your head.

“You’re the only thing keeping me sane, sweetheart”, Pedro promised, as you got caught up on hearing his heart pumping hard inside his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault, P”, you said softly. “That’s the one thing you can’t protect me from, I guess.”

Pedro breathed out strongly, feeling frustrated.

“I just wish we could come clean”, he confessed. “I feel hiding it just makes it look worse for us, and I really don’t think we’re doing anything wrong.”

“People already give me these dirty, judgy looks only being suspicious of it”, you replied. “Picture if we come out, my life here would turn into hell and probably none of these people would put out a good word about me for a next gig.”

“I hate how they choose to pick on you, not me”, Pedro touches your arm with affection. “What do you want to do?”

“It would be lovely if we got the same day off, as a start.” You loved how he was always asking your opinion. “Maybe we could go back to that pub in Berlin, just get out of this place for a bit.”

“I will make sure it happens, promise”, he showed you his pinky. You smiled and took it, kissing him briefly on the lips — there’s no time or energy for more than that.

The next day, you get early to the common area and, before you get to say anything to let them know you were there, you hear Pedro and Donna mentioning your name. It looked like they were having an argument.

“This will fuck your career up if you don’t drop it”, she said, getting an angry look from him. “I did everything you asked: Dave’s out, I kept her on the crew and I will recommend her to future jobs, but that’s what you’re getting from me.”

“You’re talking like she was a kid or something”, Pedro argued with a frustrated tone.

“You know it’s fucking wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have kept it as a secret until now”, Donna told him, making you fell incredible bad. You should make a sound or something, but it felt like it was too late. “A scandal like this can ruin the whole movie campaign, the award season, every single thing is on the line here. For what? A twenty-something old pussy? Please.”

“I won’t ask you again to watch your fucking mouth when you talk about her”, he was controlling himself, the tension on his body showing.

“You can have your fucking day off Pedro”, she shaked her shoulders. “I wash my hands, but if this backlashes against the project or the studio, I might not be able to do anything about you, but she is fucked.”

“Don’t you fucking dare”, he warned her.

“You heard me and you better make sure she knows what she is getting into”, Donna didn’t seem intimidated. “That’s if you’re even keeping her after we’re done here.”

Pedro didn’t reply and she went away to the opposite direction, her last statement still floating in the air. Fuck, that didn’t look good. You didn’t want him to know you just heard all of that, so you quietly sneaked back to your cabin. That conversation was everything you were able to think about during the day, as you did your best to avoid being with both of them. Later, Pedro texted you to come over with your bag packed for the day away. Once you got there, he greeted you with a tired smile and occupied himself with packing his own luggage.

“I heard you and Donna today”, you confessed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.”

Pedro looked at you, a worried look in his eyes.

“Which part?” He asked, using his hand to invite you to sit on his bed with him.

“The last one”, you frowned. “Was she right?”

“About what?”

“You don’t keeping me after.”

He breathed out slowly, running his hands on his face.

“I don’t know what life will bring, sweetheart”, he started, but your heart was already racing. That’s definitely not what you wanted to hear. “Of course I care about you, but I told you before, I can’t make long term promises right now.”

It just broke you a little bit — at least, he is being honest, you thought. But it didn’t help the sinking feeling you felt inside.

“Thanks for making things clear”, you whispered, doing your best to hold back the tears. “We should get going… Let’s enjoy the month we have left.”

“Baby girl—”

“It’s fine, Pedro”, you didn’t let him finish. “Let’s just go.”

So you two did. The drive to Berlin was absolute silence and, once you got there, you went straight to the same pub/night club from the first time you went out together. Pedro’s friends were waiting for you there, but your mind just wasn’t in it. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it. You felt heartbroken to the point you couldn’t pretend everything was fine and just be around him, so you decided to sit at the bar by yourself. He didn’t come after you at first, and when he did, you were already kind of drunk, full of all these feelings.

“You okay?” He asked, getting on the seat by your side. “I hope you got what I meant—”

“Do you do it in every project?” You interrupted him, popping the question that was killing you. “Am I just a thing for this one, and next one is another girl?”

“I wouldn’t— Y/N, I never meant that”, he looked worried that you were thinking that about him. “Please, don’t even go there, it’s nonsense.”

You nodded, unsatisfied but unable to start a proper argument.

“If you aren’t having a good time, I would rather just get a hotel room and spend our free time together”, Pedro said after a few minutes in silence.

You didn’t reply, you only stood up and shaked your head at the exit’s direction. He guided you, holding your hand. He opened the door for you and you didn’t expect the flashes and yelling. Scared, you almost stumbled on your own feet, but Pedro held your arm, side-hugging you and using his jacket to protect your face from the paparazzi. You felt a panic attack coming, feeling unable to move. Pedro held you even closer, doing his best to protect you.

"Who is she?” A pap screamed.

“Pose for a pic, Pedro!” Another one did the same.

“Please you guys, give us space”, Pedro asked politely, he could barely see where he was going, the strong flashing lights taking his sight away.

“New GF, Pepe?” They kept trying to get a good picture of both of you. “Let me see her cute face. C'mon, man!”

“Fuck off, asshole”, Pedro pushed his way through the group, getting you inside the car and telling the driver to go. “What the fuck just happened?”

You still couldn’t move, your eyes hurting from the lights and your dizziness wasn’t helping. Pedro held your hand tight and kissed your cheek.

“You okay, baby, I got you”, he promised.

Your breath was irregular and you hid your face against his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry— I don’t even know’, he touched your hair nicely. “Try to focus on your breath, sweetheart. You’re safe, you’re with me.”

You did as he asked, trying to pay attention to his beating heart, as it always brought you confort. He reached for a water bottle and gave it to you. You slipped a little bit, being able to regain control of your breathing. Your whole body still shaking.

“Fuck”, he whispered, running his hand thought his hair. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”

“What the hell was that?” You spoke with a weak voice, still regulating yourself.

“Fucking paps, I don’t know—” he tried to explain, but you could see they caught him off guard as well. “Let’s get you to bed, I’m gonna call my agent. It will be fine.”

He did as he promised. He helped you undress and change into your pajamas. You brushed your teeth under his careful look and he tucked you into bed, giving you a long kiss on your forehead.

CHAPTER 8 AVALIABLE NOW

TAGLIST: @kyuupidwrites @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @vivibabiez @ivyohmy @sebastianstansimp @tubble-wubble @28cnn @3zae-zae3 @technicallysassyfox @bellatrixyoass @mandolover86 @eliffluisa @one-sweet-gubler @anaxmcu @untitledarea @shesa-riott @chloelmao67 @majesticjellyfishzombie @adriennemichelle98 @januarycolor @lxdyred

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro x reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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ppushable · 2 months ago

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god the backstory. i love how close reader is to mikasa and the other ackermans (its giving jane and elizabeth sorry) like hhehfhh ok lord jackofferman dont you hurt her i’ll stab u with my oencil just like those thugs from s1

and the late night art sneakouts with he whose name musnt be spoken god. their relationship is precious and their interactions. i have a soft spot for historical settings but youre making it even funner stop that

writing style is choice as fucking always. i know ive said it a million times before but the way you describe things and events and feelings, even the mundane ones. its something really special

i havent been having the best day but it was a good idea to end it with one of ur fics. goodnight

strangers.

✩‧₊˚☾

masquerade chapter one.

jean kirstein x fem!reader, regency a.u.

chapter summary ; how it all began.

chapter warning ; familial issues/abandonment, running away.

a/n ; im trying out a different writing style to match the theme of this au!! :') I don't think it's going that well, so constructive criticisms are always welcome. also lmk if I should continue in this style or just go back to my normal one!! :)

taglist ; @mrsnobodynobody @jeanscremebrulee @holding-infinity-and-a-book @happxme

☾ series masterlist ☾ main masterlist ☾ enter my taglist ☾

✩‧₊˚☾

the ackermans, despite their precedence, were kind to you. as much as they could find it in themselves to be.

their name was attached to authority and harshness; something you hadn't been a stranger to since birth, despite not being one of them yourself - a reality nobody let you forget. but then again, you wouldn't want to forget.

the late january nights were cooling on your cheeks, even as you were stationary, sat on a bench that was illuminated solely by one lantern. it would've been dangerous if you weren't cloaked, hiding your figure from the eyes of the rare strangers that crossed your view from time to time, no doubt for a smoke break, trying to escape their realities.

you didn't blame them. you were doing the same thing as well, sketching out the picture in front of you - a sleeping ginger cat. peacefully, it's belly heaved upwards, then down as it dreamt. your pencil glided across the page, trying to capture its fur. you were, by no means, exceptional. not as great as the artists you would see when you'd sneak out to go to galleries with artists that were recognized, unlike your own pieces. marked off as "anonyomous", without a home but with a creator that painted like it did have one. a home, a place to go back to.

you rub the eraser dust away with your fingers, sinking into your seat, looking back up at your subject who was peacefully unaware of your observation.

"you're here again." a voice remarks.

you know this voice. you look to your right, where it's coming from. his own figure was hiding with a thick long coat, buttoned up till the top. a brown hat covered the top of his head, furling up and away from his forehead. the apples of his cheeks were tinted pink with the cold and his ash-brown hair peeked out from under his hat. his eyes were a halo of gold with the light of the lamp above you. you smile up at him.

"interesting subject tonight." you say, looking back at the cat. he turns to look at it too, humming. he takes a seat right beside you, keeping his own sketchbook in his lap, methodically, neatly. he looks into your sketchbook.

"you've made progress without me," he says. complains, really. it's endearing and you find yourself smiling.

"it's just practice, don't worry."

he scoffs. "I'm not worried." he says, lying straight through his teeth, flipping his sketchbook open to an untouched page.

his first mark is just like him - precise and calculated. you've noticed it, through the weeks you've known him, that his first line always remains. he may go back and erase other strokes, adjust some others, but the first one remained the same, unchanging. he hesitates before drawing it, however, twisting his pencil between the fingers of his left hand before his decision, like he's marking off a territory.

it's routine. you pretend to be asleep in clothes that you're still not quite used to, watch as Mikasa lights a candle, helping Eren up from her balcony windows, making sure that she is distracted with whispered, secret conversations with the man before sneaking out, heading to have your own whispered and secret life at night. most nights it's this - meeting this stranger with honeyed eyes and cleched jaw. he spoke only when prompted to, but it was worthwhile. if you were brave enough, you'd ask for his name. but you werent, and it seemed neither was he. he must be too recognizable in this place, too hard to ignore.

he's too hard to ignore right now as well, when you sit in silence and the only sounds you hear are the gentle scrapings of hard and soft led - the stranger liked more feathery charcoal - against rough parchment paper. your shoulders keep brushing with every stroke, as they did every time. it sends warmth through your body against the cold night, but you don't mention it in words. you're not sure you can, even if you were allowed to, you couldn't dare put it into words and let it be known and tangible.

the stranger sighs. "how did you do it?" he asks. his voice fogs up the air around his mouth.

you look at him. maybe the mystery around his being is why you feel the way you do around him. maybe if you know him, you'd feel less. but how much power can a name even posses? you know everything he'd allow you to, and for now it was enough. you knew that his favourite scent was that of the lavender oil that he'd dot on his collarbone on special occasions only because his best friend had told him to. you know that he did not care much for sweets, except those that his mother rarely made for him and his company, you knew that he had a scar on his ankle after having it be broken running away from a horse as a child, too scared to brave the act of riding one. everything he'd tell you, you'd hang on to like it was your purpose.

he's your friend. the first one you had made that you did not owe anything to.

"do what?" you ask him, tilting your head to one side. his eyes trail down to your unfinished sketch.

"make it feel alive." he asks, again, as his left hand sets his lead down on his lap in favour of feeling your page. you hum in thought as he touches your drawing's fur.

"do not think over it too much. layer, keep adding until it feels right." you say. you don't have much advice to give after doing art for so long. it feels like a muscle memory and not like the power that people would try to convince you it is. it doesn't feel like something you wield to create but something that you had known since you were born.

maybe you were born with it.

he shifts in his seat and his left hand rests on the back of the bench, behind your arms. not touching you, but enough for you to know that he is persistently there, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his obvious attempt at being a flirt - another thing you had noticed. "it never works the way you make it work."

"blind flattery will not get you far," you tell him, looking at him in his eyes, and he stares back, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"i do not need to go far."

"clearly," you mutter.

he scoffs, falsely offended.

the night continues and so does the light banter and shared smiles.

he feels light. despite your surroundings being dark and clouded, despite there being several thousand things you should have been worrying about, he makes you feel like you are floating in the gently blowing wind.

you were a thing meant to be kept this gently. you were satisfied, greatly so, to be in his presence while doing the one thing you had truly enjoyed. a space that could not be destroyed, understanding without any transaction being made.

if only you could spend more time with him, like this, without his name, without your name, only the small differences that set you aside from everyone else. the two of you existed as mere symbols of each other, mere faces that knew and saw each other despite your last names, the people you were supposed to stand for.

you might've regretted spending all these late nights with the nameless stranger, considering the ungodly hour at which you had to wake up. just before the sun rises, you were required to do the same tasks that concerned your scarce colleagues. helping dry the clothes, helping make sure that everything was set for when Mikasa would eventually wake up to her own morning regrets, setting the soaps for her bath and ironing her dresses, laying out the jewellery she was to wear.

it suited her. you smoothed over her deep wine coloured dress, ridding it of any of its wrinkles, admiring how the colour would bring out her eyes that looked at you kindly under the guise of being indifferent. you'd been glad the day she found you - you were a teen, looking desperately for somewhere to belong to and you found her. crashed into her, really, because she was running away too. you still hadn't asked her what she'd been running away from, but one thing was for certain - taking a single look at her that day told you everything you needed to know - she was just like you. in the sense that she had the same, undeterred resolve of removing herself, finding escape in whatever obscurity she could find it in.

you had crashed into her, dropping the measly amount of bread in your hands on the ground on impact. it became dirtied with the heavy raindrops and mud almost immediately, and you would've berated her. you would've yelled and let out all your pent-up anger if it wasn't for the clothes she was wearing. they were wet but you could tell they were made from heavy material - a material that you had seen only important people wear. even if she tried covering the bottom half of her face with a washed-out red scarf, she looked like how she was supposed to look; the look you had decided to grow out of after running away. like a child.

scared and shivering, you led her to your meagre shelter with an arm around her shoulder, lighting up a small fire to keep her warm for the time being. you spent three days with her there. she left on the fourth day, and even though she hadn't told you about her decision to leave, you knew it would be inevitable.

what you didn't know was that she'd lead her cousin there, too. in your shelter - into the basement of an abandoned shop - the floors of which were scattered with paintbrushes and charcoals and empty tubes of paint. her family took you in and provided you of a newer, better shelter.

but you could not call it a home. it was not home. you never had one, you were sure of it.

the only drawback of this temporary... settlement, you should call it, was that you'd have to work for them. yes, the Ackermans weren't as harsh and cold as their reputation claimed, but that did not mean they were the kindest. surely a stranger could not be of the same rank as their own daughter, a fact you very well understood.

and Mikasa's spirit was as you had expected them to be after you had found her that day. she was stubborn over her softness, and made it abundantly clear that she did not wish for anyone else but you to be her handmaiden.

she is your best friend. but she is also your employer, a line you have to remember to tread lightly and carefully every day.

her drowsy voice calls you into her room from the bathing chambers.

wiping your hands on the skirt of your dress, you make your familiar way to her large room. you greet her squinting eyes with a smile, opening up the curtains to let the morning light in. the sun had made its way up into the sky as you finished your chores with its rays boring into the morning as it did every winter day. Mikasa didn't seem to appreciate it as much as you did, however, her hair unruly and unkept after tossing and turning all night.

"you'll feel less tired once you warm up a bit. i've already ran a bath for you," you tell her, and like clockwork, she lets her feet down on the ground from the bed, rubbing her wrist against her eye. she nods while doing it, letting you know that you are heard.

you strike a smile at her tired state, one that you relate to a little too well. you make your way towards her.

"here," you say, plucking up the hot cup of tea into your hands from her bedside. "this'll help you wake up. it's something new. Sir Arlert brought it for you. something about Doctor Yeager's remedy?" you say, knowing exactly what words to speak to bring her out of her dreamy state.

"Yeager?" she asks, her voice raspy. she takes the cup from your hand.

you know too well about her relations with the two boys. even if his post dubbed him to be "Sir", Armin Arlert was a man who could convince even the stoniest Ackerman to let Mikasa talk to him. even after the Yeager family was left desolate, the two boys never lost their nature, especially with Mikasa herself.

you hum at her question. "i think he called it...coffee? something along those lines. if it's bitter, I'll bring the sugar."

she takes a tentative sip and nods. "it's alright." she says. "thank you." there's a slight grimace on her face and you know what it says even if she doesn't say it; it's bitter, but it's tolerable.

Levi Ackerman wasn't as prude as people made him out to be. yes, he did have the look of a scoundrel who might've had daggers strapped into the inside of his coat, but you had wormed your way into his heart. you knew that for a fact because you had spilled milk on his cotton shirt and had, somehow, gotten away with it. all he did was mumble something under his breath, shaking his head before dabbing it away with a rag.

if it were anyone else, he would've led them to unemployment, but he didn't do so with you. he could have, it was within his right, but he didn't.

of course, you did make up for it. you went out into the darker parts of the town and purchased a small pouch of tea that helped with sleeplessness to help him ease his dark circles out. you knew of his issues with sleep, how he stayed awake into the wee hours of the night, roaming around like a ghost in his robes, reading a book that no-one knew the name of. you didn't know about what nightmares plagued him, but the tea you gave him seemed to help with that. instead of hearing his footsteps creaking on the wooden floors, you heard his sound snoring when you passed his room in the morning.

maybe it was because it was him that found you in that dingy basement along with Mikasa, helped coax you out of there, crouched infront of you and told you that you'd have a house to live in and a bed to sleep on if you follow him and Mikasa. maybe it was because he saw you grow up just like he saw his cousin grow up, from where you came to where you've reached. from wearing clothes that barely fit you, paint marks all over your face from pigment that wasn't safe for skin as sensitive as yours, to here. to clothes that you kept clean and ironed, pigments that you didnt let come near your face to prevent the rashes that you'd eventually get due to them.

you prepared his morning tea just the way he liked it, which was to say, only a dash of milk and no sugar. he wanted to taste as much tea as he could without diluting it, placing the cup on the tray along with all the other assortments.

you snuck a taste of the batter that the cook - Mr Berner - had prepared in advance as he frets over the cook of the eggs. Lord Ackerman, mikasa's stern father, deeply disliked uncooked yolks whereas Lady Ackerman disliked yolks that were solid throughout. thankfully, Kenny Ackerman bad gone hunting, and with any luck, would not be back until later in the evening. his hunting expeditions always extended to something else entirely, sometimes he'd return a little intoxicated. again, thankfully, he somehow managed not to raise any suspicions from anyone else.

"can you help with the juice if you can spare some time? Mrs Ackerman seems to be preferring it now-a-days." Mr Berner asks, turning his head to glance at you. you hum in agreement, helping the poor man by getting started on the orange juice. he has too much to do every day, with the kitchen being short staffed and new hires being dismissed due to silly mistakes that anyone in their shoes would make in their first week. Lord Ackerman had to be the cause of the hushed rumors that surrounded his family because of his last minute decisions made due to mild rage. if it weren't for his only child being on your side, you also would have met the same fate as the maid that left after not being able to remove the clothes from the rack fast enough before a thunderstorm.

in some ways, he reminded you of your own grandfather.

you finished up squeezing the juice our of the fruit as fast as you could before hurrying over to mikasa's bath, getting ready for her to get out.

luckily, she seemed more awake now as she accepted the towel being wrapped around her figure, heading to the closet.

"is there any more of that coffee?" she asks as you brush her hair.

"yes. it's kept aside just for you. was your talk with Mr. Yeager to your satisfaction last night?" you ask her, smiling at her through the mirror as she evades your eyes.

"it was. er- Mister Yeager is... nice." she says, small smile gracing her face that anyone else would've missed but you latch on to quickly.

"you might want to sleep earlier for a little while. so as to avoid suspicion," you say as she hums, playing with a string of her silky black hair. "i just miss him sometimes. after living next door to him for so long...." she reminisces.

"you got used to him?" you ask. in truth, you did not know much about the Yeager boy. all you knew was creditted to what you had gathered from over-hearing. something about his father running away, something about the legitimacy of his birth or lack thereof, something else about his brother forcing him and his mother to move to a more rural part of Paradis. what ever it may be, his life and his secrets and his stories, you hope he could find it in himself to be content. even if everything you heard was false, you knew all too well how a teen felt after being removed from their home with or against their will.

all you knew was that he made Mikasa happy. it didn't matter much to you about where he came from or how much wealth he possessed, all that mattered was that after the day was done, Mikasa could sleep with a smile on her face because of him.

Mikasa nods as an answer.

"his mother was kind to us. she'd make our favourite meals when we were tired after playing." she says, her smile more visible now. you smile back as you apply pigment to her cheeks, blending it out to be more natural, holding her cheeks in your hands after you were done. "beautiful."

she smiles and averts her eyes. "all thanks to you," she says, whispering.

you shake your head. "Lord Ackerman wants to see you." you tell her, remembering what he had asked. "seemed to be important." you say.

she sighs, getting up from her seat at the vanity. "sometimes I wish we could...live in a cottage." she says, smoothing out her dress with her hands, dusting off any stray hair or pigment. Lord Ackerman much preferred it when his family was well presented, even in the confines of their own home.

you smiled wider, indulging in her thoughts. this wasn't something new.

when you were only just getting accomadated to your living situation as a mere fifeteen year old, she'd find you, restless and preparing hot milk to rest better, trying to do the same for herself. you'd look at her with understanding, carrying two cups of milk and some cut up fruit up to her room, hiding under her covers, talking about an ideal life and why you'd like to lead it.

"I could steal some books for you from Smith's library," you tell her, and she breathes out a laugh. "and I'd steal you some good paints from Armin's parents." she says. a compelling case.

"and we'd have a cat. with a ginger coat."

"you know we can't possibly handle it,"

"two cats."

she laughs, a proper giggle this time, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with a fist. "alright. two cats."

"we'd grow catnip in our backyard."

"...I do not think that would work. as long as I get to read, I'll be alright."

Mikasa asked you to stay near the doorway of her father's study. you obliged, knowing that these 'talks' Lord Ackerman requested were more of a lecturing than anything. he prides himself in not being aggressive, but the passiveness of his voice and the looks he shoots his family over dinner for stepping out of an invisible, imaginary line prove otherwise. regardless, he doesn't raise his voice in spite of his anger or lack of it, and his presence in the house made you stand with your back pin-straight and chin bowed down. not because of the respect he so clearly demanded, but because of fear.

even now, standing right outside of his dark wooden door, his voice was nothing but a low hum, interrupted by mikasa's higher pitched voice. you could not eavesdrop even if you wanted to with the thick doors and his voice barely penetrating through them. sometimes you think that this house was built keeping in mind of this fact only - that the Ackerman family needed to keep any and all of their secrets locked up behind doors.

you played with the hem of the waistband on your skirt, digging it under your thumbnail and removing it before doing it again - a trait you had habituated since childhood. you used to do it with a silver necklace chained across the base of your neck, but now that necklace sat in a closed closet along with your other, more valuable belongings.

Mikasa steps out, opening the doors with ease, sighing after they're finally closed. you don't crowd her immediately; you know better than that. you know she needs space, so you keep your distance at a safe arm's length. but today was not like the other days this occured. no, because today, you felt it. the tension in the air, more so than usual, the back of your neck covered in light swear not due to working in the kitchen but due to being here, in this wide, cold corridor that held no windows, the air stiff.

and because, instead of asking for space, Mikasa opens her mouth to speak, as if it's a death sentence. you're sure it is.

"he has decided to marry me off."

#im savouring this.#bookworm 🦋#fics #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you

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