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lizzie-and-chip-swap-au · 1 year ago

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12. Ollie Oops

Ao3 Link || Part Eleven • Part Thirteen (WIP) • Fic Masterpost ><><><

The roads of this place were rocky, cold, and slick. Ollie walked fast, his head down and his face bright red. His hands rested nervously in his pockets. Every head that turned to watch him pass felt like an osprey eyeing a particularly vulnerable fish.

Breathe. Act confident. They don’t know you don’t belong here.

Their gaze never lingered, turning away to their own business. Of course they did. Not even his own “crew” would miss him. Why would these people give a second thought to a street urchin?

Ollie glanced down at himself, glad for the first time that he had only one outfit. The months at sea with no change of clothes left his shirt and pants raggedy. No one would want to steal from a kid who didn’t have anything, right?

But don’t look too poor, he reminded himself. Remember the plan.

He forced his hands to his sides. They felt awkward there—less like his limbs and more like stuff he had to lug around. He put them back in his pockets. He pulled them out again. He stuck only his left hand in.

Okay, this feels natural… I guess…

Plus, this way he could feel the treasure in his pocket. He held onto it like it was his life. In a way, it was.

Ollie’s plan was simple: find someone who’d take him on as a proper apprentice. Was it a smart plan? Not really. Was it an easy plan? Also no. But it was a simple plan and right now that’s all Ollie had going for him.

He couldn’t go home. He just couldn’t. Not yet.

Ollie had gotten his taste of adventure, of freedom. He’d learned more in the few weeks he’d been at sea than he had in the whole rest of his life! And he could be good at it. Ollie knew he could.

After Lizzie had yelled at him, Ollie began thinking about what going ‘home’ would look like. He thought about doing boring household chores, about sitting in a classroom all day, about waking up in the same place for the rest of his life. Worst of all, he thought about how quickly his time as a pirate would fade into the dull everyday life of Zero.

His real hesitation, though, came from a shameful corner of his subconscious: he was terrified to go back. The Navy having the whole island on lockdown was scary, sure, but what really worried him was his mom. This whole thing started because he ran away for a stupid reason he couldn’t even remember anymore. Maybe if he learned some real-life skills and brought back a bunch of treasure she’d forgive him. If he could learn to be strong, if he rescued his mom and showed her how awesome life at sea could be, she might even end up proud!

That would be the life, taking his mom out of their tiny hometown and adventuring every day. He cherished the daydream of keeping his family close without needing to sacrifice his newfound freedom.

But that dream would never come true with Lizzie involved. If Lizzie took him home he’d be miserable. Lizzie would tell his mom what a burden he’d been, that he was pathetic and fragile… then he’d be grounded forever. His mom would be too terrified to let him even walk down the street.

No way he was letting that happen.

Ollie’s grip tightened around the compass. His heart sank and sped up at the same time as he held it.

Guilty as he felt, he’d never been more proud of himself than when he’d pickpocketed it right under Lizzie’s nose. At first, he hadn’t planned on keeping it. He’d just wanted to prove that he was worth his salt! But then, when he was going to return it, right when he was about to give his speech about why he should be kept around, Lizzie lost it on him.

“You’ll never be a pirate.”

Her words were like wasps in his ears. Why’d she always have to go and cut him down? Just when he’d worked up the courage to confront her, too!

So, in his first and only act of spite against the Grandtide crew, he’d decided to keep it.

Ollie squeezed the compass a little harder. He wished Jay, Lizzie, and Gillion could be the teachers he needed. John might’ve been a good fit but, as much as he and Ollie got along, he busy was unlearning everything he knew from the Navy. He didn’t have any good experience to pass down yet. Besides, he’d never take Ollie on with disapproval from Lizzie.

Ollie needed to look outside the Grandtides. There was a whole island of pirates and swashbucklers out here! One of them had to be the perfect fit he was looking for. A new burst of excitement ran its course.

Still, he was going to miss his previous guardians. Ollie promised himself that after he was a real pirate he’d find them again. It wasn’t that hard to find a specific ship, was it? The mail got around somehow just fine so he could probably figure out a way.

Or, I could just go back to them right now, he thought.

He shook the idea off. No way. He’d tried to convince them for so long and it never worked! Jay was nice but treated him like he was a baby, Gillion didn’t really listen to him, and Lizzie was, well, Lizzie. He needed someone new who would let him actually do stuff.

On another hand, he already missed them a lot. Plus, he didn’t know anyone else within a thousand miles. It was dangerous out here. Even if it was because they thought he was useless, the Grandtide Pirates would take care of him. It was safe on the Moonlist Albatross; he knew he’d always be protected.

On the other hand, it was TOO safe there. He felt squashed. If he had to spend another week stuck in his room he was going to explode from being so stir-crazy. After last night, he didn’t even feel comfortable on the top deck. Between soul-crushing boredom and suffocating awkwardness, he just had to choose freedom, didn’t he?

That new guy on the ship was the sand that finally tipped the scale. Ollie couldn’t see much but he seemed so different from the other pirates, so relaxed and free. “That kid should learn how the world works. Someone needs to teach him the ropes.” The stranger’s words countered Lizzie’s like a balm. Ollie wasn’t stupid enough to go to him specifically for advice—John probably had the man locked up for a reason—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least a little bit right… right?

Ollie clutched his compass as hard as he could. Going back and forth like this was making him angry. He wanted so much to have it both ways that his heart ached. He wished he had Lizzie to protect him but also that she’d let him breathe. He wished she’d guide him through adventure instead of dangling it in front of him but holding him back.

He squeezed his compassions and wished as he whisked along the cobblestone paths. He wished, he wanted, he wished, he wanted, he wished!

Caspian stepped cautiously through the strange storehouse. Part of him was unsure why he’d committed to this heist when the entire tournament was likely a sham, but the rest of him was unsure why he did anything anymore.

Since he’d left his tribe, his life as an adventure had been largely directionless—though not pointless. He wouldn’t call his time out of the sea empty in the slightest. He helped where he could and enjoyed himself when he couldn’t. He’d certainly met enough strange friends and foes to be excited. He was content with the challenge that was living day by day.

He’d been on Joaldo a few months now and it had been pleasant. He found work in an inn, entertainment in the people, and comfort in the close oceans. He’d even formed one of his longest-lasting surface friendships with an apothecary in the Respite District.

Despite his short stay and uncommon appearance, Caspian had become quite the local. The only thing holding him back from complete cultural adjustment was the fact that he’d never been to the Paramount Tournament.

At first, he was inclined to enter the games himself. He traded the idea in for watching it as a chance to force Rudith out of his apothecary and into some fresh air for a change.

But then Caspian heard rumors about the grand prize: The Luxbris Pearl. He, of course, didn't believe it at first. Not really. But the details were so specific... The people on the surface understood so little of undersea customs, it was shocking how one knew about the pearl at all. Caspian himself only had a vague recollection of it.

The host of the Paramount Tournament was someone known as the Baron. was someone Caspian had heard little of but had still certainly heard of. He was an elusive man, the kind with no direct authority but so much influence he held an unofficial office of power. The type who would have such a treasure as the legendary pearl.

Caspian's interest was piqued but not overtaken. The whole nature of the Baron was undeniably shady. He no doubt had ridged every piece he was a part of to turn out in his favor. If he was such a collector, Caspian doubted the prize would be fairly winnable.

And so, through an exhaustive use of every resource he could scrape together, Caspian found himself sneaking into one of the Baron's dens.

Inside was a lot mustier than Caspian had imagined it would be. The place was dingy and damp in a way that made him feel ill. It was, to say the least, not at all what someone as elegant as the Baron ought to reside. Caspian began to wonder if he'd been sent on a bad trail.

Eh. I came this far, he thought. May as well see what this place is about. Something interesting to make it worth my trouble.

As luck would have it, something interesting came up very soon after. No guards or monsters, just the faint sound of a child sobbing.

“GAHHHHHHH!”

Unimaginably wild winds flogged Ollie’s face. He scrunched his eyes shut as tight as he could but the stinging wouldn’t stop. He could barely hear his pain in the seemingly endless tunnel.

It took Ollie several minutes to realize he was no longer flying. His ears were still ringing, his skin still stung, his heart was still pounding, and when he dared to peak he still saw darkness. But he wasn’t moving.

He opened his eyes all the way, finding he wasn’t in pitch black. It was just dim lighting. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, letting dark vision come into focus.

Ollie was somewhere in an empty and wide room. The smell was both musty and gaudy, simultaneously like a rotting abandoned building and a high-end cologne shop. Ollie covered his nose. Either scent was too strong to be comfortable. Around him, Ollie saw no walls. He frowned and carefully put a foot forward, tapping the ground as if it were going to collapse beneath him again. Luckily, this ground seemed solid.

But so did the pathways outside, Ollie remained himself with a shiver.

Still, seeing no other option, Ollie began walking. Or, he tried to. He hadn’t taken more than three steps when he stumbled into a desk.

“Ow!” Ollie yelped. He smacked his hands to his face while his voice echoed into the darkness. Nothing came.

After a few minutes of silence, Ollie felt brave enough to continue his investigation. The desk looked incredibly fancy. There was parchment and quills on top of it, which was boring. Underneath there was nothing, no secret button or note, not even a chair. Also boring. Ollie finally tried the drawer.

Locked. Ugh, of course it is. Maybe I can break it open like Lizzie would?

Ollie reached into his pockets, hoping for some forgotten tool to be in there. Unfortunately, his hands felt only fabric.

Wait. Where’s the compass? Ollie dug around more. Still nothing. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. That was my only chance!

Ollie slunk down to the floor. All the confusion, panic, and defeat he’d been repressing bubbled up like vomit in his throat. He couldn’t help it: he let out a wail.

“Where am I?” He sobbed to no one. “Why am I here? I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I hid again. I want to go back. If you let me get out I promise I’ll go back! I want Lizzie. I want Gillion and Jay. I want John. I want… I-I I want—“ He wailed again in full misery, “I WANT MY MOM.”

Nothing answered. No one came. Ollie was left alone without his guardians and without his treasure. Suddenly red filled his vision. He jolted upward, still sobbing, now screaming, and began tugging on the drawer.

“Give it back! GIVE ME BACK MY COMPASS,” He blabbered near-incoherently.

A voice behind him interrupted his rage. “Do you mean this?”

Ollie froze stiff as a board. He kept himself exactly the way he was, hands on the drawer, one foot out mid-step, not even daring to shift his eyes around wherever he suddenly was.

The air was still for what felt like forever. A bead of sweat formed on Ollie’s temple as he stood too terrified to even gulp. A hand reached out and touched the back of Ollie's head. It was wet in a way that, had Ollie not been traveling with Gillion for months, would have been super creepy.

"Oh!” The man quickly retracted his hand. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were a prestidigitation of some kind. Um. Assuming you aren't some other kind of spell or trap, I suppose an introduction would be appropriate. My name is Caspian. What on Mana are you doing here?”

Ollie whipped around. It wasn’t Gillion, of course. He didn’t sound anything like Gillion. But He did look a little like him—in skin tone if nothing else. The man was tall and polite-looking. More importantly, he was light blue and wet skin with short hair like flowing ocean foam. He held Ollie’s compass in his left hand.

”You're from the undersea!” Ollie exclaimed without meaning to. "Sorry," he quickly corrected. "That was rude."

Caspian didn't look fazed at all by the blunt statement. "Yes, I am and there's no need to apologize. There are very few of my kind up here so I know I stand out. I'm the first undersea person most people meet."

"No. I-I mean you aren't the first one I've met."

At that, Caspian's eyes narrowed. "Really? Who--"

He was cut off by a shadow clawing his chest.

A few minutes earlier:

"It was a net gain in the end, but a few people owe me a great deal still..."

The Baron was seething. La Alma could tell; even as he spoke with his usual croon, his tension infected the air. La Alma kept his bored gaze trained on the mask in his hands. He didn't bother listening to the Baron's post-match speech anymore. The Baron had no reason to take his irritations out on the wrestler. La Alma had no reason to ask what was bothering his boss, either.

Years ago, such seemingly aimless wrath would have terrified him but he knew better now. As usual, he'd done everything right and "won" the fight. It was pathetic but he was safe.

"...But I'm not sure how much more allure this invincible act has in it," The Baron said amidst his usual notes. "That samurai was interesting but perhaps a more even match next time.”

At that, La Alma's ears perked up. Next year, could he have an actual fight? A real match? Or did the Baron plan on getting rid of him to make way for a new champion? He couldn't ask, of course. Even if he got an answer he couldn't do anything. This room and his training were all he had for the next 364 days.

“And--what is that?” The Baron’s voice turned indignant before disappearing altogether.

La Alma’s ears perked up. He tried to remind himself that his business was done. What did he care the Baron had something going on? Why should he brace himself as if he were about to fight? Why were his senses screaming at him to prepare himself?

The door to his cell burst open in a splatter of ice. A genasi carrying a child like a football half-sept half-fell into the room. He barely had set foot inside before he toppled over. The weight of the kid was clearly too much for him.

“Gods I need to work out more,” the genasi huffed, eyes daring around. They quickly met La Alma’s. “Oh. Oh dear. Um, hello! You wouldn’t happen to be loyal to that Baron figure, would you?”

La Alma’s mouth hung open at the display. Before he could produce a single thought about the situation, the Baron—the actual Baron, not a voice or shadow or disembodied eyes—stepped into the crumpled doorway.

“And just WHERE do you think you’re off to?” He snarled.

#jrwi riptide #lizzie & chip swap au #jrwi #ollie jrwi #jrwi caspian #jrwi la alma

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tashajan · 2 months ago

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WEEKLY JOURNAL 1# SENSITIVE Being a sensitive person is not easy, and that person is me. For those who are sensitive, the world can feel overwhelming sometimes. Harsh words and the way people treat you may hit harder that they do for others. Even a simple few word can hurt your feelings. It feels like your heart and soul been torn apart, tears coming up but at the end of the day all that I can do is smile and move on. Keeping things up are part of my life. I rather be seen as happy person than a someone who overall sensitive and miserable. I love to see people happy with my present that why I want to keep it that way. Some humans in this cruel world hate sensitive people and they tend to make fun of us (sensitive people). It not my fault for being overly sensitive. I was born with it. Being sensitive are a gift and a curse. Little do they know being sensitive allowing you to feel something that others can’t feel. I can feel deep empathy and compassion of others. I can put myself in other’s people shoe and understand their situation even more and build up stronger bond. However, here when the curse begins. When you got that sense of empath you are likely more easily to get fool. Especially with narcissistic people. Hear me out Narcissistic combined with an empath it can bring a disaster. Best advice avoids It at all costs! Speaking from experience it was hell on earth I even blamed myself for being weak. Afterall, being sensitive also taught me how to protect my own energy setting boundaries, practicing self-care, and learning how to process emotions in healthy ways. Basically, I tried to master the law of rationality. It helps to keep my sanity on a good level and it didn’t make me go insane. Trust me when I said I almost going insane just for being sensitive. Overall, to my sensitive people this is for you. Being sensitive is not all about fragility, it’s all about strength you gather through vulnerability. Embrace all the emotions you feel, understanding their role, and using them to fuel growth and creativity. So, if you are sensitive, know that your emotional depth is a gift, and while the world can sometimes feel like too much, it is also richer because of your ability to feel it so fully. Please don’t hate yourself just because the emotion you feel make a bigger impact to yourself more than other people. In fact, cherish it because we are who we are. You are enough folks. XOXO, Tashajan

#self love #emotions #you are worthy #Spotify

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eldoria-radio · 4 months ago

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Hello, sweet child. Are you awake? You've been more active, yes? Why that is incredible. I'm beyond happy you're doing so much better. Can you tell me your name?

J uijol… Zft… Nz obnf jt Ubmjuib…

Do you remember anything else? What you do now? What happened before you blacked out?

J sfnfncfs… tufqqjoh pgg uif qmbugpsn…

Oh dear, your pulse is getting quite fast! Bad memories, hm? I'm so sorry, my little firefly… How about we continue our story? That'll calm you down.

As winter settled over the village, the landscape transformed into a serene expanse of white. Snow blanketed the rooftops, muffling the sounds of daily life and bringing a rare tranquility to the world. Aspen and Misha loved the snow, finding endless joy in its crisp purity, and they spent their afternoons building forts and tracing patterns in the untouched drifts.

But as the days grew shorter and the nights colder, a creeping unease settled over the household. The subtle tension Aspen had sensed before now seemed to thicken, hanging in the air like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.

Aspen noticed the change in Misha first. He was quieter, more withdrawn, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that didn’t belong there. At night, Aspen often heard him tossing and turning in his bed, caught in the grip of restless dreams. Sometimes, he would wake with a start, breathless and wide-eyed, his whispers of imagined monsters echoing in the dim light.

“Was it a nightmare?” Aspen asked one night after Misha awoke with a cry, his voice echoing in the silent room.

Misha nodded, his face pale and drawn. “It’s always the same,” he murmured. “I’m lost in the dark, and there’s something—someone—calling for me. But I can never find them.”

Aspen listened, their heart aching for Misha. “You’re not alone,” they said softly. “I’m here, and we’ll face whatever it is together.”

Misha managed a faint smile, and for a moment, the darkness receded. Aspen’s words were a small comfort, a flicker of light in the shadows that encroached on his dreams.

Yet, as the days went by, the tension in the house became harder to ignore. Misha’s parents, once reserved but cordial, seemed to grow more distant, their tempers fraying over the smallest of things. There were moments when Aspen would catch a sharp glance or hear a muttered word, and they felt an unfamiliar chill settle in their bones.

Aspen tried to shield Misha from the worst of it, distracting him with games and stories, but it was becoming more difficult. There were times when Misha’s father would slam a door, causing both children to flinch, or when his mother’s voice would rise sharply, cutting through the quiet like a knife. Aspen could feel the tension escalating, an undercurrent of anger and frustration that threatened to erupt.

One afternoon, while Misha was out fetching wood for the fire, Aspen found themselves alone in the kitchen with Misha’s mother. Aspen was humming softly to themselves, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere, when Misha’s mother turned suddenly, her face drawn and weary.

“You think everything is just a game, don’t you?” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “But you don’t understand how hard life can be. How hard it is to keep things together.”

The words, though not shouted, struck Aspen with the force of a sudden storm. They felt a pang of fear and confusion, not knowing how to respond. The harshness in her voice was a reminder that the magic and wonder they cherished were fragile things in this world.

When Misha returned, Aspen didn’t mention the exchange. They simply took his hand and led him outside, where the snow was falling again in soft, gentle flakes. They built a snowman together, Misha’s laughter a balm against the chill that had crept into Aspen’s heart.

As the snowman took shape, Aspen realized that their presence in this household was both a blessing and a burden. They were a light for Misha, a reminder of the magic and wonder that could still exist even in difficult times. But they were also a witness to a growing tension that they couldn’t ignore.

The winter dragged on, the cold seeping into every corner of their lives. Aspen resolved to protect Misha as best as they could, to be the light that guided him through the darkness. They understood that they couldn’t change the world around them, but they could be a source of hope and comfort, a beacon of wonder amidst the harsh realities.

#Whispers in the Aether #storytelling #wita #writing project #fantasy

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samuclit · 3 years ago

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Life Gave Us A Lemon!

tags: kuroo tetsurou x reader, second-chance romance, reddit confessions, told in kuroo’s perspective, a little angst with happy ending, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy complications, um implied sexual content I think that will do.

word count: 6.2K

author’s note: I am bored and doesn’t feel like doing my lab reports yet so yeah here comes this fic I spend the whole day writing it after thinking about kuroo for a long time

r/AskReddit

How do you meet the love of your life?

I just happened to come across this reddit tag while I was scrolling through news so I feel like telling you about the love of my life, which is my wife. I do not want to disclose her name here but what I can tell you about her is that we are both 30 years old this year and we've been married for about two years now and we have a beautiful 2-year old son that we cherish very much.

The day that my wife came into my life was actually when I was 8 and I have known her for almost my entire life. I know, I know this looks like every cute friends to lovers story you may have come across but this was so much harder than that. We went through so much to finally be together due to my stupidity but I promise it will be worth it at the end. If my wife happens to read this I just hope that she will love this hahaha ily baby I promise I won’t do anything embarrassing.

I was at the community park at the time, playing volleyball with my friend and she was just sitting there playing alone at the swings. Me and my friend were only interested in playing together, we considered asking her to play with us but you know little boys, we hardly want to play with girls because we always see them as small and fragile types so we just never bothered to ask her. Every evening that we played at the park she was just sitting there at the swings watching us play. Whenever the ball was hit astray away from the court, she would scurry towards the ball and give it to us and continue playing at the swings.

One day I finally had the heart (courage, because I was always afraid to speak with girls around my age) to thank her and she cutely said “you’re welcome’ with the warmest smile a person could give. I was glad I asked for her name because after that day we became close friends who do everything together. It will be me, her and my friend who I used to play with every day. We got through middle and high school together smoothly, we don’t fight, we study when we can. Sometimes I came over to her family home so I could eat what her mother cooks and so she doesn't have to be alone all the time. My parents were divorced when I was younger so home is not really the place I look forward to going back to at some point in my life.

Middle school was okay, but high school is when I think things took a wrong turn. I went through puberty and all I think about are girls and you know…sex. At first it got scary and somehow I got used to it because it is fun and like I said, home is not fun. So there are multiple girls in my life (used to) that I would promise to bring to dates, and sometimes just sneak them inside my childhood bedroom and keep them there until morning. My wife had a different life in high school compared to me. She rarely spends time with her girl friends outside of school so me and my friend is all she had. The only person other than us that she refers to as friends is the girl who always happens to sit next to her for three years straight in high school. They would have lunch together but don’t hang out after school together because the girl has other friends and my wife didn’t bother to get jealous. And since I spend my time bringing other girls to my bed and my other friend has his own obsession, she will be alone most of the time.

But at some time I would come over to accompany her habits of staying up all night to either study or watch Grey’s Anatomy which you know, how it never ends and will always have more episodes until now, even. Sometimes we would do just that because talking about girl problems felt uncomfortable and she didn't really bat an eye whenever I told them about the girls I slept with. “I am sorry but I am really invested about this episode so let’s talk about that later okay” is what she said the first time I tell her about this senior I slept with and I got scared about what she thinks about my love life so I zipped my mouth shut and just continue watching it with her.

She is definitely a friend I am so grateful to have. She is an angel and would always look out for me whenever school gets stressful, when the volleyball competition gets too harsh on me as I became a captain during my third year. The coach would offer her a position as a manager but she refused every time because she said she didn’t know about the sport too well when she does but I know she only refused because she doesn’t want to seem too attached to me or because she has her own academic priorities to tend to. There are days where I don’t even bother to tell her what happened during practice or official matches for her to comfort me with her words of reassurance.

When we graduated and moved out of our home, we rented a place together as we attend the same university. Other than being a really good friend for me she is also a great roommate. She is a far greater cook than I am so sometimes she will do the kitchen duty all the time and in exchange I will drive her to and from home to get her to places, and sometimes when she runs out of money I will pitch in my savings to buy her food that she likes. Though she always looks like she pulls herself together she’s not like that all the time. During the final year of our degree I think she was in the most vulnerable and destructive state. She skips meals, she doesn’t randomly cook dinner for the both of us like she used to, she refused to study in her room and instead went to the campus library and when she doesn’t come home I always see her sleeping so uncomfortably with hands supporting her chin.

I was WORRIED about her wellbeing so during the weekends I bring her to eat a proper lunch and that’s where I think I fucked up.

“I am tired of seeing random girls being in our apartment. I would wake up and see girls scream at me because they think you cheated on them with me, or sometimes they ask me how to keep you around and attached to them and I am sick of it. It’s not fair that I am uncomfortable in my own place and that people assume that we’re together and that I know the way to your heart when it’s clear that I don’t.”

I remembered all the words she said to me because when she’s mad it’s easier to remember all her facial expressions. It turns out that she would sleep on her classmates' couch whenever she knows I bring girls over and she cried after she spilled everything out. I don’t think an apology would make up for the amount of times I hurt her but I knew better then to not bring anyone over ever again and make sure she is safe.

I suggested that she try going out on dates and that I would help introduce her to the nice guys in my class and she flat out refused every one I introduced her to because she is busy and she doesn’t want to have boy problems. “If I need a guy in my life you’re already here so why bother?” is what she said to me.

I know I know, I should have realized that she loves me when she said this and that she was jealous that I see other girls but I didn’t know any better okay? I know I disappointed a lot of people but believe me I know I am the stupidest guy ever and this is just the first part. I have so much more disappointment to reveal to you guys who actually cared to read this post.

Fast forward to our university graduation, her mom attended for the both of us and wished us well. I picked her mom up from the train station and let her stay with us before the ceremony. She would tell me about how she is proud of her daughter and that she is glad that I was taking care of her when all I did was make her sad. I disclose that information of course because what mother wants to know that their daughter is living with an asshole of a guy who plays with girls’ feelings? But during graduation, when my wife was busy taking pictures with her classmates, her mother told me that if no one is going to be there for her I should promise to be there for her and I did. I promised her that I would take care of her daughter, make sure she is not hurt and that she will find the right person to love.

Ok this is the second disappointment. Guess what happened.

Of course I would break that promise. I fell in love, but with someone else.

After we graduated we were so grateful that we both managed to land a job that fits with what we studied for our degree. She works for a publishing company that publishes novels and I work for the JVA which is my dream workplace. We were happy and we got what we wanted. We moved out of that apartment we used to rent back during the university days and she managed to find a bigger apartment for the both of us. I only lived there for 3 months before I met the person I was in a long-term relationship with.

Again if my wife reads this I just want you to know that you and our little lemon are the only people in my heart and that I love you so much and I talk about my ex because I need to tell a story the people here are invested in!!

Let’s just name her A because I don’t want to shame her here, I am positive she is living a happy life with someone right now, it’s what everyone deserves.

We work in the same building, she is the secretary to my boss and I was just an office worker at the time. Going into details would be a waste of time but we were in a relationship for about two years…which is a very long time considering I have never got to that point with any of my girlfriends ever. It’s different for me and my wife because we didn’t even manage to call each other boyfriend or girlfriend. We just hang out together all the time during lunch and sometimes dinner because overtime gets to us and whether we know it or not we got into a stable relationship.

When I felt like I became committed to her, I broke the news to my wife that I was dating A at the time and wanted to move into her place. A was already aware that I live with my wife before we became official and she doesn’t have a problem with it, but she did offer me to move in with her and that it is easier for me to commute to our work building.

My wife was surprised to the point that she stopped what she was doing so she could look at me. And like I mentioned before, I usually remember all the things she said to me whenever she gets emotional. And this one hit me the hardest.

“So you have a girlfriend all this time and you didn’t tell me? I thought you would share everything with me?”

“I don’t know, it will be nice if I know about your girlfriend while I live in this house because clearly she will think of me differently as someone who has been sharing the same roof with you for years?”

“Of course it matters to me if you have a girlfriend or not! So I don’t have to waste my time waiting for you and worrying about your whereabouts after you spend the whole weekend away without telling me!”

“Am I really just some person you share an apartment with? Don’t I have a right to care about you?”

She broke down and locked herself in her room after that. Of course I didn’t tell anything about this to A at the time, pretty sure I would get into another fight for the day. When she was locking herself up in her room I packed my stuff and left the apartment without even saying anything to her.

I lost contact with her for the two years I lived with A. I didn’t hear about her, and remember the friend I used to mention in the first part of the story? He knows what happened during the two years and all he told me about her is that she was fine or she was okay and that was it.

I didn’t know what happened to her, what she did for the past two years. At some point I forgot how she looks like when she smiles and forgot how her familiar voice would ring in my head. They’re not there anymore. This doesn’t stop me from being happy with my then-girlfriend of course. We spent the two years without a fight, I would send her to work and pick her up and cook for her, clean the messes of the apartment, the things I never did for my wife back then. We didn’t fight for two years because after we celebrated our 2nd anniversary everything went wrong. Turns out A cheated on me and had an accidental affair with her boss she worked with. Our boss was already married but they got to a work trip and stuff happened and I found out from another staff member. We had the nastiest argument ever and decided to call it quits and I took months to recover from that trauma of being in a relationship. I promised myself I won’t fall for another person because all it brought me was betrayal and hurt, sto I stopped.

Just, you know, imagine being so committed to dropping a lot of things, your best friend who would be there for you your whole life, the promise I made to her mother, the things I never did for her but she did for me, and it is all for a person who betrays me in the end. I was depressed for months before I started getting on my feet again and slowly forgot A’s face and started living my life alone. I bought a new apartment I can call mine, sold the old car for good and bought a new one. More expensive car.

And I don’t know maybe fate decided to give me another chance again after I stupidly fucked up, I was driving to a place where I need to meet a client and it gets all too familiar. I happen to drive around the area I avoided the most. When I left my wife’s apartment I told myself to forget the coffee shop, the convenience store and the mini mart I used to go with my wife back then because going to the mall is a pain and an inconvenience. Even the park I used to go to all the time for a morning jog or when she was stressed from work and needed to see the dogs that walk around the park all the time.

And just like I said, a whole miracle. I saw her get out of a taxi and headed straight to the convenience store so I walked inside when she was picking up her ice cream. And when I saw her face again I felt light and color slowly seeping into my life again. When I think I lost it all when I broke up with A I didn’t realize it was because I missed my childhood best friend so much.

Something snapped inside of me so I pulled her into a hug and told her how much I have missed her and how much I haven’t heard from her, how apologetic I was. All she did was tap me on the back and I pulled away to see her smile again.

She told me she forgave me a long time ago and that she is doing well. We caught up over dinner and we hung out in the apartment she still lives in after years. The interior changed greatly, it looks more like a place that a single adult woman lived in, the books that are neatly shelved, the kitchen where it has everything you possibly need, and a cozy bedroom. My old bedroom was still empty, the mess I left there two years before was already cleaned up and the mattress was covered by a bedsheet.

She told me how she got promoted so she has the extra money to live a luxurious lifestyle, she didn’t buy a car or learn to drive one because she was too busy to even think about anything like that. She has the money to pay for taxi fares or would just rely on her assistant to drive her around. I was the one who always did that for her so I apologized for completely ditching her for my asshole girlfriend and didn’t manage to take care of her.

When asked why she didn’t buy a place for herself now that she is richer she said that she waited for me whenever I needed a place to stay so she stayed there. Waiting for me. I didn’t realize the amount of sacrifices she made for me until that moment. So I decided to leave my apartment the way it is and moved back into her place to live with her, so I can drive her to work when she needed, for her to have someone there whenever there’s a bug in her room or when the pipe under the sink is clogged and she is not capable of going though all the dirty work of handling it alone or relying on the plumber that would only make her uncomfortable. Sometimes I would only go back to my place to bring some stuff that I don’t have in her apartment.

We lived together for around 6 months where we did a lot of things together. Sometimes we would call over our best friend to drink together, sometimes it was just us and watching the new seasons of Grey’s Anatomy and she would fill in for the amount of episodes I missed when I wasn’t there watching it with her. And when she falls asleep on the couch when she is doing work because the workspace is too small compared to the coffee table, I would carry her to her room and let her sleep peacefully.

There is this one more day that I think was engraved to my mind to this day. I am aware I am already married to her and am happy now but all I can think of is that day and how much pain was in her eyes back then. It was when I took her to the larger park compared to the one in front of our apartment complex for a walk to see cute dogs in the area. A small kid was running in front of us, fell down and cried a lot. We assumed her parents were not in the area so she held her hand and sat her down on the bench. There was a cut on her knees and my wife told me to buy some plaster and ointment at the nearby store while she watches over the kid. When I came back the kid stopped crying, and when my wife was mindless talking about stray cats that were sleeping and rolling on the grass. I treated her wounds and I heard the two girls laugh when the cat was playing with the other cats. My wife never looked so happy when she played with the small child and I smiled along with them and made some jokes about the cats. When the kid’s parents finally got to the bench we were sitting at, I saw my wife’s longing stare at her and her happy expressions from earlier dropped and she was frowning all the time.

This is the third conversation we talked about that I remember very much. We were having coffee and breakfast after we finished our walk.

“I am turning 27 soon enough and my daily routine is just the same. I wake up at 7 am everyday to cook breakfast for myself, take a bath and go out for work. Sometimes when I am a bit lazy I wake up late and skip breakfast to go straight to work. I have lunch alone and if I have them with my coworkers all I could talk about is work. I don’t have an interesting life. They talk about how their kids don’t eat veggies, how their kids have fever, their kids already said the first word and they didn’t expect me to say anything but listen to them talking about it. They said I should be glad that I am a happy single woman that doesn’t have to worry about kids ruining their clothes all the time but what they didn’t know is that I am miserable for living the same boring life like this ever since I graduated. I didn’t know kids would make me happy, you know? I never felt like I wanted to hold a small child’s little hands until today I didn’t know how much I could be happy over them. Maybe my mom is right, I should probably start dating someone and maybe settle down with them and start investing my time for someone else instead of being on my own all the time. I am so bored with my life and I am so lonely. I wanted to be happy so badly!” After we got back, she sat on the couch the whole day and watched the TV and didn’t bother eating anything else. I held her close while she cried herself to sleep on my shoulders.

After a few days since the conversation happened, I saw her all dressed up in the bathroom trying to put on her lipstick one last time and it turned out she had a date with one of the writers she worked for. She asked me many times if she should wear heels or the pretty flats she just bought few days earlier and asked me if she should do this or that considering I am a man and I’ve been to one too many dates myself and there was a moment where I wished I could take her out on a date too, but I didn’t say anything or delve my mind into that thoughts ever again.

She went to several more dates with that guy and I was DEAD CURIOUS about what happened to that point of many dates. She didn’t want to talk about it until after this one time they had dinner together at some crap place he brought her to. I looked up the place and it wasn’t satisfactory at all.

She started talking about it when I was doing our laundry. She leaned at the door and told me what went wrong. The guy only wanted to go on casual dates and a hookup and didn’t look for anything serious from her and I saw her heart break over it. I was angered about it but at the same time I was relieved because I can never see her living her desired life in the future without me in it.

And let’s just say everything that happened after that seems like fate was so lazy and tired of us constantly pushing each other away so they decided to throw in a miracle.

She got pregnant with my child. Me and my wife, we were expecting. We got so drunk that night after she told me that it didn’t work out with her date. I have never gotten that drunk in my life ever, and I have never seen her in that state but when she cried all I could think of was holding her close like that day, and I kissed her when she stared at me with her eyes that looked like stars were carefully placed in it. We made love that day and I kept telling her how much I loved her and she kept calling for my name when we did it and I was sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

We got awkward after that day. We barely talk or eat together, and whenever we do, she always says she is full and heads straight to bed after that. When I pick her up from work we hardly try to crack a conversation or when I ask her if she wants to get some midnight snacks she would say she is tired and is busy with work. She kept pushing me away and I assumed it was so that we couldn’t talk about what happened that night.

One day she called me from her workplace to pick her up during the lunch hour, she said she was a bit sick so I also took the rest of the day off in case she needed something. When I picked her up from work she was carrying a grocery bag full of lemons in one hand and a bag in her other hand.

��My period was late. So I decided to take a test and it was positive. I was unsure of the test so I went to the clinic to get myself checked, and the doctor said I am pregnant…for 7 weeks…”

She was carefully looking at me after I said that and she was babbling the entire time.

“I know, I am sorry okay I wasn’t careful, I don’t know if this is what you wanted but I DO I wanted this baby and I want to raise this baby it doesn’t matter if I am alone because I know I will love this baby and that I will be happy but if it means you will leave me it would hurt me a little but can you just promise me you won’t completely ditch me until you see the love of your life I have lived a life without a father figure for so long so it’s okay if my child don’t have one I can be their father too.”

She was talking all the time while I was already thinking ahead of how the baby will look like, what their first words are going to be, what I will dress them up as during halloween and it was when she cried that I stopped her.

I told her that no I won’t leave her and that I don’t even think of dating anyone at the time so she doesn't have to worry about me being around for only a little time because I will be there all the time. I said I have a savings account that I saved up for myself that can be used for hospital bills and everything that she needed. “Of course I wanted this too, I am happy to be able to have this opportunity, thank you so much.” I kissed her on the forehead and brought her to my bed so we could lay there together.

She told me to bring one lemon that she bought earlier. “When I went to the checkup, I was blank all the time and she snapped me back to reality when she told me that the baby is the size of a lemon about now. So I went to the store near the clinic and held the lemon in my palms.”

“The baby is so small, like this lemon. I couldn’t hold it in and cried in the middle of the store. So I bought two weeks worth of lemons because that was all I thought about. Our baby is the size of a lemon. I have a lemon-sized baby inside of me, and it’s not going to be a lemon anymore. It is going to grow.” We cried tears of joy together and slept together on the same bed from that day onwards. It was better for pregnant women’s bump to be held when they sleep to provide comfort for the baby and the mother. She would snuggle up to me and look for me when I needed a bathroom break in the middle of the night. We decided to call our fetus little lemon.

Our routine changed since that day, we told her mom about the pregnancy and expected a negative reaction but she was the happiest because she got to be a grandmother and she was even more happy that the father is me. I did a lot of reading about what pregnant mothers need and what I need to prepare. I will drive her to checkups, when she is tired she will call me so she can get home earlier, when she is doing the dishes alone I would sneak behind her to lift up her bump so her back pains are reduced. At some point I got tired of watching her do everything in the house so I made sure I took care of everything. I didn’t mind doing chores because we don’t have much to take care of in the first place and I am rich enough to call for help.

When she was 5 months into the pregnancy, the doctor advised us to watch over her diet and her blood pressure HB count. She was worried and agitated all the time and I was there to tell her that she was doing okay and to just listen to the doctor’s advice to take care of her diet. There were so many struggles she faced throughout her pregnancy and we were stressing over the apartment because buying baby stuff is taking the space of the apartment, so I asked her to move into my apartment that I still keep.

After a week, she agreed to move in, so I called for people to refurbish the rooms so she has a room for herself and a nursery. There was a spare room for her mom that I prepared whenever she wanted to come over and check on her. It took a long time for her to consider my offer because she was attached to the place since she lived there for almost three years. She said this place means a lot to me too and it was true. I fell in love with her when I started living here again. That was also the day we decided that it was okay for us to be intimate and we made love that night and it was possibly the first time where I get to enjoy a meaningful sex with her.

During the 7th month, we started discussing baby names because we do not want to know about the gender yet, how she’s going to give birth and insurance plans that we’re considering for our baby. And the conversation about legal parentings came and I considered talking about marriage with her but felt like it was not the time for that yet.

I decided to buy a ring a week after that, just because, and decided to propose to her during dinner. When I asked her if she wanted to marry me, she looked like she was not expecting any of that from me.

“We can’t get married.” I got rejected but that’s when I feel like I am much worse of an asshole than I thought I was before.

“What if I intercepted the way to your love life when we got married? What if one day your commitment falls to someone else that wasn’t me? What if that happens and our child will have to suffer in a broken home. It is better if we live as co-parents.”

So I told her. “You won’t intercept in the way of anything because the love I wanted was you. I love you and our child and my heart belongs to the both of you. I have been devoted to you since the day I decided to come back here. I don’t think I will want to go through anything I had in the past when a whole perfect you is here with me and our child!” I was so scared at the time because I thought she would push me away again but nothing negative happened and she was just stunned and slept facing the other way that night. It wasn’t really that big of a deal because the next day she told me to drive to the registration office to get married on papers.

This is the reason I said that we never call each other boyfriend and girlfriend because overnight we became parents and then we got married. We were happy, and I didn’t hold back from touching her anymore, and she would kiss me when we wake up, when there are some of the new office workers hit on me I told them I am married and I have a beautiful and very pregnant wife at home and everyone was taken aback because I never bothered to tell anyone about my personal life and they all congratulated me and bought gifts for the unborn baby. My wife even got the chance to join the mothers in her work friend circle and talk about her pregnancy with them.

This part is probably going to be so painful so I apologize if my words are messed up and if I touch people’s hearts with the most painful memory I had about my wife. It was during the birth of our child.

She gave a normal birth but after the baby was safely delivered her blood pressure was all over the place to the point that she was unconscious and was in the ICU for around 3 days. The doctors said something about a cardiovascular dysfunction that happens to pregnant women. I had to sit with her all the time and hold her hand and let’s say that is the single most scary event that ever happened in my life. I couldn’t get up from my chair and do anything, the nurses said my complexion was worse than a corpse and one of the residents who were in charge of taking care of my wife bought me lunch and ate with me as I talked about my wife with him. Her mom arrived at the hospital the next day and told me to sleep somewhere and the nurses were kind enough to let me sleep in an empty hospital ward. I visited the nursery to check on my baby, my little lemon was awake when I saw him and a small smile was drawn on his cute face. I got to hold my baby after he was fed. Since my wife is unconscious the nutrient he needed from my wife should be replaced with baby formula.

I told the nurses if it is possible to take the baby and let it stay close to my wife while she was still unconscious. I hold her hand close to me and kiss her knuckles as I talk to her all about our little lemon and by some miracle her health gets better and she wakes up when the baby cries. Our little lemon is a miracle baby. I cried so hard and promised to her that I won’t ever have to make her go through this ever again.

She finally told her that she loved me when she woke up.

“It would have been so much easier if you loved me earlier, don't you think? We spent too much time pushing each other away, spent too much time waiting for you to come back and we rushed everything when we got together. I am so sorry that I never told you about the feelings I had for you since I was 17. I fell in love too soon and you love me too late for us to do anything about it.”

I felt like what I told everyone about the love of my life is enough. I realized I loved her since the day I knew her but I only acted upon it when I lost everything but her. She was there when I had no one else, she knew me so well to the point that she never hurt me but all my life I hurt her by being with someone else to avoid the feelings I had for her. I thought I could never see her again but her chances and forgiving self gave a place in her heart again no matter how many times I pushed her away. So as a man to possibly more men who probably read this, just igve it a shot, tell her you love her. Be responsible if anything happens. Happy wife, happy life! To my dear wife, I really hope you don’t read any of this because I KNOW you will make fun of me and ridicule me and I hope that this post will be gone in years so my son doesn’t have to grow up to see this. I love you, wife. And I am so happy I still have a lot of time to prove it to you.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfictions

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

Note

Could you please do a one-shot where the reader tries to escape from yandere Gojo? Thanks in advance! ^^

Thanks for requesting ♥ Haven’t done a request for him in a while :D

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Only when you finally ran out of adrenaline did you notice the soothing cold of the night against your skin. For the longest time, you hadn't felt even a breeze ruffling through your clothes. But now, paired with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, you were engulfed by all these normal-strange sensations you had missed out on for so long.

Even though your feet hurt from running, and your lungs couldn't get enough of the air all around you, you felt so alive and happy, you were barely able to contain yourself from screaming in joy. Leaning against the wall, you decided to take a small rest in the alleyway, having come far already. How long had you run? Probably a bit more than twenty minutes, left and right and uphill and behind houses. You'd have put rabbits to shame with how you sidestepped just to escape.

So what now?

Many would call you crazy. That you'd run from a man that loved you so much wouldn't be taken positively by the people around you. You couldn't go home, or to your parents, after all, if you were him, that's where you'd look first. Police? But what would you tell them? That you were locked away for months? Gojo had told you more than once that it was useless to go anywhere - especially without him - after all, he made sure that no one would believe the terrible things you wanted to tell them. Everyone was under the assumption you were doing splendidly with your new boyfriend - a boyfriend you didn't even know existed.

You had been seen with him so many times that people liked to assume that what you had was a normal relationship. They didn't know that he kept forcing himself into your space, that you didn't want to go anywhere with him anymore after he monopolized and clung to you for the better part of weeks. Everyone knew he was eccentric, but they didn't think he was mad on top of that. One could assume that after all he's done in the past and went through, his brain took a big hit, his arrogance and confidence only feeding into his egotistical views. But that he'd kidnap the person he loved, kept them holed up, and did things you didn't want to think about anymore that's not something anyone would accept easily.

In fact, if you two were ever again confronted with each other, he might blame you for doing these things to yourself and harassing him! No... You decided then and there that you didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. You just wanted to go somewhere he couldn't find you. Somewhere you'd be safe and could start over without drawing any attention. Calm and peaceful, but most importantly, alone.

At least, that was the plan, but biting the tip of your thumb, you realized you were still stuck in the middle of the city, with no money, no phone, and nowhere to go for help. Perhaps if you visited the bank and asked for money from your account personally, they'd be able to provide you with some, but it was already late, and you doubted there was any bank near you that had a late-night clerk waiting for customers. You didn't like to settle somewhere outside for the night. You wanted to be gone as fast as possible, but what were you supposed to do? Clothed in just a shirt and pants, you sunk to your bottom, pulling in your legs. At least, hidden behind dumpsters and between the buildings, no one would find you or, if, simply assume you were a beggar asleep.

This was still nicer than being with him.

Nicer than sleeping in his hold while he whispered his seemingly endless confession in your ear, your body bruised and fragile from his touches.

Sleeping in some dirty alleyway was heaven compared to it.

»»————————

"Ah, look at you," Gojo hummed as he stepped into the alleyway. Even though you had been dozing, immediately, your eyes snapped wide open, and you took on the stance of someone about to jump up and run again. However, your eyes could only fixate on his legs, standing right in front of you and blocking your way out. Even if you thought it was safest to hide, you didn't calculate the risk of getting found. "You must be cold."

There was mockery in his kind words, but Gojo was quick to strip off his jacket and squat down, laying the fabric around your shoulder. Everything about him - the sharp eyes hidden behind shades, the smell of his aftershave, the rough tug he made as he adjusted the jacket over your shoulders - made you want to vomit. Pictures of things he had done and things he was able to do to you popped into your mind while you sat there like a frozen, trying desperately to come up with an escape plan.

"How did you...?" you mumbled, questioning yourself more than him. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I could even find you? I missed you! Were you scared I wouldn't come?"

No, you were scared all along that he'd find you.

"Why?" you whispered, shoulders slumping. Gojo's lips curled into a pitying smile, one he probably imagined signaled empathy the best. But really, was there even a spark of humanity in this man that would let him feel these kinds of emotions? You doubted it more than anyone in the world. Hands falling from your shoulders to your hips and dragging forward over your thighs to your knees, Gojo took a deep breath, taking in every inch of you appreciatively. Like fine art, a rare sight to see, that's how you must have looked in his eyes.

"I told you I missed you, so I came--"

"No, why are you doing this. Why me? What do you want from me?"

Your voice sounded exhausted more than anything now. Now that you realized Gojo had won, you were tired. There was something animalistic in the way he touched you. Possessive, victorious. He was the white lion prowling in a habitat that didn't fit him, and yet, he benefitted from it. However he did it, you knew he wasn't just passing by and found you. If you didn't know it better, you'd say he always knew where you went, every second of your escape. But it was inexplicable how, when, and why he knew, and it frightened you even more that he was so much more aware of everything going on around you than you were.

Gojo smiled, hesitating to answer while he thought hard about what to say. "You. I always wanted you. I want you to love me and cherish me. Make the whole world stop for a while without me having to worry that you will disappear from it. I am doing this for you as much as I am doing it for me, don't you understand? Won't you rely on me to do what is best for us?"

"I don't want that," you replied firmly, not even a moment of hesitation on your side. No matter what he said, you couldn't decide if Gojo was telling the truth or if he lied. You were sure he was manipulating you, but at the same time, he did it with the face of an angel, hiding much, much more than you'd ever know even if you expected there to be hidden meaning behind it all.

"I see," he sighed, the smile never leaving his lips no matter how he was feeling at the moment. Was he angry? Disappointed? Sad? You weren't sure if even Gojo himself knew. But you did notice his grip on your legs growing harder as he kept squeezing down on them. "Then I will make you rely on me."

Surely enough, you couldn't keep up your scared-up-stance for much longer as he seemed to force you to the ground. You could feel your expression harden in pain as you gasped, pushing at his shoulders. However, Gojo used the moment of your focus shifting to move forward to your face, kissing you in a moment you were stunned by his actions. "Please don't hate me too much," he mumbled, almost sounding... remorseful.

"I just think those legs don't do us any good as long as they are attached to you. We both need to make sacrifices, you know?"

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ellsbclls · 3 years ago

Text

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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monicashipslokius · 3 years ago

Text

“Kneel.”

Loki looks at them, these simple mortal beings. So primitive. Like ants, running loose, lost without a queen. But they needn’t fear any longer. Loki is here, and will be their leader now. They will find purpose - glorious purpose - under their rule.

“Kneel!” Loki says again, louder, and finally they fall into line. One after the next, down to their knees, to praise -

“Um. Excuse me. Uh, sorry. This is awkward.” A man steps away from the rest. He’s wearing a dreary brown suit with a tie that needs fixing. Gray hair. Mustache. A typical, everyday Midgardian.

Loki should silence him at once. And yet - they still their hand. There’s something oddly... compelling about this fumbling oaf. Perhaps it’s the way he’s looking at Loki. Not with fear, but with interest. Curiosity. Almost a quiet understanding.

No one ever looks at Loki like that.

The man rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just that. Well. I think I might be your soulmate?”

Someone in the crowd shushes him.

Another asks, “Are you crazy?”

A woman hisses, “Mobius. There’s no way -”

The man - Mobius - glances back at her and shrugs. “So they’re ambitious.”

“They’re going to kill you.”

“Nah.” Mobius turns back to Loki. “Just a little pussycat.”

He starts forward, gently moving through the kneeling crowd, whispering, “Excuse me, pardon me, coming through,” on his way to the front.

Loki tracks his every step, watchful for any sign of trickery, but they can detect no magic on this mortal. The absolute gall of this man, to approach Loki - child of Asgard, god of mischief - as if they are equals.

Loki shouldn’t just silence him, they should scorch him from the whole of the realms.

But then Mobius smiles at Loki, a big, wide thing that twists Loki up inside. Perhaps they will wait to destroy him, if only for a moment, if only to hear him out. Loki considers themself a fair god, after all.

Listening. Then destruction.

“Speak, mortal,” Loki commands. “If that is what you desire. But know your life hangs on your words.”

Mobius looks at Loki, watching for a moment, smile never dimming. “Oh, yeah. You’re definitely the one.”

“I am all things,” Loki says, ever magnanimous.

Mobius points at them. “You’re my soulmate.”

Loki frowns. “I am not.” Then they frown harder. They know lies well, and that felt like a big one.

But that couldn’t be.

“I have no soulmate,” Loki says, ignoring the familiar sting that comes with the words. Words repeated again and again, as all the seers in Asgard looked into their future and saw them standing alone.

Mobius’s smile softens. “Are you sure about that?”

No. Not really. How many years have passed since Loki last had the seers check? Is it possible... perhaps Mobius had been born in that time? He is but a mortal. How old could he be? 40 years? 50? The blink of an eye.

Mobius holds out a hand. “Wouldn’t you like to check?” That suit truly is ridiculous, outdated and well-worn. If they are soulmates, Loki will take him to Asgard at once and buy him -

Loki forces an abrupt stop to their own thoughts. This is deception, meant to shake them from their true purpose.

“Once I discover you are deceiving me, I will purge you from existence.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever you want.” Mobius waves his hand impatiently. “Isn’t worth trying? Then, you know, purge from existence and all that...”

“Mobius,” the same woman whisper-yells from the crowd.

Mobius rolls his eyes. “Work friend. She’s very protective.”

“She has reason to be,” Loki says, looking at that offered hand. At the long, steady fingers, the delicate wrist. Mortals are such fragile things. Beings to be conquered. Not loved.

And yet.

Loki lifts a hand. They rub their thumb and forefinger together. They will attempt a small touch for curiosity’s sake. Then, the promised destruction.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Loki asks.

“No. Excited, maybe. Not everyday you meet your soulmate.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I’m feeling confident.”

Loki swallows hard. Then they reach out. They don’t take Mobius’s hand, not fully. They merely brush the pad of one finger to the edge of his thumb.

It is enough.

Visions flood through their mind. Mobius laughing. Mobius taking Loki’s hand, pressing his lips to their knuckles, one after the next. Mobius leaning in and kissing them on their lips. Mobius pressing Loki against a wall, and Loki letting themself be pressed.

“I love you,” Mobius says under cover of darkness, in the light of day, out in the ocean on the back of some type of motorized water vehicle. “I love you,” again and again, filling the dark depths of Loki’s heart until it overflows, bursting with happiness. With immeasurable love.

Loki snaps back to the present and slowly, so slowly, withdraws their hand.

Mobius’s smile could light the whole city. “I knew it was you.”

Loki opens their mouth to speak, but what comes out is a gasped breath, very near a sob. The love from the vision has vanished, but the phantom feel of it has Loki wanting.

Deception. Has to be. But they are immune to enchantment. And there’s no magic on this man.

To be loved like that. To be held and... cherished. Even now, Mobius looks at them like they hold of all of his hopes and dreams. Loki wonders how they are looking back.

“It’s okay.” Mobius holds up both hands now, like placating a wounded animal. “I know it’s overwhelming.” Mobius takes a small step forward. Loki does too. Mobius is right there. A promise of a life Loki never thought they’d have - right there.

“Mobius,” Loki says, and the name is perfect on their tongue. They could say it a hundred times more, a thousand. They are desperate to. “Mobius.”

“I’m right here.” Mobius steps closer. Loki reaches and grabs his forearm, bunching a handful of that ugly sleeve into their fist. “I’ve got you.”

“You cannot imagine how long -”

“Step away from him,” comes a new, authoritative voice. This one, like Mobius, lacks fear, but unlike Mobius, is decidedly not Loki’s soulmate.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Mobius says over his shoulder, to Captain America. “Could you give us a minute?”

Captain America does not give them a minute. “Release the citizen, Loki.”

“Wow, you are really misreading the situation,” Mobius says.

In the sky, a flying vehicle arms its weapons. Every nerve in Loki’s body stands on end, seeing Mobius in the way of it.

Loki yanks Mobius forward, closer to him, then behind him, shielding him with their body.

“Loki!” Mobius starts.

But its too late. Captain America is moving closer. Loki blocks some of his blows, misses a few others. He’s strong, but not on the level of a god. Not usually. But Loki keeps leaving themself open to protect the vulnerable mortal behind them. Loki doesn’t think Captain America would hurt Mobius, but the risk is too great. The cost is too high for Loki to guess wrong.

The sudden arrival of Tony Stark only makes matters more difficult.

When Loki raises their hands in defeat, Mobius storms around them.

“Mobius,” Loki says in alarm. Mobius is now in the way of far too many weapons. Does he not understand how fragile he is? Or how important?

“I got this, Loki,” Mobius tells them. To the others, “Now everybody hold on a minute.”

“Please move yourself to safety, citizen,” Captain America says.

“I’m perfectly safe right here.”

“Standing right there is how you get a knife in the back,” Tony Stark says.

“Loki won’t hurt me.”

“He must be brainwashed,” Captain America says.

Mobius huffs out a frustrated breath. “You aren’t listening. Loki is my soulmate.”

Tony Stark looks at Captain America. “Definitely brainwashed.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll bite. Who exactly are you?”

“Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, huh. So your parents hated you,” Tony Stark says. Before Mobius can answer, Tony asks, “And what do you do, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I’m a data analyst for a corporate conglomerate.”

“Right,” Tony Stark says. “Loki of Asgard forever bound to Mobius M. Mobius, the data analyst. Sounds fake, but okay.”

Mobius’s shoulders sink. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

Annoyance flares hot under Loki’s skin. Mobius is perfect and how dare these simpletons insinuate otherwise. How dare they make him feel anything less than he is.

Loki takes a strong step forward, but Mobius catches sight of them first and places a hand on their chest, stilling them. Loki holds, only for Mobius’s sake.

“It’s no big deal,” Mobius says.

“They cannot speak to you like that. You are the soulmate of a god.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either. Data analysis is a respectable line of work. I’ve saved my company hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Loki nods along, hoping they look impressed enough to spare Mobius’s feelings, when truly they have no idea what he is talking about. But whatever restores Mobius’s confidence is what they will do.

“Huh,” says Tony Stark. “Pencil pusher just stopped the god of mischief with a touch. You see that?”

“I saw it,” says Captain America. “I don’t think they’re lying.”

Mobius presses his lips together in a hard line before taking a breath and saying, “Loki, you have magic, right? Can you like...” He holds up his hands and waggles his fingers. “Magic us out of here. I think it’s getting a little crowded. Some conversations are supposed to be private.”

Loki likes the idea of... talking, but they had a plan when they came here today.

Loki looks at the scepter. At the people, no longer kneeling. At Captain America and Tony Stark, arguing about Mobius. And then, finally, they look at Mobius himself, with his calm, steady presence, ever-soft smile, and ill-fitting suit.

Loki meant to conquer all of Midgard. And this, being captured, was part of the plan. But. Perhaps. What’s waiting another day? Or two.

They very well can’t let Mobius be captured. To think of it, most of their plans might need changing now.

“Hold onto me,” Loki says.

“Happily.” Mobius goes easily into their arms.

And Loki holds tight as they magic away.

#i wrote this #lokius #loki x mobius #wowki #lokius fanfic #soulmate au #this has been in my drafts all week #i've been trying to figure out how to end it i'm still not sure lol but i think we've reached an okay place?#forgive errors i didn't want to rewatch the whole movie so i might be forgetting important plot points #also forgive any mischaracterization of your faves i tried to be gentle #i had a thought about this that would not leave until it was written

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imaginethathaikyuu · 4 years ago

Text

day and night

inspired by the duality of insecurity and appreciation, and the way they often reflect each other in ways you wouldn’t expect

do i already have a fic called day and night? i dont know and at this point im too afraid to check

akaashi keiji x gender neutral reader word count: 1356 tags: fluff, descriptions of akaashi’s insecurity, established relationship, cuddling, this is a fic about me and akaashi

if u see any typos no u didn’t.

He hated the way his mind became so empty in moments like these.

The bedside lamp shouldn’t be on, not so late, not while you were sleeping, but you never complained when you heard the flip of the switch and the opening of Keiji’s book. You slept through it. You tended to do that.

Why?

He couldn’t figure it out. The reason you looked over everything he did wrong hid from him. It made no sense, really, the way you ate his over cooked meals with a straight face, or how you patiently undid the way he folded your clothes and fixed them to your liking, or when you slept with the light on while he read even though he knew you hated it.

You hated it. His cooking and his folding and his light, his mismatched socks and his new cologne and his impatience. Keiji sat, and he watched you sleeping, his book in his lap and his glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose, knowing you hated all of these things about himself that he wouldn’t change, and still, there wasn’t a thought going through his head. His book had been forgotten. He was just looking at you.

You put up with a lot. Likely too much. His alarm clock woke you up early while he slept right through it. Texts you send throughout the day go unnoticed by him. Late nights at work keep you up and waiting for him, just to watch him lock himself up in his office for another three hours of work.

It wasn’t like these traits about him were new, but they were louder, now. They were blaring and obvious and bothersome and every positive thing he brought to this relationship seemed so goddamn quiet.

That’s how Keiji felt. Quiet. It wasn’t an emotion, yet it was the only word he could think of to describe this insignificance. Maybe fragile was a better word.

He closed his book. He placed it on the nightstand and let his glasses join it. Finally the light could be turned off, and maybe you would sleep more peacefully now. He threw his arm over your waist and pulled your back against his chest, trying to rid all of that distance, trying to fill the silence with your warmth.

He’d lay awake for another hour.

You heard it before your mind and body even woke up, and you knew what it was without needing to come out of your dream: that damn alarm.

God, was it loud - it pierced your ears, it seemed loud enough to shake the walls and damage your hearing, and maybe it was because you had just woken up, but you could hardly stand it.

Opening your eyes was the hardest thing you had ever done. Everything was fuzzy and foggy, you tried to blink it away but you couldn’t, and all you cared about was getting rid of that noise.

You climbed over a still sleeping Keiji to reach his phone and shut it off, knowing that the alarm would ring again in ten minutes time, and your energy had run out. You collapsed on top of him, the crook of his neck becoming your new pillow and his chest your mattress.

In a sleepy daze you wore a smile, wondering how on Earth he sleeps so soundly through the loudest alarm you’d ever heard. He doesn’t even move when you land on him, and he only continues to snore when his second alarm rings out.

Like always, you’d let him sleep longer than you should. He’d be running late, but neither of you would care too much. It had become the routine, and you weren’t about to break this habit. You needed the time with him and Keiji needed the sleep.

It was nice to be awake before him, and you had learned to get over the frustration that came with hearing that dreaded alarm clock. It wasn’t very difficult when you got to wake up to Keiji, who was comfort personified. He was the consolation to early, loud mornings.

As you laid there, cuddling into his heated skin, listening to his breathing and his snoring and his heart beating, all you could focus on was how much you missed him.

Sometimes these mornings were all you had with him. Your work schedules didn’t match - granted, Keiji’s schedule matched no one’s - and neither did your sleeping routines. Even when you stayed up late for him, even when he came home for lunch, even when you both had the same day off, there was just never enough time in the day.

You never had enough of him. You wished you could become a sponge and soak all of him up - leave nothing behind, keep all of this golden man to yourself forever. It was a kind of selfishness you’d take pride in, if such an act was possible.

But even though you missed him so much, even though letting him get out of bed every morning was harder than it should have been, you always sent him off with a kiss. You always reminded him you loved him. As proud as you were of yourself for reeling in the prize catch that was Akaashi Keiji, you were infinitely more proud of him - of his drive, of his work, of his charm. Proud of every success and failure. Of everything he provides and everything he strives for. Even as he struggled to tie his necktie in the morning, or missed important deadlines, or let himself become more distant than he should. There was always some amount of pride in there, and you never had to look hard to find it.

Originally, you were going to let him sleep in this morning. He deserved it. But now, the more you thought about it - you’d much rather wake him up early. You deserved it.

Your lips molded to the edge of his jawline as you grabbed his arm, slowly and surely shaking him awake.

“Kei.”

He grunted, then hummed, then whined. He tried to roll over but your weight on top of him held him down, though he hadn’t even realized you were there. Fists dragged along his eyes and feet kicked the blanket away with a big stretch - every morning was the same.

“Gotta get up, babe,” you said before a yawn, and he pretended not to hear you. You only shook his shoulder harder.

“No,” he griped, and finally he opened his eyes, only to shut them tight. “Going in late today.”

“You said you’d make me breakfast.”

“You said you’d rather go without,” he said with a tired laugh trailing his words.

He found the strength to roll the two of you over, tucking himself into you the way you had cuddled into him, and you gave his hair a tug. A warning to say, you better not fall asleep.

“I was kidding,” you said. “Want you to make me something. Please.”

He gave a groan, one you knew meant fine, but his arms tightened around you, and his legs twisted around yours, and he had nothing more to say.

“Keiji.”

“Five minutes, babe.”

Keiji knew the two of you would be there for longer than that, and you did, too. He knew it could’ve been a bother, but you relaxed into bed, anyway, and let him do as he pleased.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Love you.”

You laughed. “Goodnight.”

And he squeezed your waist, making you jump. “Say it back.”

“I will, when you bring me my burnt breakfast in bed.”

“I will,” he sighed. “In five more minutes.”

It wouldn’t be just five more minutes. That would be inevitable. But he would bring you the breakfast he promised, and it would all be as burnt as you expected. That would be inevitable, too.

But you would eat it. And Keiji was glad that all of these things were a cherished certain, things he couldn’t change, things you loved him for even though he tended to lose sleep over them.

He tried his best. And you knew that without being told. And he appreciated it.

#oh my god i would have posted this sooner but my sister wont shut up about kpop drama #also theres a lightning bug in my room #fun huh #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #scenario #fluff

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princessofprocrastination · 4 years ago

Text

She’s Creepy (Dream)

MASTERLIST

(PART 1)

pairing : dream / clay x reader

summary : apparently being a huge fan of a big youtuber is considered being a creep, according to minecraft gamer, dream. and ever since he called you mean things, your world turned upside down. (ANGST) (TRIGGER WARNING)

GEORGE’S POV

looking back, there was so many things we could’ve done before she saw us.

walked out before she did?

not stared at her like she was the only source of food in a stranded island?

but then again, we were still in shock. but we were left in more shock after she did what she did.

she settled the bill and was proceeding to walk out the restaurant alone, since her family went off first.

since she wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings before, we didn’t think she would this time.

but we were proven wrong in the next second.

she looked up from her wallet, coincidentally, looking up to us.

her eyes moved from me to nick to clay. she looked confused for a second.

and then, a smile.

wait? a smile?

you smiled at us, bringing up your wallet-less, right hand to wave to the three of us.

i looked to see what the other two boys reactions would be.

as expected, shock clearly written all over their faces.

YOUR POV

three years can make someone change. a lot, in fact.

they say to forgive and forget. but logically, how does one forget something that change your whole life?

but you forgave them. you were not heartless. you weren’t going to bring this to your grave. that seems so childish of you.

at the end of the day, what happened years ago changed your life, for the better.

you were making better money than you did when you still made videos.

sure, now you couldn’t really enjoy life by posting on the internet you doing things you love or posting the people you cherish. but that didn’t matter anymore.

you had a good career, a good life.

and you still looked up to the three boys.

sure, they hurt you a little. but you were sure they must’ve did something to stop people from ruining your life after you left social media. right?

so you smiled at them.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t shocked and confused. you were almost speechless. what do you say to the three people that made you the woman you are now?

how did you not notice them sitting on the table just opposite you? and why were the three of them together? as you knew before, they don’t even live in the same country.

maybe they have met since then and they’re just enjoying a good dinner. as you just were.

“hi, haven’t heard of you guys for a little bit.” you walked closer to their table.

your family left, anyways. they said they would catch up with you another day, seeing that most of them have jobs, just like you.

“uh. we- we haven’t heard from you either.” sapnap, nick.

nothing changed. they still looked the way they did three years ago.

besides dream, of course. up till today, you had no clue what he looked like. but damn, he is one hot dude.

“please, sit down. that is, if you don’t have to go.” george. even after three years he is still so adorable and awkward.

you pulled out the empty chair beside sapnap, sitting down.

“since i haven’t formally introduced myself, i’m y/n.” you said, shaking sapnap’s hand.

the polite texan brought your hand to his lips and kissed it instead. how sweet.

you smiled at him as he told you his real name.

they took turns introducing themselves.

air still tense, you tried to make it less awkward.

“stop thinking about the past.” you broke the awkward silence.

“how? you were forced to leave the country.” dream, or clay said.

“that was years ago. now i’m back and clearly fine. my fault for not getting a place with better security, anyways.”

“no. it was clearly my fault for sayin-”

“let’s just put this behind us now. it doesn’t matter now, anyways.” you cut off clay’s words.

clay looked like he was thinking about it for a while before he nodded and let it past him.

“still, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean all i said.” clay looked into my eyes, sincerely apologizing.

“i forgave you years ago. don’t worry about it.” you smiled at him.

“god you’re too nice.” you laughed at what clay muttered under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear him.

“soooo, frozen yogurt?” nick asked all of you.

everyone agreed. maybe then, you’ll know each other more.

not as content creators, but as normal people.

“let’s go to my house.” you told them. you lived alone in a big house, constantly lonely. and you didn’t want the night to end yet.

although they were hesitant, they agreed.

it was obvious they didn’t want to accidentally push any boundaries with you. they acted like you are still fragile. they were scared that the wrong thing you make you blow up.

you told them that you would never do that. that you were comfortable with any kind of questions, to not act like you were a piece of glass.

you drove to your house, clay’s car trailing behind, nick sitting on the passenger seat of his car.

george asked you politely if he could follow you instead of clay.

obviously, you told him he could. he was to adorable to say no, anyways.

although he is the oldest, it felt like he was the opposite. he was just so shy and quiet.

in the car, he told you everything. what clay thought of you, the times he cried in his home watching your old videos and looking at your old photos. he told you the times clay wished he spoke to you instead of acting arrogant.

you almost teared up at that. so this is why george wanted to drive with you instead. got it.

george told you clay basically fell in love with you through social media, that he felt the need to lash out on your in the eyes of the public due to his jealousness.

apparently he felt like he didn’t stand a chance with you.

“has he seen himself in the mirror lately? that man is beautiful.” you laughed at your own comment.

“well, technically, you didn’t know what he looked like. but yeah, he is pretty hot, huh?” george laughed along.

“i didn’t know what he looked like, which made it so much better. i simped for a green smiley face, can you believe that?” you laughed even harder.

“his voice is pretty attractive, too.” george agreed and laughed with you.

you stopped at the security post which was unusual for you since the security guard knew your car and you could always just drive in without stopping.

“the car behind mine is with me.” you told the guy.

“yes ma’am.” he told you, and cleared clay’s car.

“so this is what being rich is like.” george said.

“you’re an idiot. you’re rich too.” you told him.

“you live rich, i don’t” he replied.

“touche.” you told him.

you parked your car in your garage, leaving space for clay car beside yours.

you and george walked to your front door, you using your fingerprint to open the door.

“hey, y/n?” nick called you as you opened the door to your house, them stunned at the classiness of the layout of your house.

“yeah?” you acknowledged him.

“are you single?” you almost chocked on your spit, but laughed it off.

“yes, nick. why?” you turned to him, confused on why he asked you that question. you were surprised to see how close he was to you.

“hey mamas, let’s go on a date someday.” nick invited you, clearly joking.

“nick! you can’t just say that.” clay. someone’s jealous.

“you paying?” you jokingly asked nick, staring into his eyes, acting serious.

“you bet.”

“where are we going?” you asked him, leading the boys to the living room to watch some television.

“in n out.” nick laughed but still managed to let out the answer.

“text me the date, i’m down.” you answered him. nick laughed, going up to you to kiss your cheek. you shook your head at his stupid antics.

“it’s that easy.” nick told the other boys, more specifically, clay. guess he was trying to get clay to do something. it’s too obvious.

“wait. is this real? you guys are serious?” clay asked, almost sweating, it seemed. he asked it like it was an urgent question.

“you’re an idiot, clay.” nick told him. nick put his arm over your shoulder as he sat next to you on the couch, stealing the remote to pick a movie.

“no clay, not real. he’s just messing with us.” george finally said something.

you heard clay sighing. you assumed he sighed in relief. you laughed to yourself. nick realized what you were laughing at, laughing along with you.

“you know, don’t you?” nick whispered in your ear. you nodded, smiling to him.

“know what?” shit. clay heard that? you shook your head, telling him to forget about it.

and he did forget about it. or so you thought.

while the four of you watched hamilton, he was the most silent. but you didn’t think much about it. you talked at some point of the show and continued watching.

“wait a second.” clay realized something.

“FUCK. YOU KNOW.” clay basically screamed.

george almost snorted. “duh. you couldn’t have been more obvious, loverboy.”

“shit. how did you know?” he asked, looking at you straight in the eyes.

you pointed to george.

and that, is how you find yourself a boyfriend after years.

you weren’t even sure how it progressed after that night.

the boys stayed at your place and you order a shit ton of clothes their size so they could keep staying here without buying anything.

you were glad they willingly stayed. you were lonely in that house anyway.

you were making breakfast for three starving boys and yourself when you felt hands on your waist. “you’re too kind.” he whispers in your ear.

“you’ve told me once or twice.” you chuckled.

“get a room.” george yelled, nick agreeing.

“i will kick you out.” you threatened.

“kidding. we love you.” the two boys tried to take their words back. you and clay laughed at how stupid they were acting.

TAGLIST

@sarah-limelight @your-typical-giggle

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken #dream imagine #dream imagines #dream fanfic #dreamwastaken imagines

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avada-kedavrugh · 4 years ago

Note

hi :) could you write a draco x reader where she's been really stressed out and he's like 'wtf do i do' and panicking bc he has no idea how do deal with it? thank you :)

pairing: draco x reader

summary: you’re upset and draco doesn’t know what to do bc hes afraid of losing you.

warnings: angst, fluff

not sure how happy i am with this but here ya go!

You were always a firm believer that Saturdays were made for relaxing, for taking a breather from the stresses in the world, and letting your mind wind down. Saturdays were definitely not made for you to be sat alone in the bathroom, hands bawled at your sides, knuckles turning white as your teeth bared down on your lips to prevent the string of whimpers that would escape.

You were struggling. Not only were you struggling, but you didn’t have the bravery to admit it to anyone and you weren’t sure you even had the words to explain what you were feeling.

Instead, you let the stress build-up, let it taunt you at night, and keep you wide awake, let it leave a sickly pit in your stomach that stole your appetite, let it plague your mind, and snatch your happy thoughts. All the while, you put on a brave face and forced a smile for your boyfriend Draco, out of some strange fear – that you couldn’t shake off – over how he’d react.

You had tried to tell him, tell him you were stressed about the world around you, the growing rumors of Voldemort, the pressures your family put on you, but when you opened your mouth it all just seemed like too much and all that came out was an inaudible mutter. Draco had shot you a weird, interrogating look which sent your nerves into overdrive and so then, you decided you could deal with your stress all alone.

And now you were sat in the toilet, blotched eyes soaked with tears and trying to hold back sobs. Clearly, you were not as good as you thought at dealing with stress.

You inhaled, fixating on the feeling of the air rushing through you, trying to push out the feelings of anxiety that consumed you. Your chest rose and fell as your breaths finally came to a steady rhythm, your heart rate slowing, and your sense of calm returning. You sat in the new-found stillness of the cubicle, ears on patrol for any sound - any possible witnesses that you’d have to deal with - but all you heard was the drip of a broken tap.

You desperately wiped at your face again, scrubbing away your tears, smoothing down your crumpled sleeve and taking a deep breath, both to steady your mind and ready yourself, as you stood up and walked out the cubicle.

Draco had noticed something was up. Draco prided himself on knowing you, when you were around, he often tried dissecting your thoughts and body language, tagging your every movement carefully. He’d sometimes smugly think he knew you better than you even knew yourself. He knew exactly what every look you gave him meant, from the looks of arousal to the small flashes of anger, he knew it all and he cherished it all, though what he cherished most was the bright grin – one that always forced a small smile on his face - and the twinkling flash of your eyes and symphony of your laugh that rung through his ears which he had memorised on loop.

Recently, the number of times you flashed your contagious grin was decreasing and he knew something was up, he found himself working harder just to get a small smile from your lips or a hesitant chuckle. So now his mind pondered over what was making you act differently; in his darkest thoughts he was scared you didn’t want him anymore and the fear of that made him avoid the topic entirely.

He tried to rationalise it as school stress and told himself to remain calm but all he wanted was you. Maybe, he wondered when he tried to sleep at night, you were finally fed up with him, he knew he wasn’t always the best boyfriend, he could admit he struggled to express his emotions and would find himself pushing you away, he knew that you could probably find someone much better but he cherished and loved you – even though he had never told you that.

Selfishly, he didn’t want to lose you and so he hoped things would get better but as weeks went on he knew he had to approach you, ask you what was wrong, he noticed you were smiling less and yawning more, your eyes become decorated with lavender bags rather than the happy twinkle in them that he adored. He wasn’t really sure how to approach the matter. He was scared that he’d make it worse or that you’d utter the words that would ruin his whole world.

One day, when you seemed particularly withdrawn and upset, face pale and eyes riddled with worry, he decided he had to ask you. Even if his greatest fear came true, he knew that he’d risk losing you, just to see your happy smile again.

He didn’t really know what to do. Emotions were complicated. He had an amazing talent at putting his foot in things and didn’t want to do that this time. He wanted to make you happy and you seemed so fragile right now that he knew the risk and, frankly, he was terrified.

Finally, he had mentally worked up the courage and strode into the common room knowing you should be there, mentally reciting the words to say to you. And then his eyes searched for you, to find you, and to his surprise, you weren’t there.

He panicked at first thinking this was just a clear sign you didn’t want him, that you were avoiding him, that you didn’t want to speak to him. He was about to let his insecurities get the best of him when he heard someone mutter “Did you see that Y/N crying in the hallways earlier, must be trouble in paradise.” The voices around him all burst out into laughter and he could feel eyes reel over him.

Hands clenching, eyes blaring and a new state of determination fuelled by spite drove him forward as he stormed up to the group, and through clenched teeth he demanded.

“Where is she?”

As you left the cubicle, you took in the image of the strange figure in the mirror, skin faded, weary eyes adorned with bags and the remnants of tears, as you sighed, so did the figure, your reflection showing the true extent of your struggle. Taking a moment to take in the sight, checking every detail to see if you looked suitably presentable, your mind flashed to Draco, hoping that he wouldn’t notice your strange behaviour. Then you turned to leave the bathroom, leaving the grim reflection behind you and preparing to force a smile on your face back in the common room.

The first thing you saw as you opened the bathroom door was a blonde-haired boy pacing up and down the door, face wrinkled into a look of stress. As soon as the door slammed behind you and you were trapped in the corridor with Draco, his eyes darted up and looked down your form, scrutinising every detail before falling into a look of worry.

“Y/N?” His stony eyes flickered with softness as he took a step towards you, his hands reaching up to you before he quickly stilled, his hands falling by his side and his eyes flickered with a conflict. You could see a contemplative look on his face as he stared at you, his mouth opening to speak but nothing coming out. You returned his hard stare, the sound of breathing the only thing cutting through the awkward silence between the two of you.

“I was just about to come into the toilets but I, I didn’t know what to say” He admitted.

You remained silent, unsure of what to say.

“I know something is wrong Y/N.” Draco finally worked up the courage to say.

As your heart tugged with dread you snapped back “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Y/N, please, I-” His own eyes glazed over as he took a deep breath, steadying his words as he moved a step forward “I know something is wrong, so don’t lie to me. Even if it hurts me, please don’t lie to me.”

“It’s nothing really.” The downturn of Draco’s face made you immediately regret your choice of words.

“I know I’m not, I’m not the greatest boyfriend and I know you can do so much better but I lo- like being around you,” His voice cracking as he spoke as his hands began to tremble “you make me happy and I really do not want to lose you because I-I love you but if it’d make you happier if we broke up that’s also okay, I just want you to be happy-”

You looked at him for a second as you listened, eyebrows falling into confusion, you closed the gap between the two of you and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight as his arms instinctively held you, stopping him in his rant.

“Draco you idiot,” You whispered into his neck as you held each other tight in embrace “You can’t get rid of me that easily, I love you too.”

His face pulled back, twisting with confusion at your words, bloodshot eyes staring at your face looking for any signs of deception.

“But I thought-”

“You really thought I didn’t want you anymore?” You continued “I’ve just been stressed about everything going on, I have a lot of pressure on me and I didn’t want to burden you with it”

“None of your emotions are ever a burden to me,” He muttered, sincerity clear in his voice. He held you for a while, both of you holding onto each other tightly, as if, if you let each other go just the tiniest bit, you’d lose each other. You forgot where you were for a second, transported from the empty hallways of Hogwarts to a universe where it was just you and Draco and your love for each other. Draco broke the comfortable silence by pulling back, his lips twisted into a smug look as he teased “You love me?”

“Yeah, I do. But you’re the one who told me they loved me first remember?” Teasing him back

“I can’t blame you for loving me, I am pretty great” His words dripping with amusement as he ignored your words, then his look changed into a one of sincerity as he kissed you.

Almost covered by the sounds of kissing you could barely make out as Draco murmured

“I love you darling, always will.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy drabble #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp #draco x y/n #slytherin #harry potter tumblr #draco malfoy smut

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

Text

The Five Stages of Grief

Stage five: Acceptance (5/5)

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Thanks to @zhuzhubii who helped me so much with this series and made this gif for me 🥰

Summary: Spencer going through each of the stages of grief after the death of the reader. Stage five is acceptance.

A/N: Can’t believe my first series on here is done!!! I’m not gonna lie you guys this chapter is super emotional for me- I no joke cried the whole time while writing it and while rereading to edit. I basically have been going through the same thing recently with my Nana. This chapter is very close to my heart and is definitely the most personal chapter for me. The whole series is actually heavily inspired by season 3 episode 19 -one of my favorite episodes of criminal minds- and I also used elements from season 3 episode 15. This also kinda helps explain a lot of my writing choices throughout the whole series if you’re curious. I did my first real attempt at foreshadowing in this series, I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for all the love and support on this series- with a special thanks to @spencerreidsmiles and @andiebeaword -you all have been so lovely and amazing.

Warnings (All warnings for the whole series are on series Masterlist): Sad Spencer, References to past drug use, References to past suicidal behaviors, Small panic attack, Hopeful Spencer, Unreliable narrator (much less so in this chapter)

Main Masterlist | The 5 Stages Masterlist Word Count: 3.5k (longest chapter)

It’s been a year; One full year since they had died in my arms. One full year since they had been shot so cruelly by a heartless unsub in an alley. One full year since I had been graced with their presence and the sound of their voice.

The elements of my emotions were extremely complex according to my therapist, and surprisingly I found myself starting to feel the benefits with them more every time I went to an individual session or a group session. It was hard for me to realize that I would have to learn to accept my situation.

It was hard to learn how to understand my own emotions when I had been so willing to shut them out, to try and convince myself that they didn’t exist.

I had begun to learn that I carried around the water that felt like I could drown in, the fire that burned so hot that anyone near it would get burned, the earth that I had wished would bury me with the pebbles I had chosen to cope with, and even the polluted air of my sadness around with me everyday. But, now I somewhat accepted the fact that they would always be with me, or at least I was trying to.

I had to learn to accept.

Even if it hurt I had to learn to at least try.

The next goal I had been given by the therapist was the most daunting of my tasks yet in my opinion. Trying to convince myself to open the boxes in the corner of the bedroom I had once shared with Y/N was harder than trying to get clean. The thought that had propelled me forward into getting clean was that I felt as though I would be disrespecting Y/N by not staying clean. They had been the reason all those years ago that I had spilled the clear liquid down the toilet and I needed to do it again, if only for them.

The boxes were something that were easier to ignore. I could ignore them by turning my back to the stack of boxes, choosing instead to stare at the painted walls of my apartment instead. There was no reason for me to stop ignoring the boxes, no one was trying to pressure me to open them besides my therapist. Everyone else in my life had no expectations for me to open them at any time, if ever, including Y/N’s family.

But, it had begun to feel like maybe I could try to attempt to open the boxes. I wasn’t sure what had finally prompted my brain into thinking that perhaps it would be a good thing to stop ignoring it. I stopped trying to understand why my mind works the way it does long ago, I had poured enough time into my life thinking about that.

I had felt this overwhelming urge to be able to look back at things that once belonged to them with some semblance of peace. I wanted to enjoy the memories we had together once more. I was tired of letting the memories get soiled by the unsub, I deserved to still think back on the one that I loved with a smile. I deserved to be able to preserve their memories with happiness and not let them sour with sadness. I wouldn’t let the unsub be able to kill something else while he was behind bars, my memories.

I was ready.

I was ready to open those boxes.

I was ready to at least try.

I was ready to try and look back at the memories.

I wasn’t going to let their memory die too.

My first attempt to open the boxes in the corner of my bedroom consisted of me staring for two hours at the stacks. I knew that I at least wanted to try to attempt to open a box, even if it was the smallest of the bunch.

That day I had gotten the lid of one of the boxes open. That was as much as I could handle emotionally in that moment. There was a small part of myself that wanted to push myself to look inside the box, but I couldn’t do it that night. That night I laid down on the bed, again facing the wall, unwilling to look at the boxes. I knew if I did I’d feel as if I had failed and I had to keep trying to convince myself that small progress was still progress.

I tried again despite the swirling anxiety in the hole in my chest.

I was still willing because I still wanted to have my memories unsullied by sadness.

I still knew that I deserved that despite my volatile elemental emotions threatening to push me into another toxic loop.

The next time I tried to look in the box I had previously opened just a little I immediately got choked, recognizing the contents sat at the top surrounded by other smaller insignificant items. I only managed to grab one of their old tchotchkes that used to sit on their desk in the bullpen. It was insignificant enough of an item that it didn’t make me fall into an endless loop of my emotions. I clutched it all night while I tried to sleep, though I still faced away from the boxes.

I hadn’t given up yet I still wanted to try, if only for them.

I would still try for them, even if I didn’t succeed, I still felt better for trying.

It had taken me awhile to muster up the courage to look at the box again, even though I still wanted to try I was scared that the contents would be too much for my fragile psyche. What I had gotten a glimpse of at the top of the box was something that used to be important for Y/N.

The next time I tried to look I successfully managed to pick up the item that had triggered the painful memory in my mind. It was ironically, it was another box.

The box wasn’t something that was explicitly tied to memories that we shared together. I knew it to be a music box from their childhood, given to them by someone that had meant so much to them. Out of curiosity I cranked the knob on the side and slowly opened the lid, wondering if I could handle the sounds of a song that I had often heard every time they had opened it to listen to the twinkle of the box they cherished.

As soon as the beginning notes of Swan Lake floated into the air I slammed to top shut, unwilling to open up the box of my emotions all the way just yet. I knew I couldn’t get rid of it, it was too important of an artifact in Y/N’s life. Though I knew that this wasn’t something I could keep to myself, this belonged to Y/N’s family. I clutched the box for a second in my arms when I came to the realization that the trinket should be with someone else as if it would be cruelly ripped from my arms right then and there. I felt a little fire being stoked in my belly at the thought of people taking it from me, even though there was no one there in my lonely apartment with me.

I started a breathing exercise that my therapist had told me to use when I felt like this. No matter how much it pained me to admit it, it did help immensely in snuffing out the emotions when I could feel them begin to spiral out of control.

I couldn’t let myself fall into an endless loop of volatile emotions again. I had worked hard to get clean after I had started to write my amends. It had been a hard uphill battle even after I had written down my amends, my grief hadn’t magically gone away that day. Getting clean had been much harder without my rock and the person who had helped me get clean the first time around. I wouldn’t disrespect their memory by going back to dilaudid again.

Once the initial fear began to fade and my breathing had grown steady I forced myself to loosen my grip on the music box. I then carefully set it down in a place that would be suitable enough for a stack of things I’d pass off to other people that had been important to them. I hoped I’d soon be ready to make a donation pile despite that I despised the mere thought of giving something away that belonged to them to a mere stranger.

It was already too much for today, I could only bear looking at the one item. I didn't know how I’d be able to handle it if the box was filled with more trinkets that were important to them. I did however find myself thinking when I laid down on my bed for the night after a hot shower to relax my mind. I found my mind thinking about the trinkets they’d had an affinity for collecting. It still brought tears to my eyes to think about giving away their stuff, even if it was to people who also mattered in their life. But, I found myself thinking about their old cute little trinkets without as much pain, though it was definitely still there.

Maybe tomorrow when I try, I’d do better.

The small box that I had begun to unpack over a series of days didn’t hold anything else seemingly important to Y/N’s life. Besides the music box I had found prior, the small box was only filled with unimportant trinkets that thankfully didn’t spark much meaning in my mind. It was obvious that when the team had initially helped me to put their stuff away until I was ready that things had been put away in a slight haste. They must’ve done it so quickly as a way to try and help me. The animosity that I had held towards my team for the last year because of Y/N’s death had been slowly melting away over time. I still wasn’t as friendly as I had been before, but I knew my frigid nature after the event hadn’t been justified. I knew now that they had only my best interests at heart, even if they didn’t always pinpoint what they were correctly. I had even begun to regain some of my desk duties once I had gotten clean. It had felt good to feel somewhat normal even though the sight of their desk directly across from mine and their still empty round table chair still made my heart pang with grief.

I had even begun texting them more frequently again, though I was still aversive to text, so I guess it still wasn’t that often. Some things really do never change despite the fact that my life had turned on its head in the past year. I had even begun to write letters to my mom again.

I knew I was lucky to still have people by my side, even if it wasn’t the one I knew deep down I still wanted with me.

I thought I could have at least done the box without crying anymore.

That was until I found something at the bottom of the box that made the dam holding my memories back in my mind break to flood my mind. The book would probably seem inconsequential compared to the rest of the items that I knew sat in the other boxes. Most people would assume after just looking at the surface level what items of Y/N’s meant most to me, the ones I wanted to keep. The black paper back was well worn around the edges, almost like if I read it too frequently and I wasn’t too careful that the spine would break. I ran my fingers up and down the battered book as I began to willingly reminisce. To other people the book would’ve looked beaten already beyond repair, maybe as if it had not been loved enough, battered perhaps because of neglect.

But, just like me I knew that Y/N had loved the book more than most people would be willing to.

I knew that I wanted to keep this book, no matter how painful I knew their contents would be for me. I hoped that I’d be able to read it so much that I’d be afraid for the binding of the book, just to be able to feel close to them again. Though I wasn’t quite sure if I was ready to dig up this particular memory, it might still be too painful for me.

I remember they had bought this book for us after I had connected with a grieving father on a case. He had specifically quoted a poem to me that stuck with me for weeks after. Once I had told them of the excerpt quoted to me they had immediately grabbed a copy of where it had originated from, a long Wordsworth poem. The book “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood” became their favorite quickly, in fact it used to take residence in the top drawer of their nightstand. They had often loved to read me their favorite excerpts at night just before bed when my eyes couldn’t stand to focus on the pages anymore.

When I opened the well worn book it flipped open to where they had set their bookmark last, I recognized the excerpt immediately. My breath got caught up in my throat when the words danced around in my vision. I wasn’t sure if I could face this specific excerpt quite yet, or even be able to read any part of the poem. The book held so many memories of them. This specific poem held so much meaning to the both of us.

However, there was something in me that wanted to try. I wanted to be able to read the poem again and remember the memories we shared fondly. I wanted to be able to enjoy my memories with them. I had come to realize over the past year that their memory deserved to be nurtured with fondness not overwhelmed with sadness.

So, I decided to try.

The memory’s attached to the excerpt immediately began flooding back even as soon as I read the beginning words. The bookmark had landed on the page that had been quoted to me by the grieving father, the words holding even more meaning in my life now than ever before.

“What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my-“

The tears in my eyes blurred my vision, so much so that I had to stop reading for a moment to wipe my eyes. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue, just those first few lines were already weighing heavily on my mind. I was already focusing on the radiance that had left my life forever. A radiance that was once so bright, but was now snuffed out, forever taken from my sight. My sorrow was creeping in with small little waves in my mind, I just had to hope that it wouldn't drown me. I didn’t want to get stuck on an endless loop of emotions again, I had just gotten fully clean a little while ago.

Even though I was feeling intensely emotional over just the first few words I wanted to keep trying. I wanted to read this poem and smile. I wanted to be able to look back at our memories with love, to take back what had been polluted by the acts of a heinous man. Once I had somewhat collected myself and my thoughts I began to read again from the beginning of the excerpt-

“What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower,”

My entire being could not help but ache as I read the words, still aching for the presence of the one who had been forever taken from my sight. When I reached that part that I remembered asking the grieving man about all those years ago, the words held an even deeper meaning to me now than I ever thought possible. There was nothing I could do to bring back the hour where I was still in my lover’s embrace. I wanted to be back in the moments of splendour in the grass and glory in the flower, I knew that soon I’d have to fully accept that it wasn’t possible.

Again I had to wipe tears from my eyes before continuing to read the stanza. This time a few tears dribbling down onto the pages, marking them with my sadness forever no matter if it dried into the parchment or not. I continued to read the page despite the saltwater that continued to drip down my face,

“We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind”

I felt a small watery smile creep onto my face, it had been so long since I had remembered to smile with sincerity. I was thinking about some of the times they had read this to me as I tried to drift off into a most likely restless sleep. Though I had always slept better when they read to me. At the time the words hadn’t meant as much to me as they did now, I now had a permanent connection to the feeling of grief that would never be erased. For the first time in a long time thinking about them didn’t hurt as much for a moment, I actually smiled, even though it was rather watery. No matter how small or sad the smile was, I was still smiling. And, I knew in that moment that Y/N would’ve been proud of me.

I pondered on the stanza’s meaning in a deeper way than I had done before. The things stated in the stanza about how I would gain strength from this situation made me contemplate what Y/N would’ve wanted me to do after their death. They wouldn’t want me to give up as I had done before, they had always wanted the best for me. They would want me to gain strength from the situation.

They would want me to grow from the pain that sat in my chest.

They would want me to move on, to accept.

I didn’t know if I’d ever find someone else that I’d ever love as much as I loved them. I didn’t really ever want to, I had found my true love already. Maybe one day I’d find someone to fall in love with again and if I did I knew they would be happy that I was able to move on with someone else. Even if I ever did move on with someone else there’d always be a part of my heart that belonged to Y/N. For now I was ready to move on in a different way. I was ready to live my life without them, by myself.

The trauma of losing them would always weigh heavily on my soul, I’d carry that with me until I rejoined them in the earth. But, I was now ready to keep living, if only for them. I felt less guilty now since I had grown to realize that they’d want me to try and live the rest of my life as fully as I could. They’d want me to try and find happiness. I didn’t know if I would ever truly find it again, whether it was on my own or with someone else.

They may have been forever taken from my sight, but I found comfort in the fact that the radiance they brought into my life would always reside in me. Instead of letting the deep hole in my chest gape until the hour of my death, I’d let it fill with the radiance of their memory.

I was ready to try.

I was ready to try even if I knew the water that felt like I could drown in, the fire that burned so hot that anyone near it would get burned, the earth that I had wished would bury me with the pebbles I had chosen to cope with, and even the polluted air of my sadness around with me everyday would sometimes take ahold of me again no matter how hard I tried.

I’d always carry those emotions with me, but I knew I was ready.

“Nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.”

I knew I was ready because their memory would always be with me to give me strength and to guide me. They’d always be there to help me try to live the rest of my life peacefully.

When I slept that night I faced the boxes while clutching the book to my chest.

Even though it still would always hurt on some level, I was ready to live in a reality where I could accept.

—-

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5 stages of grief:

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