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writertitan · 3 years

Text

Grandfather Clock (III)

pairing: levi x f!reader

word count: 7068 (oops)

themes: adult f!reader, arranged marriage, multi-part fic, levi is a stubborn asshole at first, no love at first sight here folks

a/n: the final part!! enjoy!!!

Read Part 1 Here

Read Part 2 Here

On the 20th day of Levi’s engagement to you, he found himself tense, frowning, and sitting across a less than pleased Erwin, right in the commander’s office.

Erwin sat at his desk, deep discontent written all over his face, with his arms folded tightly across his broad chest.

Levi knew the scolding was coming and cursed himself in his head for being so careless. He hadn’t really meant too much by it. Mike had just been asking him how things were going as they walked down the hall together and the words had just tumbled out. Levi didn’t like talking about his personal life in general, mostly because he had hardly had one prior to getting engaged, but now he was extra wary.

“Not much to tell. Just thankful she agreed not to have an actual wedding and to prolong it as long as possible.”

That was all he’d said and he’d said it with a tone of finality that Mike understood well. It was the tone that warned not to push it any farther.

It was just Levi’s luck that Erwin had rounded the corner as the words left him. The commander had bristled as he processed what Levi had said and then blurted out that he needed to see the shorter man immediately, in his office.

Levi had never seen Mike hurry off so quickly before.

And now here he was, tense and waiting for Erwin to lash out at him.

The words came moments later, but Levi didn’t get yelled at, which made him feel worse. Erwin was quiet, stern, and very open with his disappointment.

“Is it true? You really asked that of her?”

“Yes,” Levi sighed, running a hand over his tired face. “I did.”

“You didn’t even consult me about it. Levi, I hope you know I’m trying to grant you as much freedom as I can in this situation, but this was out of line. I’m sorry, but you don’t have that kind of say.”

Erwin’s words made Levi wince a little, but he tried to keep a stoic face. He could see that the commander was waiting for him to say something, but Levi didn’t quite know what to say.

He thought of you for a moment, and thought about how confused he’d been lately, and then looked at Erwin with a hint of a frown.

“You’ve hardly given us any freedom,” he blurted out, and then cursed himself yet again. He’d used the word “us” instead of “me” and he knew that Erwin would catch wind of that.

He did, and he even seemed to soften up a bit, raising a brow curiously.

And then Erwin used you as ammunition.

“You’ve stripped away any semblance of choice left for her by making her agree to your terms. She has even less freedom than you. Is that what you wanted?” Erwin asked, but the question was more rhetorical than anything.

Levi’s frown grew deeper. His mind went back to you, how broken you’d looked when he’d said he didn’t want a wedding day, and how he wanted to wait as long as possible to actually be married. And then his mind took him to that day you were feeling unwell, and how that same broken expression appeared when he’d gotten upset with you.

His chest grew heavy when he realized he had helped in breaking you.

And even worse, he hadn’t gone back to visit you after that day, when you had fainted. It had spurred too many mixed emotions in him and he had wanted the space to clear his head. And you had confirmed you were still unwell in your most recent letter to him from yesterday.

But maybe you were lying. Maybe Levi had broken you so much that you wanted to start keeping your distance from him.

That’s what he wanted, right?

Is that what you wanted?

Erwin’s unanswered question echoed in his mind.

If that was what he’d wanted, why did he feel this way, so horrible, after being called out by Erwin?

“I just don’t know what to do,” Levi finally said, unable to meet Erwin’s gaze.

Erwin hummed and sat back in his chair, arms now unfolded as he looked at Levi. The conversation had gone way beyond Levi’s little mistake. As much as he wanted to help his friend, there was a reason Erwin had been wandering the halls. He had, in fact, been searching for Levi. And he had, in fact, been wanting to discuss the topic of you. It had been mere coincidence that Erwin had caught Levi’s confession.

“Talk to her,” Erwin said, eyes on Levi, who was still looking anywhere but at him. “And I’d suggest going today. There was a reason I’ve been looking for you.”

At that, Levi flickered his eyes to Erwin, a hint of curiosity in them. And, dare Erwin say, even a little bit of worry hid behind the silver.

“Well, spit it out,” Levi said, already making to stand up. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

Erwin also stood up, slowly and deliberately, and didn’t know how to answer that.

“There’s been some...civil unrest recently. Some of the working class citizens have been getting riled up because of some recent unfortunate events with the upper class,” Erwin explained, watching carefully for Levi’s reaction. “Some of my intel has told me there’s talk of a few riots being planned.”

“What kind of ‘unfortunate events’ are you talking about?” Levi pressed, arms at his side with hands clenched into fists. This didn’t sound good.

“Seems like your fiancee’s father has been in some bad business deals that affected a lot of his workforce. And he’s got quite the workforce, if you remember,” Erwin murmured, looking a little thoughtful as he tried to gage Levi’s reaction. “I was looking for you to tell you that I’d like for you to go and check on things. I’m not sure how extreme the situation is.”

Levi was already halfway out of the office and didn’t bother to answer. He was, without a doubt, upset.

Upset that Erwin didn’t let him know about this immediately.

Upset that it would take a while to get to you.

And, curiously, he was upset that he was upset. What the hell was going on with him?

In your parlor room, you were curled up on the sofa and reading your favorite book. It took all your willpower to try not to think about how, just a few days ago, Levi had touched those very same pages.

He’d kept his distance since then, though you had certainly had some part in that by sending him a note to say you were still sick. It wasn’t true at all and you’d felt almost back to normal the next day, but you couldn’t really face Levi yet. Despite forgiving him and allowing yourself to have a little bit of hope that things would turn out okay for the two of you, it was obvious that Levi was still on the fence with you, and had a very specific opinion about who you were despite not getting to know you.

You were using this time away from him to think of ways to show him that you weren’t that way at all, and that his impression of you was, truthfully, completely off the mark.

As the grandfather clock sounded off at noon, it brought you back to reality. You set your book down, not that you’d actually been reading much of it, and sighed when your stomach grumbled. Definitely lunchtime.

You stood up and stretched, about to walk to the kitchen and bother Chef Erlo when you realized something seemed...off.

The clock struck noon for a final time and you realized that that was the only sound you could really hear from all over the house. Silence engulfed you when the grandfather clock stopped, and you peered out into the hallway, baffled when you saw absolutely nobody in sight.

Feeling like you couldn’t break the silence, you stayed quiet as a mouse as you made your way to the kitchen, hoping to hear the usual bustle of noise there for lunch. Maybe that’s where everyone was. It was lunchtime, after all. Had you forgotten it was somebody’s birthday? Sometimes you’d sneak the staff into the servant’s quarters for a bit of a break and have a little birthday celebration during lunch, but you were sure nobody’s big day was today.

But you didn’t make it to the kitchen. As you got closer to the foyer, you could hear the commotion outside, interrupting the eerie silence in your home. Instead of going to check on things, curiosity got the best of you and you ended up peering out the window to see what was going on. A little gasp left your lips when you saw what was outside.

Hoards of people were at the gates of your home, screaming and shouting profanities as they tried to make their way inside. Your heart sped up at the sight, absolutely terrified at the pure hatred they all wore on their faces. You couldn’t really make out what they were all saying, but you heard the profanities, and you heard your father’s name enough times to know that this was personal.

The guards situated outside at the gate were pushing back as much as they could, and you even see that some of the Garrison soldiers had come to help out, but the crowd seemed to be growing bigger and bigger by the second. At any moment, it would bubble over and spill past the gates of your home.

Right to you.

Once again, after a lifetime of avoiding your father and his business to try and escape it, you were being dragged right into the middle of it instead.

You had to run. The anger outside was something that was almost tangible; you could feel it weighing heavily in the air even from where you stood inside your home. No doubt that someone would try to hurt you just in the belief that it would hurt your father to know they’d gotten to you.

For a brief moment, Levi flashed through your mind, and you sincerely regretted lying to him about still feeling unwell when his face popped to the front of your head. Maybe he would have helped you. Maybe not. The anger you could feel from the crowd outside was unfortunately similar to the anger Levi had bestowed upon you just a few days ago.

As you backed away from the window, you thought of all the different places you could go to hide. So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t register the footsteps sneaking up behind you and gasped when a hand clamped against your mouth to keep you quiet.

Before you could try and scream, a familiar voice whispered in your ear, “Shh, it’s only me. Let’s go.”

You whirled around, tears of relief springing to your eyes as you hugged Greta tightly.

“Greta,” you breathed out shakily, pulling away to look at her with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s not talk here, come on,” she whispered, tugging you towards the servant’s quarters, where you knew the wine cellar was situated. As soon as the door was closed and locked behind the two of you, Greta practically dragged you down the stairs. It was cooler down there and you shivered involuntarily.

There was dim candlelight at the end of the steps that lit up a narrow hallway, one that led towards a heavy wooden door. Chef Erlo was there holding a candelabra with one hand, a silver key in the other.

Your tears of relief spilled over at the sight of him.

“Erlo,” you whimpered, moving to hug him as well. He was just as quick about it as Greta was, gently stepping away from you with a small and sympathetic smile.

“We’ll get you out of here safely, miss,” he promised you.

A pang of fear hit you and you looked between Erlo and Greta, hand at your chest as you thought of the worst.

“And everyone else? Is everyone okay?” you asked them.

From above, you heard glass shattering and heavy thumps. Your heart pounded so hard against your chest that you worried your ribs would crack from the force. The fear you felt in that moment was unparalleled, unmatched by any other situation in your life. You’d never been this scared in your entire life.

“Everyone is safe. Except for you,” Greta said, and she nodded for Erlo to open the door. He unlocked it and hurried you both inside, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw Erlo wasn’t following.

“I’m going to lock the door behind me and slip the key under the crack. That should buy you some time,” he said to Greta, avoiding your gaze.

“What are you talking about? You’re coming with us, it’s not safe here! Something’s happening outside, people are angry and I don’t know why,” you rambled, tearing up again. Greta reached over to squeeze your hand, but everything about it was rushed, too hurried to really be a comfort to you.

Erlo flashed you another small smile, and then gave you a wink, his crow’s feet prominent as he finally flashed his goofy smile.

“I’ll be fine, miss. Don’t worry about me. It’s not me they’re after,” he assured you, but it didn’t make you feel any better.

Chef Erlo was like the father you’d never had. It was impossible to allow him to do this, but Greta held you back as he shut the door and locked it once again, with the key slipping underneath moments later.

Greta let go of you to swipe it off the ground, and then began to push you forward, nearly in the dark save for cracks of light at the door opposite the room.

The faint smell of wine permeated the air and you found yourself wishing for a glass to calm your nerves. Greta led you to the door in just a few moments flat, using the same key to unlock it and hurry through with you in tow.

It was the bulkhead entrance to the wine cellar, where the merchants would come deliver or take some wine. Part of your father’s business. It was where a lot of things were delivered. On the few steps there beneath the wooden doors, there was a maid’s dress and some worn shoes. One look at Greta told you that the new outfit was for you, so you wasted no time in nearly tearing off your dress and kicking off your shoes to put on the much simpler garments and better blend in outside without striking too much attention to yourself. Your current outfit would have been a dead giveaway to your status.

Greta lifted one of the doors up just enough to peer out cautiously as you changed, making sure it was safe to leave. Once she was sure it was, she nodded to you and lifted the door up quietly, keeping it lifted for you to hop up the short steps and out into the spring afternoon.

It was cloudy outside, threatening to rain. As if on cue, a crack of thunder sounded and you felt it was remarkably similar to a cliche in your favorite novel; it always rained whenever your favorite character was feeling upset.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on that. Greta gripped you by the elbow and tugged you away from the house in a pace that was rushed but not too much that it looked suspicious. Now that you were wearing new clothes, you looked like everyone else outside. There was no real need to rush and risk getting caught.

Nobody paid the two of you any mind. The real focus was on your house that was currently getting ransacked.

The sight made your heart sink to your stomach, but your tears had already dried.

It was true that these people were destroying the only home you’d ever known. It was true that in that moment, you were sure you’d never go back to it. But you just couldn’t find it in you to cry about this. Your tears were reserved for your staff and worrying about their wellbeing.

Whatever your father had done, it probably deserved this level of outrage.

Although you were filled to the brim with fear and adrenaline, above all, you felt a peculiar sense of freedom as more and more people pushed their way past the gates of your home to run inside.

Greta gave you a moment to watch the scene before steering you away with promises to explain everything as soon as she got you to safety.

The only time tears actually did threaten your eyes again was when Captain Levi’s face pushed its way into your mind once more.

Maybe you would never see him again. And maybe he’d like that.

Levi was all too familiar with feeling dread settle in his stomach and harden like a rock. He’d experienced it all his life, countless times as he watched comrades die, often such a big part of his nightmares and the reason for his insomnia.

He didn’t expect to feel that rock in his stomach as he approached your home. Rather, what was left of it.

But he felt it settle in his stomach, a dread so heavy that he almost had to hunch over, and he looked on in horror as people continued to run in and out of your home. Many people were running out with valuables in their arms. Others were running inside just to destroy everything in sight.

He was far too late, by the look of things.

His eyes darted around, a futile attempt to locate you, but of course he didn’t see you anywhere.

Soldiers and guards were doing what they could, and Levi could see reinforcements marching in, but it was too late.

It was too late.

Levi hopped off his horse and pushed past people and soldiers alike as he ran into your home, taking in the sight of broken glass and ruined furniture and banged up walls.

It was disgusting.

He went to your room first and only found it ravaged and empty with no signs of life.

Levi knew he was being crazy. Of course he wasn’t going to just find you there. In fact, the thought of seeing you in the middle of all this would have actually been worse. But not knowing where you were had his stomach in knots.

As a last resort, he checked the parlor room, where you’d shared an afternoon that had left Levi questioning himself and questioning you. Mostly himself.

He got there as the grandfather clock chimed at the top of the hour. It was just as ravaged as your room, but curiously enough, he noticed your favorite novel on the ground by where the side table used to be.

He picked it up and clutched it tightly, and then made a promise.

He would find you and he would get your book back to you. It was the only possession you had left in the world, he realized, looking around.

He’d find you.

He wouldn’t rest until he’d found you.

A cup of tea warmed your hands as silence filled the room of Greta’s mother’s kitchen.

The two women stared at you with so much sympathy, and so much worry, that it made you feel loved and yet also a little small at the same time.

Greta had just finished explaining everything to you.

Your father had been atrocious, and had taken advantage of his employees. He was in protective custody because he’d anticipated this riot to happen. Nobody knew where your mother was. It was a miracle that Greta and Erlo had managed to help you and everyone else out before you’d gotten hurt. Or killed.

And now you didn’t know what would happen next.

Your spirits, already low, dimmed even more at the thought of Chef Erlo. You desperately hoped he was okay, and hopefully he was. After all, he’d been correct: nobody was trying to hurt him. Only you and your family.

“Are you sure everybody made it out safely?” you whispered to Greta, who immediately nodded.

“Everyone’s been aware of some of the...tensions around town,” she explained. “We all had an exit plan in the works, just didn’t realize we’d have to implement it so soon.”

You flashed a brief and sad smile, nodding once as you took a sip of your tea.

“Thank you for getting everyone out safely first. It means the world to me.”

In your mind, you were just as responsible for your father’s sins as he was. To think you didn’t even have a clue of what was going on. It was embarrassing.

As if reading your mind, Greta’s mother, May, reached forward to squeeze your arm reassuringly.

“It’s not your fault, darling,” she murmured. “It wasn’t your place to know.”

You sighed softly and kept your eyes on your tea, frowning to yourself. It was true that you had basically been forced to be cooped up in the house, and now you were thinking there was a clear reason behind it now. You hardly had much say in your day to day schedule, especially after getting engaged to Captain Levi. Still, it didn’t feel good to be so in the dark.

And the thought of Captain Levi sent your heart aflutter. Did he know? Had he been aware of this the whole time? Was this part of the reason for your arrangement?

Slowly, you picked up your gaze from your tea to settle on Greta, biting the inside of your cheek before asking the question you were dreading to ask.

“What happens now?”

She didn’t look too sure either as she pondered your question, finally settling for shrugging her shoulders.

“I don’t know, miss,” she answered honestly. “I hate to say it, but it depends on your father. He and your mother will start looking for you once they realize you’re missing.”

The thought made you nauseous. Despite such a horrible outcome of your day, that peculiar feeling of freedom had been what kept you going. There was some sort of thrill attached to it.

You realized it was achingly similar to the hope you felt for your arrangement for Levi. The chance of things looking up, turning around.

All this hope and nothing to show for it.

Now you were hopeless.

News had gotten to Erwin quickly. Levi saw the commander ride in with other squad leaders as he helped beat down and arrest some of the rowdier citizens at your home. He hated to be there and wanted to go off and find you more than anything, but someone there had to have seen you, or seen what happened to you.

So far, nobody seemed to remember seeing you. In fact, some people had sworn to him that the house had been empty of people the entire time. Not a soul in the home at all.

When Erwin stepped past the gates, Levi had never wanted to pummel him so badly. Instead, he shoved a badly beaten merchant towards his commander with a growl, eyes nearly feral as he found the calm blue ones that he hated more than anything at the moment.

“You said there was civil unrest. You didn’t say there was an entire fucking mob,” he snapped.

Erwin remained calm, casually stepping over the merchant to get closer to Levi.

“Seems I was deceived,” he admitted, looking around. “Her father kept me in the dark. I had no idea about any of this. But I suppose you’ll be pleased to hear that I’m calling off the deal. We can’t tarnish the Scouts’ reputation even more by doing business with this family.”

Levi’s body went cold at the news.

Just a couple of weeks ago, he would have felt nothing but pure relief. Now, he felt nothing but pure dread.

“What about…?”

Levi couldn’t even say your name. It caught at the back of his throat and he struggled to breathe. He tried his best to remain as stoic as always, but Erwin knew him so well, and could see the concern at the edges of Levi’s gaze.

“There’s not much protection we can offer her, being her father’s daughter. She’s under his control,” Erwin reminded him. “Do you know where she is? I heard she’s declared missing.”

Levi nodded once to confirm, his worry amplifying at Erwin’s words.

He couldn’t protect you. Not while you were still affiliated with your father.

“People are saying that nobody was in the house,” Levi said, giving the commander a rundown of events. “I did a quick search, didn’t find any of the staff. No one was around.”

Erwin hummed a little, hands behind his back as he took in the sight of the damaged house in front of him.

“No surprise there. Our man of the hour is already in protective custody, having predicted this well before anyone else, and his wife was visiting with a friend, and now they’re all in protective custody as well. It’s just your ex-fiancee that we’re having trouble locating. Perhaps she’s with her staff.”

How stupid of him. Levi hadn’t really thought of that possibility yet. He’d been so focused on finding you, assuming the worst, that he hadn't taken the time to really think it through enough to realize that you were missing along with the staff.

Erwin was already five steps ahead of them.

“Some of the scouts are off to find the staff members that don’t live here in-house. One of them is bound to know where she is.”

Levi couldn’t help the small sigh of relief that left him, but he still felt useless if he wasn’t doing more to help. Without another word to Erwin, he marched off to do another quick search around the entire perimeter.

Some medics had come onto the scene as well and he was surprised to see a couple of them towards the back of the house, dragging someone out of the cellar. Levi had admittedly not really looked down there, knowing all there was, was food storage and wine cellar that someone had told him was all cleared out by now.

A familiar old man was getting dragged out and treated. He was badly beaten, bruised from head to toe, and his breathing was raspy and uneven.

Levi knew him to be a staff member and his heart skipped a beat.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was kneeling beside the old man, shaking him to get his attention despite the angry protests of a medic.

The old man opened his eyes and grimaced, but his face grew soft at the sight of Levi.

“Captain Levi,” he greeted him in a hoarse voice. “You’re a little late, don’t you think?”

“Where is she?” Levi asked, voice soft. “Do you know?”

“I know,” the man confirmed, nodding slowly as his eyes closed. “Greta...Greta took her. She’s...with Greta’s mother. But don’t know where...she lives.”

Greta. Levi knew that name. It was the name of one of the maids. You looked to be friends with her.

“Thank you,” he said, very sincere, before standing back up. More determined than ever, he made a beeline for his horse, a plan of action already formulating in his mind. He could make do with the information given to him. It was all he needed.

He was going to find you.

The sun hung low in the sky as May and Greta made up Greta’s old bed for you.

You had insisted on sleeping anywhere else, even the floor, but Greta had already set her mind on sharing a bed with her mother.

“I shared a bed with one of the other maids all the time, whenever we felt like it,” she told you. “I actually like it. It’s nice having another person there with you.”

You still felt a little guilty but stayed silent, and opted instead to watch the sun lower through the window of Greta’s childhood bedroom after being shooed off.

Greta and her mother chattered amongst themselves and you didn’t have the heart to join in just yet. You felt so drained after the day’s events that you couldn’t muster up the energy they had.

What kept you so anxious was also the thought of having to stay under your father’s thumb.

It was maddening to know that after everything, he still had your life in his hands. To be a highborn lady was to be in shackles.

A plan was starting to formulate in your mind, one where you could fake your death and run away and find work as a maid or maybe even a governess. Greta could help and confirm that you’d been taken, never to be seen again. You could grab your clothes that you’d discarded, if they were still around, and maybe douse them in animal blood or something, to really sell it.

But your plan was cut short with a pounding at the front door downstairs. The knocking was so intense that all three of you froze and looked between each other, fear prickling your spines.

When the door clearly sounded like it was trying to be opened, May sprang into action and ran downstairs, which kickstarted your adrenaline. You ran after her, afraid for her possibly getting hurt, reaching out for her to try and stop her from going any farther.

“May, no!” you hissed, eyes on the front door that was now in view. Someone was slamming into it, the lock jiggling unsteadily, until it finally gave in.

You were paralyzed in fear as the door flew open, but fear gave way to shock at the sight of Captain Levi at the entrance, looking frazzled. You would have never predicted you’d ever see him as anything other than composed or angry.

As soon as your eyes locked, you ran to him.

“Captain Levi!”

He stopped you before you could throw your arms around him and, at first, you felt embarrassed by it, taking it as a rejection.

It wasn’t until he started examining you, hands lifting and twisting your arms and turning your face this way and that, that you felt your heart warm up.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. He was cupping your face, holding your jaw familiar as his eyes scanned your face for any signs of injury, and that frazzled look he held only softened when his eyes finally met yours.

You shook your head slowly, keeping his gaze, hands shyly reaching up to cover his over your jaw.

“I’m not hurt,” you whispered. “Just scared.”

Levi frowned and reluctantly let go of your face, but his hands didn’t travel far. He rested them on your shoulders while your hands gently gripped his forearms, the two of you in your own little bubble.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he promised you, sounding so earnest. “Nobody can hurt you while I’m here.”

Your bottom lip quivered, emotional at the thought of him willingly protecting you, but also emotional at the more sinister situation at hand.

“My father can,” you told him, squeezing his forearms as the words left your mouth. “Greta says he’ll be looking for me soon. I can’t escape him.”

Levi’s eyes hardened at that, grip also tightening on your shoulders, before he groaned and stepped away from you to run a hand over his face.

“Erwin said the same thing to me,” he admitted, pacing back and forth. He briefly looked towards Greta and her mother, then to the now broken front door, and blankly stared at them before muttering, “I’ll fix that.”

He turned back to you, arms crossed, as he took on a look of deep concentration. It was only there for a few moments before he snapped out of it, holding your gaze as he seemed to come to a conclusion.

“You can’t be under your father’s control once you’re married,” he pointed out.

At first, you didn’t understand. You raised a brow, a little peeved he was bringing it up, and nodded once.

“I suppose so…,” you agreed, a hint of a frown on your face. “But I’m assuming we won’t be getting married after this, so I’m kind of shit out of luck.” It was the first time you’d really sworn like that in front of Levi. In front of anyone. It was nice.

Levi tensed up a little and broke his eye contact with you to look away, and you could have sworn he looked a little flustered. There was a hint of pink at the tips of his ears, which shocked you.

“What?” you pressed, also feeling a bit of heat creep into your face.

This wasn’t happening. No way this was happening.

Levi hadn’t wanted to marry you even when it was basically required of him.

Your hopeless romantic little heart was just playing tricks on you. He wasn’t possibly going to suggest…

“I gave my word and I don’t intend on going back on it,” he said, still not looking at you, ears still pink. “Got any better ideas?”

“Captain Levi…,” you began, but then trailed off, not knowing what to say, until finally you managed out, “You don’t have to do this.”

He scoffed a little, eyes finally flickering back to you. Tentatively, he stepped forward until he was right in front of you again. You stayed perfectly still as he lifted a hand to place it on top of your head, giving you a small pat before ruffling up your hair.

“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, taking his hand away to reach into the pocket of his coat.

And then your favorite novel was in your hands, a little more crumpled up than usual but basically intact.

Tears sprang to your eyes and you hugged the book to your chest gratefully, looking to Levi with nothing but adoration.

At that moment, it was all you owned in the world. You didn’t even own the clothes on your back.

“That was really nice,” you choked out, gazing down at the book again with a small smile.

Levi stepped forward again, closing the distance between you as he rested a hand on your shoulder again.

“Let me protect you,” he said, tone filled with an air of finality that you couldn’t argue with. “I know I don’t have to.”

He didn’t have to say the actual words; you understood what he meant.

I want to.

Marriage was all about compromise.

In the end, Levi didn’t get to prolong his nuptials, since marrying you had to be done quickly. However, it also had to be done in secret. So, at the very least, you figured he at least got half of his wishes respected.

The moment the ink was dry on the certificate, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. You shed your maiden name to gain a new surname, fully protected from your father now and fully backed by the Survey Corps. It was your 30th day of knowing Levi. Your 1st day of being married.

You took in a deep breath as Erwin took the document from you to sign as a witness, and you turned to Levi with a small and timid smile, which he actually tried to return. It was brief, but it was appreciated. And when he lifted his hand to pat your head affectionately, you melted a little.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a big wedding like you wanted,” he murmured, eyes staring at you with a hint of remorse. “I should have never made you agree to that before.”

A half-smile tugged at one corner of your mouth and you shook your head, nudging your shoulder to his playfully.

“I never really wanted to have a big wedding,” you admitted to him. “I just wanted to have a special day for myself. And for my husband, of course. Didn’t have to be a big thing. It just needed to be special.”

Levi seemed to lighten up at that, giving another brief smile before murmuring, “That’s a relief.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, but he didn’t respond, choosing instead to stand up and offer a hand to help you on your feet as well.

You smoothed down the cream dress Greta had so kindly let you borrow and followed Levi out the door, head held a little higher now that you were an official Ackerman and nothing else. Instead of going to Commander Erwin’s office to go over a few next steps like originally planned, you found yourself following Levi outside.

“Where are we going?” you asked, puzzled, but Levi scoffed a little and turned to look at you from over his shoulder.

“If you could just be a little patient, I promise you’ll find out soon enough,” he said.

It was a beautiful day, you had to admit. The spring temperature was perfect and you basked in the sunlight, feeling freer than you’d ever felt before.

You stepped onto the grass in the courtyard, eyes towards the sky, and it wasn’t until you heard several people clear their throat that you tilted your head down to take a look.

Your heart nearly stopped as you saw Erlo, Greta, May, and Charlie, and some of Levi’s friends, sitting on the grass, a spread of what looked like a marvelous lunch in front of them.

Shouts of congratulations were passed around and you lit up at the sight, heart feeling full as you stumbled over while dragging Levi along.

You turned to him, eyes bright and excited, still not quite understanding.

“What is this?” you asked, looking between your bubble of friends and your brand new spouse.

Levi looked a little uncomfortable, but in that cute way, and Greta beat him to the punch with the answer.

“It’s your wedding day, so we’re celebrating, of course!” she laughed, then nodded towards Levi with a cunning grin. “It was your husband’s idea.”

Levi’s entire face flushed at the term but he also looked murderous at being found out.

You grinned at him, feeling warmed at his gesture, and you made a mental note to pull him aside later for a real thank you.

At that moment, you made do by sneaking a kiss to his cheek, fully appreciating the way he got flustered.

Erwin had made up a new room for you at base and, after a full day’s worth of celebrating your wedding day, you were ready to fall into bed.

The room was right next to Levi’s, which you appreciated. It seemed funny, almost, since of course spouses typically shared a room, but under these circumstances, that wasn’t very likely.

You cared for Levi and you could see that he at least cared for you in some ways, but those feelings would need to be nurtured with time.

The two of you were in front of your bedroom door, with you yawning up a storm, and Levi grumbling about getting you to bed.

You burst into your room and made a beeline for your bed, not bothering to really look around at your new room or even change out of your clothes. As soon as you were on the bed, you felt your drowsiness start to overtake you.

Before you passed out, you peeked over at Levi, who was getting situated at a desk.

“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” you asked, yawning again, and Levi turned to look at you briefly.

“Not for a while,” he answered finally.

You frowned at that but didn’t argue with him, your heart bubbling over with so many questions and feelings that you just couldn’t hold in anymore.

“Do you still dislike me?” you blurted out, face heating up at your lack of filter.

Levi raised a brow, pointedly looking towards the new ring on your finger. Then, his gaze softened, and he leaned back in the chair he sat in.

“No,” he answered. “And I was wrong for judging you before. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance sooner.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, but kept your eyes on Levi, no matter how hard it was.

“Do you think you’ll fall in love with me one day, now that we’re married?”

You couldn't stop that question from tumbling out either, but you were too curious to feel embarrassed.

Levi’s ears flushed pink, a cute new trait you were catching onto. He looked away from you briefly, clearly trying to find the right words, and he took so long to respond that you felt your heart start to sink.

But then he stood from his seat and moved to kneel beside the bed, a hand reaching up to smooth some hair out of your face.

“Let me focus on protecting you first,” he said.

His eyes were the softest they’d ever been. They gave you another answer.

“I’m going to love you,” you promised him. You still couldn’t admit that you were actively falling in love. Not to him, not right now. But another time.

“I don’t deserve that, after how I acted,” he whispered.

“I’ll always forgive you,” you whispered back. “And I’m going to love you.”

Levi moved his hand from your head to tuck you into the sheets a little better, avoiding your gaze. Neither one of you said anything for a minute, a comfortable silence falling between you like that afternoon in the parlor room.

As you began to drift off, Levi’s soft voice filled your ears with one final promise. One that was meant more for him than for you.

“I’ll figure out how to love.”

You were too tired to notice how the sheets smelled like Levi. You were too tired to realize that the room was clearly already lived in and had typical possessions of a squad captain, from ODM gear to a desk clearly stacked up with documents.

You’d been too tired to remember that your bedroom door was the right one and not the left one. You’d been too tired to notice that you’d opened the left door.

Levi was too besotted by you to correct your mistake.

Somewhere, a grandfather clock chimed as midnight struck.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi fic #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi one shot #levi #aot fanfiction #aot oneshots #aot #snk fanfiction #snk

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liighty · 4 years

Text

Guzma babysitting Reader’s Niece

(A/N): BACK ON MY BULLSHIT AGAIN! BUT THIS TIME IT’S NOT ALL THAT SELF-INDULGENT AND MIGHT POSSIBLY BE TURNED INTO A SUPER FIC IF I FEEL LIKE IT

In all honesty i’ve thought about making another largeass super self-indulgent Guzma x Reader mega fic, but I’m not sure if I want to? I don’t know if anybody would read it, so that’s what this post is for!!! If you like this and want to see actual Guzma x Reader with plot and not just fluff drabbles lmk!! I have a bunch of asks to address so maybe i’ll get to that too soon

Anyways, back to the fic.

Mini Summary: (Y/N)’s niece needs to be babysat while (Y/N) is interviewed, so they turn to Guzma and crew to help out for a bit. Chaos ensues.

Rating/Triggers: UH drugs are mentioned but not really? THE KID DOES NOT DO DRUGS!!!! but yeah if that makes you uncomfy i’d be careful with it??\

Pairing: Guzma/Gender Neutral!Reader (I used the honorific ‘Titi’ which is gender neutral for ‘Tia’ or ‘Tio’ [extra thanks to Ocha_Bocha for helping me with that one <3] and tried to make it as gender neutral as possible. Originally this was written with a male reader, and then I went female, and ultimately attempted to eliminate gender completely. [Following the footsteps of Splatoon teehee])

Fic under cut!!!!!

"Are you sure this is a good idea, honey?" You clutch your niece's hand as you approach the large walls that separate Po Town from the rest of Ula'Ula Island. It's not that you don't trust the man who you're leaving her with- in fact, those two have been acquainted previously and seem to get along fairly well- It's his friends who you're concerned about.

"..." Her silence is expected, as the kid isn't all that talkative. Recognizing the young girl's silence, you frown.

"You can stay in the office lounge if you really want to. I know you aren't the biggest fan of crowds, and um- Guz has some pretty loud friends-" Your explanation of what to be expected is quickly interrupted by a blue haired young man decked in black and white clothing. "Yo yo, what's with the kid?!"

You arch a brow. You knew that Guzma worked with kids, but this guy couldn't be any older than 15! "I could say the same for you. I'm here to talk to Guzma-"

"Ya mean the boss? Why would some random chick want anything ta do with the leader of the Team Skull, huh?!"

A pink haired girl dressed in the same outfit walks up to the boy, crossing her arms. "Shut it, ya clod. Don't you remember the conversation we had with Boss yesterday?"

Hearing this, the blue haired boy's eyes light up in an epiphany. "Ohhhhh shit- Right-"

"Watch yer fuckin' language around the kiddo." She lightly smacks the back of Dansei's head. "She's in good hands, ma'am."

Another pink haired woman, this one being someone you finally recognize, walks in and smacks both of the delinquents in the head once more. "You say that after cussing, Reese?"

Thank God. Plumeria. "Hey Plumes-" You smile weakly, waving politely with your free hand. Your niece does the same. Another young man, this one much shorter than the first and with green curly hair scrambles after Plumeria, jumping up and down to be seen. "Sorry about these numskulls. I'll lead y'all to the big boss man, yo. No worries at all, so you can chillax!"

I'm regretting this more and more by the second.

The crew starts whistling some hip hop tune as they make their way to the Shady House, the smaller boy beatboxing. You've taken this time to offer a piggyback ride to your niece, who's politely declined. Are all kids like this? Or is it just her?

Once they approach the boss, Guzma immediately jumps out of his chair, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Eyyyyyy! (Y/N)!!! Kiddo!! What's up, homeslice?!" He hops down the stairs and crouches so he can get at eye-level with the young girl, offering his fist for a pound-it.

She bumps her fist against his, smiling just a bit. It's more of a reaction than you expected, at least. "S-sup, Uncle Guzma-"

Looks like his slang is rubbing off on her. That's cute.

"Thanks for droppin' by, Doll. No need to worry about Little Miss Troublemaker over here, I got it all under control." He picks up your niece and walks over to you, pressing a looooooooongass smooch on your cheek. The other Team Skull members all make mini comments, like "Ewwww-", "Grosss-", and "Cooties-", causing Plumeria to once again smack their heads together.

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the smirk on your face from growing any further. "Not in front of the kids, Guz." "Ah, right, right- My bad." His shades slide onto his face, hiding the bright red blush that had crept onto his cheeks. "Well, you should probably get goin', ey? The Aether Foundation's one lucky company to have you interviewin' for a position."

"Dork." You boop his nose, then your niece's. "Call me if you need me, okay honey? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay, Titi (Y/N)-" You smile at the nickname while the others snicker. 'Titi' sounds an awful lot like 'Tittie', and considering three of the 7 people in the room are immature teenagers, there's definitely some laughing going on in the background. Plumeria looks very tired. How does she deal with these kids all the time?

"Alright, I'll be back. Don't light anything on fire, okay?" You yell as you walk off, feeling a slight hint of unease at the idea of leaving your young niece with so many delinquents, even if it's just for a few hours. It'll be fine, though. Guzma's there to keep them from doing anything stupid.

You laugh at the thought. Who am I kidding? He's probably gonna be the one who explodes something first.

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

The interview itself wasn't all that bad. You're fairly certain that you either aced it or put yourself up for consideration, which in itself helped your confidence just a bit. With the absence of Lusamine and the arrest of several of her chairmen, the foundation was very antsy and in need of someone who could handle the Pokemon Observation department. With your background in medicine and PR, you were rationally on the list of potential replacements, and despite your initial resistance, learning that the company would be run by somebody that WASN'T the manipulative little bitch Lusamine gave you enough comfort to accept the offer for the interview. Was it just an offer or an invitation? You weren't quite sure, but Wick was very insistent on you showing up.

Either way, you're pretty certain you got the job. Good on you.

You can't help but wonder how your niece is doing, surrounded by so many troublemakers. As you make your way to the entrance of the Shady House, you can hear loud music, causing you to feel a small tint of anxiety. She'll be fine.

You walk up to the door and creak it open, the smell of burnt… whatever the fuck that is flooding your nostrils. Of course. They lit something on fire.

"Guz??" You call out to the empty room. "Plumes? Anybody home?" As expected, there's no response. You start to feel more and more anxious the more ground you start to cover. Where are they? Peeking your head around the corridor, your anxiety comes to its peak when-

"And that's why you should never do drugs, aight?"

H-Huh?

Your niece sits on Guzma's knee as he bounces it up and down, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face like usual. Awfully burnt cookies sit on the table, explaining the smell from earlier, and Plumeria seems to be asleep with the other team skull grunts. Are they… napping? Seems like it.

She nods enthusiastically, taking a bite of a charred cookie and grimacing shortly after, causing the two to both laugh in unison.

"Doesn't matter if it's just for recreational purposes, you could still get hooked, and that's the last thing we want!" Grinning once again, Guzma pokes her forehead.

Hypocrite. You're reminded of the first time you two had kissed, which happened to be shortly after you both had blazed a couple of joints. It's enough to get you laughing, though.

"Huh?! What're you doing here so early? Don't tell me ya flunked THAT bad!" Guzma's eyes widen, a genuine look of bewilderment painted on his face.

"I did not flunk! I think I did great!" You huff, crossing your arms defiantly. "It's suuuuuuuper comforting that you thought I failed, Guz."

"Nononono I was joking!! Right, kiddo??" Your niece quickly nods. "See???? No harm, no foul!"

Arching a brow, you walk up to the two and pick up the young girl. "Mhmmm. Did you have fun, honey?"

She nods again, unable to contain the grin on her face. "Uncle Guzma told me about his Pokemon training! And I got to ride on Golisopod's back!"

The large bug type pokemon bops up and down upon hearing its name, prompting a smirk from Guzma. "Yeah, I told ya I'd take care of her. She's welcome back anytime, okay?"

"Thanks, Guz." You peck his cheek, and your niece sticks her tongue out, closing her eyes.

"Icky cooties!!" Where the hell did she hear that? The only people you can think of who'd say such a thing are in the other room snoozing, so- Yeah, actually, you know exactly who taught her that word.

"Well, I'm gonna getchu with my cooties! And my tickles!" You raise a hand menacingly, wiggling your fingers with one eye closed. She immediately curls up, not out of fear, but out of excitement. It's nice to see her so happy again.

After a very long tickle session, you quickly glance at the large grandfather clock, noting the short hand of the clock slowly approaching the number 8. Shit. "We gotta go, kiddo. Your dad isn't gonna be all that happy if we get home any later than 8:30. Besides, it's past your bedtime."

"I bet Uncle Guzma stays up past his bedtime-" She yawns. "Can we stay for a little longer?"

How can I say no to that face? You find yourself incredibly conflicted. Do you tell her you have to leave anyways? Or do you stay and risk getting in trouble by your brother-in-law?

"Eh, as much as I'd love to have you over for longer, kiddo- Look at your Titi (Y/N). They look exhausted."

You smile gratefully at the comment, glad that it doesn't have to be you to tell your niece to go home. "Yeah, I'm beat. We can hang out some other time, okay? I promise." You pat her head and get ready to leave.

"Aww… okay. Bye, Uncle Guzma!! Bye Golisopod!" She holds your hand, and the two of you eventually walk your way back to the car. As you drive away, one thing lingers in your head. You can't think of anything else, in all honesty.

Guzma's great with kids. I should've expected as much, but… I'm glad he gets along with my family.

Your stomach rumbles at the intersection. I'd kill for some malasadas right about now-

Okay, maybe you CAN think of something else.

#Skull Boss Guzma #team skull guzma #guzma #guzma x reader #pokemon guzma #team skull #pokemon #pokemon x reader #My writing #i return #hyperfixation #simp hours

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luvteez · 4 years

Text

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

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zackmartin · 3 years

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🌹idk what this means but every time someone sends it you drop some sick excerpts and i’m always down to bask in your writing glory

It's in reference to this post except I decided to use all my WIPs since i have a billion and also I'm overzealous so I have to give you a whole excerpt instead of just a measly sentence lmao also I’m 🥺🥺🥺 stop making me soft, it’s illegal

anway uhhh...funny thing about this one: sometimes I’ll get like, random scenes in my head that don’t really “go” with any of my current fics or AUs but I’ll still end up writing them out just because that usually gets me into a place where I can write for my other stuff. So, my point is that this is just a random scene with really no context to it 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

but the concept is just that Jasper wrote this script and decided to film it for fun, and he asked Piper to be the director and all his friends are gonna star in it and this is just like a behind-the-scenes making of it.

also, it’s kinda long cause I’m giving you the whole scene since I’ll never write any more of it alskdfj

An hour after they had started shooting for the day, a black SUV pulled up the dirt road leading to the makeshift set, swerving into a parking spot, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. Piper exhaled sharply, letting her megaphone rest at her side as she watched the car with a sour expression. A moment later, Ray stepped out of the driver’s seat, his mirrored Aviator sunglasses reflecting the scene in front of him, an almost-full, large iced coffee in his hand as he strutted over to them.

“Okay, everyone, relax!” he announced, raising his free hand, his booming voice catching Henry and Zack’s attention as they stopped rehearsal to watch him, “Your star has arrived,” he finished, an arrogant grin on his lips. Piper turned towards Jasper, her back to Ray, her expression furious.

“Why does he think he’s the star?!” she hissed. Jasper winced.

“I might’ve... told him he was.”

“Jasper!”

“He wouldn’t do it otherwise and I did what I had to to get him here!” he squeaked.

“Well, then go tell him now!” Piper demanded. Jasper grimaced as he stayed frozen in place.

“I’m too scared,” he mumbled. Piper huffed, throwing her megaphone down on her director’s chair.

“I have to do everything,” she growled under her breath before turning to face Ray, obviously doing her best to appear calm, despite the fact that she was still anything but as she marched over to him. “Ray,” she started through gritted teeth.

“Paper,” he said dismissively, taking a sip of coffee. Piper’s jaw clenched as she snatched the script from Henry’s hands.

“It’s Piper, and that’s Director to you,” she seethed. “And, you’re not the star.”

Ray pushed his glasses down on his nose to look at her, before he pulled them off entirely, tucking them into the front of his shirt.

“Uh, yes, I am. Don’t you know your own script?” he scoffed with a smirk.

“No, you’re not,” Piper asserted, thrusting the script towards him, “You only have two scenes.”

He yanked it out of her hand, aggressively flipping through it before he froze, his jaw clenching and his nostrils flaring. A beat later, he squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, causing the lid to pop off and spill coffee all over his fist and forearm before he spiked the now empty container to the ground. He shoved the script into Henry’s chest.

“Somebody call my agent!” he barked to no one in particular.

“You don’t have one,” Henry said calmly. Ray stood there for a moment, still fuming but obviously trying to figure out what to do next.

“Henry, be my agent!” he demanded.

“No,” Henry replied coolly with a shake of his head. Ray stepped up to Jasper then, towering over him, obviously trying to intimidate him (and given the wide-eyed look on Jasper’s face, it was working).

“You’re going to rewrite this script to give me more scenes or I walk,” he snarled. Jasper exhaled sharply.

“Well, I suppose I could-”

“No,” Piper and Henry snapped simultaneously. Piper wedged herself in between Ray and Jasper, going toe-to-toe with Ray, getting in his face despite the fact that she was a full foot shorter than him.

“You’ll play the part as written or you’ll walk,” she challenged. Ray glared at her for a beat.

“You can’t do this movie without me!”

Her lips spread into a devious grin as she moved back, putting her hands on her hips. “We could get any mildly competent man to replace you in an instant,” she retorted, pulling her phone out of her back pocket, “I’m sure my dad isn’t busy today.” Ray continued to watch her, clearly starting to crack but not quite ready to back down just yet. Piper’s gaze moved from her phone back to Ray before they finally landed on Zack. “What about that guy that manages the hotel?”

“Moseby?” Zack responded, his brows furrowed. Piper nodded while Ray swallowed hard.

“Think he’d be willing?” she inquired.

“Piper, the part was sort of written-” Jasper tried to interject, but Piper held her hand up to him to stop him. Zack grinned.

“I know for a fact he’d be thrilled.”

“Great! Get him on the phone,” Piper instructed, and Zack nodded in response as he took his phone out of his pocket.

“Okay, okay!” Ray declared, shooting daggers at Piper. “I’ll play the stupid part as-is,” he growled and Piper gave him a satisfied smile. He snatched the script from Henry again before he started storming away from them.

“That’s my…!” Henry began calling after him, trailing off, obviously deciding the fight wouldn’t be worth it as he sighed. “Whatever,” he muttered and Zack smiled.

“You can share mine,” he offered, turning his script so that both of them could read it.

#asks #bully besties #sometimes I really do just be over writing nothing for fun #i was gonna give you what i had of my lunor one shot but it's three sentences and i literally didn't even finish the last sentence #i literally just stopped in the middle of it lmao

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whirlybirbs · 5 years

Photo

— tenderly feral, ii.

summary: you are starting to trust daryl, but neither of you trust alexandria. pairing: daryl dixon x female!reader rating: t for violence, references to murder/assault/loss, s5 spoilers, if that matters. word count: 2.3k a/n: set mid-season 5. this is shorter, but there’s some bonding + touching, so pls enjoy daryl & boston becoming closer and closer. also, @thatdamnokie made a playlist for this fic and i cannot say enough good things about it. please give it a listen!

✘ previous chapter. ✘ next chapter. ✘

Deanna seems... nice.

All of this seems nice. Too nice.

Like a dream.

(You’re waiting for the twist; when does this dream turn into a nightmare? When does someone pull a gun, force you to your knees, and pull the trigger?)

The floorboards creak under your boots as you move through the living room, eyes drawing up the walls decorated with wallpaper and photos and curtains and... life. This home is full it, bursting at the seams with it. It smells like vanilla and laundry. Outside, the birds chirp and the sun filters in through the windows to dance on the carpet.

It feels like some sick joke.

“Do you mind if I film this?”

You swallow, lashes kissing your cheeks as you blink away your cynicism. Your head swivels, flying to find Deanna standing in the doorway. There’s a creeping feeling under your skin; it’s a mix of distrust and confusion and fear...

“Who are you?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she says softly, settling in, “So sit. And we’ll talk.”

So you do.

✘

You leave the house after an hour.

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you pull the door shut and find Daryl lingering on the porch. He turns, cigarette hanging between his fingers as you wring your own hands. Blue eyes slip along your form, eyeing your posture and expression -- worry flashes across his face like a lightning strike.

(He’d been waiting close by. Didn’t wanna leave you alone. Not with some stranger. Not in some... house. Daryl doesn’t trust this. You don’t either. He can see it on your face.)

“You okay?”

His voice is a rumble. Like thunder on a humid night.

“M’fine,” you breathe, stepping forward. The others watch the exchange from the lawn. You move to pass but slow up, letting your shoulder touch his. After a beat, your raise your chin you speak lowly, “Be nice.”

His lip quirks. Like a snarl. He flicks his cigarette off the porch and drops his head. He exhales a laugh.

He’s last to go.

“Me?” he croaks, brushing by, “M’ always nice.”

✘

“What did you do?” Deanna had asked, “Before all this?”

Your lip had twitched. You had fussed in your seat, crossing your legs and leaning forward and shaking your head. The look on your face, at that moment, was steeped in an emotion shaken and stirred with nostalgic regret. You scratched your brow as your mouth moved... but, nothing came out.

So, Deanna waited.

Your eyes traced the pattern in the rug for the hundredth time.

Then, you cleared your throat and spoke.

“I was a teacher.”

✘

Rick insists on sleeping in the same house tonight, together.

While everyone begins to hunker down, you poke around the house. It’s nice, something that would go for a million in the suburbs outside of Boston. It’s got a lotta space and good lighting and better bones.

Michonne catches you in the upstairs bedroom. She leans in the doorway, head tilting as she watches you fleet from wall to wall. When she does speak, her voice is soft. You jump.

“There’s a change of clothes in the dresser,” she says, “Should fit you... and the shower’s open.”

You blink at her. Shock draws up your brows.

“Shower?”

A nod.

“... Hot water?”

Michonne just smiles.

(The paint in the bathroom reminds you of your cousin’s house. Heron grey.)

You spend a good hour in there -- scrubbing and washing and grinning ear-to-ear for the first time since this whole thing went down. The shampoo smells like a life you lived before and when you step out into the steam of the bathroom, you can almost pretend the world is normal again. The towel is soft and the air is warm and your happily pull on the pair of jeans and sweater that Michonne had laid out.

You pad downstairs, face happy and eyes heavier.

Daryl is in the kitchen, poking around for a snack, when you wander in.

You smell like... fruit. Flowers and fruit.

He squints.

“You clean up nice.”

He means it.

You snort through your nose and snake around the counter. There’s a basket of fruit there -- so you pluck an apple from the bunch and move to lean against the marble island. Daryl, still dirty and still fussing, continues to dig through the cabinets.

“You gonna shower?” you ask after a few bites of the apple.

“Nah,” he spits, “Later.”

You roll your eyes. Daryl catches it. He drops his crossbow on the counter with a rattle and hops up, legs swinging. You move closer, crossing the kitchen to lean against the counter next to him and look out the window above the sink. In the next room, the chatter of the group washes out the silence.

You raise the apple, offering it.

The moon hangs high in the sky.

He takes it, bites, and hands it back.

“Think we’ll stay?”

“Dunno,” Daryl mumbles, “... I dunno.”

You just nod and chew your apple.

✘

“We have a school,” Deanna had explained, “And we need teachers. Our children... they’re our future.”

You fell quiet, arms wrapping around yourself as your knee bounces.

It hurts to remember your classroom -- to remember your kids, your coworkers, your school. When things got bad, FEMA rolled in and made it a shelter, but with no National Guard left for stationing and a rampant looting problem spreading through the city, things went south fast. Those children... your chest aches to think about where they are now. If... If they are... if they just are.

“I know that.”

“Will you help?” she asked, “Teach them? Math, art, science, history... anything.”

“I taught fourth grade.”

Deanna smiled at you like you were the sun, then.

And you felt sick.

✘

The living room is full.

There’s a roof over your head and food in your belly and a pillow under your head. You’re safe, as safe as you probably could be. Behind two feet thick steel walls and the four more that make up this damn Alexandria mansion. Rick and Michonne and Daryl are here. Glenn is here. Maggie, Sasha, Carol... Everyone.

Except Tyreese, except Beth.

But, you’re here. And you’re safe.

And still, you can’t sleep.

You roll, hips complaining from the position you’d taken up in the corner. The blanket around your shoulders is warm, and falls around your waist as you sit up, hair wild, and sigh.

Daryl, still perched at his spot by the window, can see the frustration written on your face from across the room.

Your eyes catch his, and he speaks softly.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

✘

You wrap your arms close around you, steps falling in line with Daryl’s as you sniffle and shiver a bit. It’s getting colder now with autumn creeping in -- it’s not as cold as Boston, though, so you suppose you’re thankful. The first winter there was miserable; the walkers froze solid, so it was safer, but with no heat and no food?

You were as good as frozen.

The sound of a pack of coyotes baying in the distance brings you back.

Alexandria is quiet -- the only lights come from the moon overhead and the candles glowing in windows here and there. The tops of the trees bleed into the horizon like ink in water. It’s peaceful, air filled with peepers and crickets and the kiss of the wind in the trees.

Daryl’s hands are shoved in his pockets.

His breath, glowing in the cold, curls around him as he speaks.

“... She give you a job?”

You’re quiet for a while after he asks. As Daryl walks, he watches your face out of the corner of his eye. You’re thinking -- your face is warped into a look he’s never seen before. It’s heavy with concentration. But not on the conversation.

Once you hit the end of the block, you shrug.

“Yeah,” you mutter, “She did.”

Daryl blinks up at the stars. Tries to play off his interest.

“Somethin’ good?”

“Somethin’ I used t’ do.”

His brow lifts. “Before all this?”

“Yeah,” you parrot with a lack of substance, “Before all this.”

His head falls. His hair is in his eyes when he stops short and looks at you.

“Why?”

Your nose scrunches.

“Why what?” You keep walking.

Daryl hops to catch up.

“Why th’ whole...” he gestures at you, “... Why’re y’ mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you mumble as you walk, shaking your head. You turn to catch his eyes. In the light of the moon, he seems more boyish than before. A little worried, a little scared. You slow down to let him catch up fully. “It’s just scary. I don’t... I don’t trust all this.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Neither do I.”

“That why you weren’t sleeping?”

Daryl nods. You hum.

“You?”

You laugh bitterly as you round another corner, shoulders brushing his. “I’m just... I haven’t slept in a house in... months, maybe. Not one where I didn’t have to keep an eye open, or... Or one where I knew I was... safe. But, I don’t know that. I don’t know that I’m safe. I want it to be true, but...”

“But, we don’t know.”

You cross your arms tighter and inhale as you stop, facing him fully. He takes pause, too, and rocks on his boots. As your eyes scale him, his drop. He shrinks, then, toeing the pavement.

“What did you do,” you ask then, spurred by a moment of wonder, “Before all this?”

Silence is the response. Then, he reaches and digs out a cigarette from his vest.

“Does it matter?”

His lighter clinks open, then closed. His face is illuminated by the embers of the Marlboro.

“It did,” you shake your head, eyes glimmering with exhaustion and sadness, “To them.”

“I was nobody,” he chirps, wetting his lips and shrugging. He turns on his heel. You follow, “Nobody.”

“You were somebody to someone,” you mumble, not complaining when his arm brushes yours. He’s heading back to the house, “Right?”

He dodges the question, fast and hard. “What about you, huh? Before shit went down, what’d y’ do?”

“Fourth grade.”

“What?” he squints.

“I taught,” you laugh a little, dry and sad, “I taught fourth grade.”

Daryl slows up, for a second, and lets his face soften. He can see it now -- you, showered and in fresh clothes and looking happier. He could see you, wrangling in a bunch a’ screaming kids. Teachin’ math, or arts ‘n’ crafts. He can see you being not-so-feral. Reading along, recess duty, and PTA meetings.

You note the expression on his face. Yours warps into one of sheepishness.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he chirps quietly, taking a drag of his cigarette, “I can see it, s’all.”

“You can see it?” you jab, knocking his arm, “What’s that mean?”

Daryl just shrugs. And you let the ghost of a smile play on your lips.

As he makes his way up the steps, you linger. He takes note and leans against the porch beam.

“Y’know,” he rasps, “This is th’ most you’ve ever talked, but you ain’t sayin’ much.”

You guess he’s right.

So, you follow him inside.

✘

“Your friend outside... Daryl, is it...?”

You pulled up your gaze from the carpet, a soft look flickering there. Deanna saw it. It brought a smile to her face, then, and she nodded knowingly -- her hands were knotted as she spoke.

“Is that what you are...?” she asked, “Friends...?”

You felt like you’d got cottonmouth.

“... Why don’t you ask him that?”

“Oh,” she laughed, “I will. But... I have a feeling he’s gonna give me a run for my money, isn’t he?”

“... He saved my life.”

“You owe him,” she spoke quickly, “Or... you... feel like you do?”

“Maybe.”

She hummed.

And you let that hit you like a ton of bricks.

✘

“Quit squirmin’.”

You’re tossing and turning and it’s not until you’ve accidentally elbowed Daryl twice in five minutes that he speaks up. The whisper falls on your ears with a pointed edge, weighed with the bleariness of sleep. The archer kicks his legs then, rolling to look at you from over his shoulder.

You groan, palming at your eyes as you roll flat on your back and huff.

You croak out an apology.

Daryl exhales, making a point of his sleep-driven irritation, before he rolls back over to face the wall.

He, however, does not go back to sleep. Instead, he stares at the wall and thinks.

Daryl Dixon does a lot of thinking -- might not show, but he does. He sure as hell doesn’t speak his mind, but the man works things out up top before he acts. He’s grown past firing from the hip... most of the time. Doesn’t mean he doesn't get angry or frustrated or violent. Just means he’s careful.

And right now, he’s got a lot on his mind.

Your breathing never evens out -- it’s still shallow and you’re still fussing. So, Daryl decides it’s in his best interest to do something. Y’know, so you won’t keep him up and he can get some damn sleep.

He promptly rolls flat on his back and hauls his blanket up over the two of you.

He sees your lashes dances as you blink, confusion flying across your face as you turn to eye him. He dodges your glance, eyes focused on his hands as he tucks the blanket over you and rolls to lay on his stomach. He drops his face into the pillow, ignoring the way your shoulder fits up against his ribs and how your legs touch his, and croaks out a grouchy:

“Go t’ bed.”

And that’s that.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine #twd reader insert #the walking dead imagine #norman reedus x reader

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smolkooks · 5 years

Text

fruit cakes - p. jimin

pairing: idol!jimin x baker!reader, idolverse

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none

summary: jimin was only looking to buy a birthday cake, but he found you instead; tiny, adorable you. alternatively, jimin finally finds somebody with smaller hands than his.

a/n: hey everyone! i’m finally back with another fic, this time a it’s shorter, but very very cute <3 hope you enjoy yay

( please do not plagiarise my work! )

It must’ve been a Wednesday morning; something arbitrary like that. Jimin was standing outside of a bakery, staring through the window at the array of cakes that were arranged inside of the glass refrigerator.

He was pretty sure it was Namjoon birthday in a few days, and he distantly remembered being designated by his fellow group members to be the cake-buyer this year. That meant he’d have to put in an order soon, otherwise he’d never hear the end of it. He could almost hear Jungkook’s voice already—Jiminie-hyung, remember when you forgot to buy Namjoon-hyung’s birthday cake?—and the thought of it made him roll his eyes and snicker a bit, at the same time.

He loved Jungkook, he really did, but he knew that the youngest would never miss an opportunity to tease him. Better not give him a chance, then, he thought to himself determinedly, making his way to the entrance of the bakery so that he could make an order before he forgot. A little voice in the back of his head told him it was too late for that, Jungkook already had plenty of things to tease him about, but he shoved that thought away.

As Jimin pushed the door open, he was immediately met with a cool air-conditioned breeze. He breathed it in happily, grateful for the coolness on the slightly warmer day. Along with the air-conditioned cool, he also caught the sweet aroma of frosting and strawberries, which successfully drew him towards the cake fridge, located right by the counter. The counter was empty, at the moment, but a soft clanging in the back of the bakery suggested that the owner was baking.

He hadn’t come to this bakery before, but a bit of wandering had brought him to this quieter side of Seoul. It was a nice break from the fans constantly following behind him, because the more elderly population here had less of a care for idols like him. Also, he kept his face mask on and his bucket hat low on his eyes, so that most of his face was covered.

It seemed the trip here had been worth it, because Jimin was sure he hadn’t seen more adorable cakes in his life—they were frosted perfectly, the icing laced along the sides and the base, strawberries and various fruits decorating the top and forming beautiful patterns. The cakes were almost like sculptures in themselves, and he quickly picked one for Namjoon. He wasn’t sure if his hyung liked fruit cakes, but Jimin personally loved them—so he decided that if Namjoon didn’t like the cake then he’d just eat it himself. It was a win-win situation, honestly, although he found it hard to believe that anybody could not-like a cake from here, when they were all so gorgeous.

Even though he’d chosen out a cake—a big one with lots of fruit and lots of strawberries, he needed to make an order for it, and possibly also think of a funny message to be written on it. So, he carefully knocked on the bench of the counter and called out, “Hello? I’d like to order a cake.” There was some commotion in the back, the sound of a tray being put down against a bench, and then you appeared around the corner, hastily brushing flower off of your face and apron. He watched curiously as you pulled off your gloves and set them in the sink, then made your way over to the counter. Jimin hoped that he didn’t look too strange, or suspicious, dressed so darkly with his face covered, but he couldn’t risk anything. He didn’t want anyone to make a drama out of him being here and cause anybody any trouble.

You were probably around his age, but god, you were tiny, he noted affectionately—well, as affectionately as possible when it came to a stranger. But it wasn’t a lie; you were so tiny and so cute, especially with flower smudged across your cheek and a bright smile lighting up your features.

“Which one did you want to order?” You asked, shuffling through some folders in the cabinet next to the counter before finally pulling out a sheet—an order form, it read at the top, and you handed it to him.

He took it gingerly, before pointing to the one he’d chosen, “I’d like this one, please. Would it be alright to get it personalised?”

Jimin felt himself blush when your smile widened with his question, “Of course! Just fill out this form, are you getting it for a friend, or…?” You gave him a pen, and he took it gratefully.

“Um, yeah, a friend,” He said, uncapping the pen and beginning to write—attempting to subtly hide his name with his arm, but then his hat fell too low and he couldn’t see—

Frustrated, he pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, hoping that it didn’t look too messy, and then returned to filling out the form, putting in the order information that was required.

You were freaking out. You’d thought that the guy was kind of strange at first; after all, usually only familiars from the area came here, but this guy was completely new. Secondly, he was dressed in all black, with his face basically completely covered. Thirdly, his voice sounded unbelievably nice—far too nice for an odd stranger, no, customer in your bakery. But, after all, he hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’d been extremely polite, so much so that it kind of had you flustered. Not in a weird way, though.

But then he’d taken off his hat, and you finally saw his eyes, and his hair, which was dyed a lighter brown at the tips—it seemed to have grown out, but it still looked so good. You hoped you weren’t blushing; that would be absolutely embarrassing and just—

You forced yourself back into the present, focusing on not being a weirdo, but then he handed you the paper back and smiled and his eyes crinkled into these adorable crescent moons and you were sure you were blushing now. Especially when his hand brushed yours as he gave you the pen back. His eyes seemed to snag on your hand for a second, widening, and then his smile broadened, although he didn’t say anything—opening his mouth, and then closing it again. “Thank you,” He said instead of whatever it was he was going to say—and you couldn’t help but find yourself feeling a little bit disappointed.

You saw his name—Park Jimin—why had he been trying to hide that? Park Jimin was a pretty common name for a Korean guy… “Thanks, you can pick up your cake on the day of, that’s all for your order,” You managed to say, biting your lip to stop yourself from saying anything you’d regret. You fixated your attention, rather, on making sure that you filed the order form in the right place, with all of the others you’d received, so that you would be able to find it later on. You were about to return to the back room—after all, your job was finished, he had his cake ordered, and you had to find a place to hide so that he wouldn’t see your bright blush, but then he said—

“Your hands are really small!”

When you whipped around, stunned and confused, he flushed, “I’m sorry, that was really weird, I just—uh, well, my friends always tease me for having tiny hands, and I got really excited when I saw yours were really small too—I’m sorry, that’s weird, I’m weirding you out, I’ll just—thanks for the—,”

“No, no, it’s alright,” You said, still confused but also finding the man—Jimin—strangely endearing, “I do have very small hands. But they’re good for when I need to make pretty cakes. Precision,” You wiggled your fingers in the air and Jimin seemed to visibly sag in relief at your response, his smile becoming brighter, if that was possible.

“Here.” In a sudden surge of confidence, you approached the counter again, so that you were close enough to him. You raised your hand and held out your palm, gesturing for him to put his against it. He did, and you caught the light blush on his ears, which elicited a soft giggle from you. Indeed, your hands were smaller than his—quite a bit smaller, because he was able to fold his fingers over yours with no trouble.

He seemed to be in absolute bliss as he said, “Oh, my god, you have no idea how happy I am right now.”

“Why? Because you finally found someone with smaller hands than you?” You teased.

“No, because your hands are so cute,” He said, poking your hand playfully.

Jimin was sure he’d ruined it and scared you away the moment he blurted out those words, but instead, it seemed to have broken the ice. Suddenly, his thoughts became less consumed by Namjoon’s birthday cake, and more by the adorable girl behind the counter with the small, adorable hands. He could almost hear Jungkook’s voice already, Jiminie-hyung, remember that time you went to buy Namjoon-hyung’s cake and fell in love with th—

He cut that thought off so that he wouldn’t start blushing again. Instead, he focused on admiring the cute smile on your lips as you told him about your bakery.

Your brightness was all that mattered in that moment, and Jimin was captivated by it.

Absolutely entranced.

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a-whole-cosmo · 5 years

Text

First joined fic, Trans Louie

Blue is @midnight-fries

Green is @wxrm-pxddxng

Louie was nervous, his Uncle was really protective and he, from his inquieries, only knows Donald isn't against the rainbow community but never dared to ask "what if it was me"

He enters the room, tugging on his hoodie, preparing a backup plan for what if. what if's, always running through his mind.

A thousand miles per second. But he had to do this, he couldn't live to hide anymore. He brought his arm up, reassuring himself. It's fine, you rehearsed this before. To say he was nervous would be an understatement, Uncle Donald would be the first person he would be coming out to. He took a deep breath. He knocked.

"Uncle Donald? Can I come in?" He gulped. "I.. I gotta tell you something." He fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie, waiting for his Uncle's green lights to enter.

Uncle Donald didn't respond, so maybe he didn't hear him?

"It's... It's just me. Good old Ly... You already know who."

Louie introduced himself shortly, hoping it was enough for his Uncle to recognize who he was. He needed to buy time.

"It's open. "

Donald replied. It was surprising how Louie could understand his voice, but he had years of listening to it so he and his siblings made it work. The green coded triplet walked into the room. Shorter steps than usual, but also slower.

The more time he took to get there, the more time he had to rehearse in his mind.

'Uncle Donald, I'm trans. This means that I experience a thing called gender dysphoria. It's probably hard to understand, but I trust you and basically, I want to be referred by Louie and he/him pronouns, please.'

He had this little speech prepared to the point he had written it down in his room multiple times until it was engraved in his mind.

Wait, did he throw that note away?

He didn't have time to think of that now as he was finally near Donald.

Donald already knew who it was, he just needed to buy himself some time.

Bills were stacking up, he was trying to find a way to pay them before owing people.

He didn't want Louie, out of them all, to find any, so he hid them, any trace of dept.

He had the time to stuff them all in a drawer before his kid came in.

Now, he had an idea as to what the youngest wanted to talk about, he saw how uncomfortable, well until he knew what the green one identified as, they got when they were addressed by feminine names or even their nickname.

Once he saw the way they were heading towards him, he knew he was right, he remembered his thoughts on the day he had to talk to his Uncle about it.

"Hi Sweetheart, take a seat." He said, patting the free space next to him in the hammock in case they didn't understand his vocal instructions. Looking up, Louie found himself shaking. He obliged his uncle's request with his help.

He found that he could barely breath, he wad there too soon, steps not short enough, his mind was blanked out from all he previously wanted to say, all that was there was an image of his Uncle hating him, he couldn't picture that but.. it was a possibility, he wanted to run, why did he think this was a good idea? It probably wasn't even true, did he really have to tell him?

His Uncle's voice broke through his thoughts, he felt himself being lifted and placed in a warm, parental embrace, it was comforting, he didn't know how he could live without it.

"Deep breaths honey, it's gonna be fine, you can tell me anything." His uncle whispered words of reassurance in his ears.

"You know there would be nothing you could say that could make me hate you, love." Louie didn't realize his eyes were shut until he opened them, looking directly into the honest eyes of his Uncle.

"I'm here to support you"

That was all Louie needed to hear. Maybe it was too much for the little duckling.

"I ju... just... justasecond"

Louie needed to collect his thoughts and stop himself from crying. A million scenarios of him getting kicked out or misgendered on purpose raced through his mind, even if the words of support he heard were comforting. The anxiety was overwhelming him.

Donald kept the embrace, like a father hugging his son for a while. Louie knew it was too late to turn back now. He just has to rip it off, like a bandaid.

"I'm... " "I.. " bandaid

"I'm a trans guy and please stop using my deadname!"

Louie blurted, quick and unexpected. He then put a hand over his mouth, and let out a muffled sob.

Donald was not surprised, but he was not expecting th-him to blurt it out like that, he couldn't blame him though, it was stressful to come out to somebody you love.

So many possibilities, good, bad, all the scenarios his kid.. his nephew had probably swarming through his head-His kid probably took his silence as punishment as he started rambling,

"Wait do you know what a transgender person is? Wait-no forget everything I said actually this was a bad idea-" "Honey, breath for a second, okay?" Donald cut him off. He put a hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently, his nephew, who he had to ask about his preferred name too, pushed his hand away out of instinct. Donald brought him in again, he knew he needed physical comfort when he was nervous, hugs, cuddles, even a single hand on his shoulder would help calming him down.

"I know what a transgender person is, and considering how accepting she was when I came out, I know your mother would be proud of you... I know I am." Donald felt him clutching his shirt, a wet stain forming where the youngest triplet's face was. Donald felt him lifting his face to look at him,

"when-when you? Oh my god, no way-" Donald chuckled, "What would you like me to call you by?"

"Louie!" Well, he must've thought about that a lot seeing how immediate his answer was.

"Well, Louie, I told you, there's nothing that you could say, do or be that would make me hate you, I'm so proud of you, love." He shifted his fingers through Louie's hair, bringing his thoughts into less of a spiral.

Louie smiled brightly, nearly not believing this turned out so well, he even knew something his siblings didn't know! Who woulda thought Uncle Donald was like him?

"Thank you, Da-Uncle- Uncle Donald, Thank you so much." He sniffled, God why did he have to be so emotional, he didn't know why it made him feel better when he saw his uncle tearing up as well.

"No problem, Louie..."

Honestly, Louie wanted to stay there for a while. The green nephew-, it felt so relieving to call himself that now, felt so nice and comfortable after he let that out.

That didn't match his expression though. He was sniffing and crying and it looked ugly but he didn't feel ugly and that was what was important to him.

He felt safe and in the weirdest way free. Free from something that had been building up for not even he remembers how long.

He still remembered the day he discovered the meaning of trans. He was on his phone as always, using it for information for once instead of doing anything else he usually did. That's when he came across the LGBT community. He had to admit for a while before he came out to himself he identified as genderfluid or non-binary, a form of repression for him, but not everyone uses it to repress.

For him it definitely was.

But that didn't feel right. The name he chose as non-binary stuck, but the pronouns just felt off to him, even though he wants to get used to them because they felt better than she.

Finally after debating and questioning his sexuality for months because, if he really was a boy why we're boys so cute and boys aren't supposed to love boys he heard from a teacher, which he learned was called a homophobe.

He finally figured it out.

And he was happy with the result.

Recalling the memory of when he stopped feeling wrong helped Louie calm himself down.

The last squeeze of his uncle and he released him.

"Thank.. Thank you, Uncle Donald.." Louie couldn't thank him enough, never. He hopped off of the hammock and Donald did the same. The bills will have to wait a bit longer.

"So, I guess this means that I have three nephews now?"

Donald asked in a fond voice, making his son nephew smile in return. Only for it to falter, because as soon as he opened the door he was greeted by his siblings, who were... smiling?

They both immediately tackled him in a hug, the three of them rolling on the ground for a bit. All of them erupted into a fit of laughter. "I have a brother!"

Dewey said in a joking manner, just trying to say something to signify that he was fine with it.

"Aww... My sweet nephews..."

Donald said fondly, but two of them didn't seem to find it that appealing to be called that.

The blue and the red one looked at him.

"Not exactly" "About that..."

They said, at the same time, different things, but with the same intention.

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ververa · 5 years

Note

Can I request something really angsty? I don’t mind what Sarah character(s) it is. Also I really LOVE your account and fics. 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Thank you so so much!!!!

I did my best. Sorry it took me so long and sorry if this is shit. Hope you enjoy it!

@angel-of-me this is my response to your love and admiration. THANK YOU!!! And here is Sally fic for you

Another life

Sally McKenna x reader

Warning: mentions of suicide

Words: 1.471

It was the summer after high school that you first met. It felt like a perfect match. You might have been completely different. You’re rather shy and calm, while Sally was outgoing, totally crazy and unpredictable – but in a positive way. Yet, you just clicked at once.

Why exactly did you fall? You had absolutely no idea. As people say opposites attract – and that’s how it was with you and Sally.

You’re inseparable. Wherever she went – you followed. Every evening you’re in a club together – singing the songs she had written, drinking, dancing and making out in the toilet till early morning.

You used to steal the whisky from the bar and climbed to the roof. You used to talk about the future, as if the two of you had a clue. You didn’t need to vow, you didn’t need to say a single world. She just knew you’d always be her girl. You got matching tattoos. You kept full of promises. It was always the two of you against the world and you had never planned that one day you would be losing her.

She was your beautiful thing and all beautiful things always come with edges and thorns. And with Sally that were drugs. Her addiction stood on the way to your happiness. There was no happy ending. Actually, there was no ending. One day she just disappeared.

You waited – distressing yourself, worrying that something bad may have happened to her. The last weeks of your relationship were pretty rough. You’re arguing for most of the time, but there was no doubt you loved each other.

There was nobody quite like her. No one could ever make you sadder, but at the same time no one else could lift you high above. Only Sally.

She definitely wasn’t a perfect one to start a family with. Your parents never really liked her, but even when she was gone, you couldn’t forget. How could you do that? She was the only person you had ever loved.

You started a career as a singer and left the city. You got married to a man you didn’t love – hoping it would help you to forget. But it didn’t. No money could ever buy you happiness. You lost it with Sally – the one that got away.

You kept on blaming yourself for all that happened. You wished you could get one more chance. Cause in another life you wouldn’t let her go. You would make her stay… In another life you would be her girl.

Sally had never forgotten about you either. In her head she could still see your beautiful face. Though all she had were only memories. There was that one time every year – the summer – when she just couldn’t think of anything else, but you. Then when she got drunk, as usually, she was telling Liz about you.

In her stories you were that girl, who she liked years ago, when she was younger. You’re her sweetheart – the only person who showed her what love was all about.

“Every day we started fighting, but every night we were in love” she kept on saying wiping tears that always managed to escape “I don’t know what I was doing… We just fell apart. And now…” she took another sip on her whisky “I cannot find her. But when I do… we’ll get a brand new start”

Liz were usually only shaking her head and saying that Sally’s crazy and drunk.

But Sally didn’t care any more. She didn’t care if she lose her mind or not, for she already was cursed. Dead. Stuck in that terrible, lifeless place – called hotel Cortez �� forever.

She kept on living her memories, because even though it hurt, it was still making her afterlife more bearable. She was in love with a fairytale. The memory of you. The time you had together. The time when you’re sweethearts and when everything was fine.

Her life was deprived of any kind of joy, because nothing and nobody could replace you. She was looking for a soul that would match with hers, but she had already lost hope she would ever find one. She kept on collecting though, because it’s the only entertainment she could afford.

She kept on watching the hotel guest. They’re all so pathetic and boring. She didn’t even want to look at them any more, but was there anything else she could do?

Nobody managed to catch her attention, until that one evening, when everyone got absolutely crazy.

They were cleaning, supplying the bar with alcohol, even brought roses and champagne to the biggest room. And all that for the new guest.

Iris forbade her to interrupt or mess around, so Sally was watching from afar how a group of men carried luggages and boxes of different sizes upstairs. Then she saw two muscular security guards and right after them a woman. She had dark glasses and was dressed all in black. Long coat and a wide-brimmed hat made it unable to see her properly. That made Sally curious.

She wanted to know who the woman was. Why everyone knew her when she walked through the lobby. And then it happened. Sally heard Liz and Iris talking to the stranger.

“Mrs Y/N…”

She didn’t move. For a mere second Sally was sure she must have, indeed, lost her mind. It couldn't be you. That seemed too surreal.

She panicked and before you managed to get close enough to notice her, she disappeared.

Sally was confused. She was afraid that it may be only a delusion, that you weren’t real. Only late at night did she get enough courage to go to your room.

She made sure you’re alone and knowing you’re not able to see her, she just got into the room.

It really was you. Though you looked different. You’re skinnier than before. Your skin was paler. Your hair was shorter and had different colour. She couldn’t help, but noticed dark circles under your eyes. And most importantly your eyes – there was no joy in them. Your smile was goon too.

You seemed to be someone completely different. No wonder, it’d been almost 20 years.

But then she saw you looking at your wrist – where you had tattooed a little heart. Sally watched you carefully as you slid your fingers across the tattoo.

“Oh, sweetheart” you said out loud

Sally was confused at first. Only after a while she realised that, apparently, it was something you were doing – talking to the little heart as if you’re talking to her. She watched as you stood up and took a glass to pour yourself whisky.

“If you had only known…” you continued

“Known what?” Sally stood in front of you

That sudden appearance made you drop the glass – which shattered on the floor. You’re looking at her. Right in her eyes, when one of the guards entered

“Mrs...”

“Out!” you cut him off

The man looked at you surprised. It must have looked at least weird – the glass all over the floor and you standing there and staring at something or rather somebody he couldn’t see. But who was he to object or say anything.

“So?” Sally repeated, as you’re alone again “If I had known what?” she arched her eyebrow

“How much I missed you…”

Before she managed to say anything you’re already in her arms. A few tears streamed down her cheek. You wiped them gently and kissed her. Her skin and lips were like ice.

“My God, you’re so cold” you said; your voice shaking

“I know. I know… It’s because…” she hesitated

“You’re dead” you finished the sentence for you

“Yes. Dead and stuck here”

“Stuck?”

“Yeah” she shrugged

“Y-you mean like f-forever?”

“I guess” she tried to laugh, but failed

You looked deep into her teary brown eyes and then your gaze fastened on the bottle of sleeping pills, that was on your night table. Sally immediately figured out what was on your mind and when you moved to grab them, she stopped you.

“Y/N, no!”

“You don’t want me?”

“Of course I do! It’s just… I can’t let you kill yourself…”

“You know what? Bite me! I’m not going to waste another twenty years of my life… If there’s an afterlife… there’s nobody I’d want to spend it with, but you”

Sally wiped the tears that were springing into her eyes all the time. She let you take the pills and then rinse them down with whisky.

“I love you” you said laying on the bed feeling your eyes becoming heavier with every second

“I love you too” Sally cried hugging you

You smiled caressing her cheek. You got the chance. You got to be her girl and you’re going to be together forever. Just you and Sally in another life.

Tag list:

@misssmephisto

@cakexblankett

@cordwliagoode

@mysweetdelia

@tasyahilker

#sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #sarah paulson imagine #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs hotel

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a-simple-lee · 5 years

Text

A game of stealth

Legolas, reader, Pippin, Merry, Aragorn

Description: you make a bet with Pippin that you simply have to win, though this comes at a cost for Legolas that he isn’t entirely happy with.

A/n: oof this is the first non-marvel fic I’ve written in literal months and it feels so weird lmao

________________________

“Do you think it’s possible to sneak up on the Elf?” You ponder out loud, bored after the long hours of walking through thankfully safe yet plain country. Fields and sparse woods stretch ahead of your party as far as the eye can see, and whilst you’re grateful for the respite from the violence and danger, trudging for days without a change in scenery is starting to dampen your spirits. There are no orcs or goblins (nor trolls) in these lands, so the Fellowship is taking advantage of the easier terrain by travelling for shorter periods and setting up camp earlier each night.

“For you? No,” Pippin snorts, highly entertained by the concept of a human trying to be sneaky.

“I think I could,” you respond, glancing at your elven companion; he’s slightly ahead of everyone, talking with Aragorn.

Merry sidles up from behind you. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s hard enough to do so as a hobbit.”

“Then I shall remind you how easy it was once I’ve accomplished it,” you grin, feeling rather confident. “I’ll show you.”

Over the course of five or so minutes, you make your way swiftly through the party’s marching order, taking advantage of a couple trees for cover every now and then. Gimli gives you an odd look, but you press a finger to your lips in warning, and he returns to his conversation with Sam.

The weather’s working in your favour; you stand downwind of the party’s trackers, and the breeze is enough to rustle the local flora into a distracting white noise. Perhaps, you think, there’s a chance you could pull this off. There’s only a few feet between you and the Elf now, who seems rather unaware. You move to place a hand on his shoulder from behind. He reaches up and grabs your wrist before you can touch him.

“Yes, little one?”

You frown. His lips quirk in an almost-smile.

“…why do you call me that? I’m no Shirefolk.”

“You spend long hours with them,” he counters.

“I suppose,” you admit; the Hobbits hold a special place in your heart as simply good people. They only ever wish to help others, and you admire their willpower. That, and Merry and Pippin tell excellent jokes.

“Do you require something?” Legolas is looking at you curiously.

“He is a wood-elf,” Pippin smiles as you return, casting a pointed glance towards the trees.

“Alright, I suppose it’s difficult.” The atmosphere turns quiet for a period after that, your trio remaining silent save for a few jibes from your halfling friends.

Later in the day, when the afternoon approaches sunset, you set up camp, sheltered in a sort of valley with large boulders scattered about.

“This should be safe,” Gandalf advises. “There’s no life here for miles.”

As time progresses, the Fellowship sits in small groups, exchanging stories and preparing for the night.

“What were you talking about earlier?” Frodo asks. “I saw you acting suspicious with Pippin, and that’s never a good sign.”

“Why,” you start, not sure whether to be honoured or offended by the accusation. “We were just discussing a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Yes-” you cast a cursory glance around the camp; the Elf is preoccupied speaking with Gimli.

“Merry and Pippin think I can’t sneak up on Legolas.” At this, Frodo narrows his eyes. “Oh, do have some faith in me!”

“-He shouldn’t, little one.” A voice from close behind you catches you off guard. You yelp, flinching and turning around to face your sylvan companion, who has drifted noiselessly over whilst you were talking.

“Legolas, I-” Merry and Pippin are laughing, but you ignore them. “I have committed to a goal, and I intend to reach it.”

“You make more noise than our halflings, little one - you’d do well to spend more time with them, and then perhaps you’ll learn to step quieter.”

“I can step quietly!” You protest. “I’ll get better!”

Several failed attempts follow this conversation, the most notable one being by your campfire in the evening, where Legolas turns to face you before you’ve gotten within 5 feet of him. The rest of your party is finding the debacle rather entertaining, much to your dismay.

“Very well,” you huff, sitting down next to Aragorn & Boromir. “If I need to learn, teach me. You’re a ranger, Aragorn - surely you have some advice.” He lets out a chuckle, and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Do not step on twigs; they make a great deal of noise.” You roll your eyes. “And stop being so careless in your movements; they’re clumsy.”

Despite the slightly patronising tone, Aragorn appears somewhat sincere.

“Thank you,” Rising from the campfire, you move to unpack your bed roll.

Morning greets you with a golden sunrise and birdsong - a luxury on your adventure. It appears you’re the last one to wake; everyone else is sat eating a breakfast of Lembas bread and dried fruits. The idea to practise your sneaking skills occurs to you - nobody’s noticed you’re awake yet, so you take the opportunity to clamber from your bed roll and cautiously tiptoe behind the rock Legolas is sitting on. Your breath is suspended, hanging in your lungs as you will no one to see you.

Nobody does, it seems, as you draw closer to your elf. The unexpected success feels suspicious. You haven’t thought about what you’ll do if you managed to sneak up on Legolas, so you spend about half a second pondering your next steps. It’s probably best to make your victory known to the party, hence a loud noise will suit the situation, you decide. In the relative quiet of the countryside, any sudden commotion will quickly gain attention, and then you shall have proved everyone wrong.

So you find yourself reaching forwards and fluttering your fingers over the elf’s neck.

What sounds like a genuine yelp of surprise escapes from Legolas, and he twitches away from your hands. The feeling of 8 pairs of eyes on the both of you reassures you of your victory. Though when the yelp dissolves into a giggle, your glee turns to curiosity.

“Good morning!” You laugh, giddy with the knowledge you’ve finally proved the hobbits incorrect.

“Good morning,” Legolas blinks, seeming taken aback by your ambush.

“Ticklish?” you tease, poking him in the side. The elf takes your hand, smiling calmly.

“Be careful,” he warns. “I’m happy to leave you this victory, though if you try that again, I can’t promise I won’t take my revenge.”

“I’m not ticklish,” you bluff, sneaking an arm behind your friend to tweak his ribs. He yelps again, this time attracting the attention of Merry and Pippin. The pair of them are overjoyed at this turn of events; or, more importantly, the mischief that will result from it. Legolas gives you a look of betrayal, but you ignore it and trot off to pack up your things, a victorious human. It isn’t long before you hear laughter and shouting from behind you.

You don’t remember Legolas’ words until the evening, since the rest of the day passes rather uneventfully. Whilst the terrain has become rockier, there’s still no sign of the peace ending, which is both reassuring and infuriating. You spar with the Aragorn whilst the others set down their belongings, but it isn’t long before he’s called away by Frodo. You sit down and begin unpacking your things, making yourself comfortable for the night. Sunset is fast approaching, and Gimli has taken Sam to look for food.

There’s not much for you to do, so you sit weaving some long blades of grass into a pattern. The activity distracts you from the clattering of equipment around you, and for a moment it’s as if you’re not even travelling, but sitting in a garden somewhere. Thoughts of danger and the trauma of the past few weeks slip away as your muscle memory takes over, repeating the same knots over and over, your little craft project growing increasingly elaborate. Flowers dot the ground next to the rock you’re sitting on, so you pick a few and weave them in, eventually tying off the braid and examining it. Not bad.

Somebody tackles you from behind, the woven bracelet falling from your grip and hands try to grab your wrists; you fight them off. You’re about to call for help when you finally stop to look up at your attacker; it’s the elf.

“Legolas, what are you-”

“I did warn you,” He states simply, trying to gain the upper hand in your impromptu wrestling match. The pieces fall into place inside your head, and suddenly this fight has higher stakes. You scramble out from under him and sprint as fast as you can, accidentally bumping into Merry on the way and yelling a rushed apology in his direction as you flee.

Behind this boulder, around this corner, down this ledge- oh no. A hand grabs your arm, and down you fall, Legolas immediately skittering his fingers over your sides.

“Ah- don’t!”

“I thought you weren’t ticklish, little one.” He smiles, and you bat at his hands in frustration.

“I’m- I’m nohohot!” To your misfortune, Legolas appears to be a deft tickler, and when he tweaks your ribs, your resolve breaks. It’s only downhill from there, the elf quickly figuring out your weak spots and using them to his advantage.

“Ahahaha-okahahahay, I yihihield! Ihihihi’m sorry!” You cry, scrunching up your neck when one hand moves to spider over the sensitive skin there.

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” he responds, squeezing your side with his other hand. By the time Legolas takes pity on you and lets you up, there are tears of mirth forming in your eyes.

You can sneak up on an elf, but you can’t outrun one, it seems.

#tickle fic #lotr #reader insert #ticklish!reader #ler!legolas #legolas #pippin #merry #aragorn

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latetothegreysparty · 6 years

Text

One-Liners #17

So sorry it’s taken me forever and a day to get this one written. Life got a bit wild for a few weeks. Here is the next fic in the One-Liners series. It is a sequel to #16, so if you haven’t read that one, I’d recommend reading it first. It can be found here. This one is from the NSFW prompts, so if you don’t prefer that sort of fic, this isn’t something you’ll like. Thanks to @valentinemrl for the prompt for this one. The one-liner is the following: “Car sex looks so much easier in the movies.”

One-Liners #17

The crisp night air was a welcome change for Owen after having spent all day and the better part of the evening inside the hospital. Even better than the feeling of fresh air on his face was the warmth of the body that was pressed tightly to his side. He would never get over just how well Amelia seemed to fit under his arm. As his thoughts strayed down that path, he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought that her ass also seemed to fit perfectly in his palm. He had no idea why she was still allowing him to rest his hand there in the shameless display of possessiveness that he’d initiated purely to piss off Swanson. Who was he to argue, though? At this point, he decided to go for broke. He might get castrated for this, but he felt like gambling tonight. He gave her ass a playful squeeze, and to his surprise, her only response was a little squeal and a giggle. “Owen!” she chided, but her continued giggles told him she wasn’t the least bit upset.

“Sorry,” he offered, though his grin gave away the insincerity behind his apology, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You are such a man,” she continued to goad.

“You would know better than anyone,” he shot back, coming to a stop as they arrived at his truck. He eyed the vehicle for a moment before dropping his arm from around her waist and turning to face her. “Wanna head back to my place?”

She smiled and blushed ever so slightly, and he knew immediately that hurricane Amelia was about to make her presence known. “Actually, I was thinking we could try something…”

“And what would that be?” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as he spoke.

“Have you ever had sex in a car before?”

Though he tried, Owen was pretty certain he didn’t succeed in keeping the apprehension off of his face. “No...are you suggesting we try it?” She continued to smile and blush lightly as she nodded. “In the parking lot?” Another little nod. “Amelia, what if one of our coworkers sees us?!”

“Oh come on, live a little,” she said, a slight whine creeping into her voice. “It’s dark out. Nobody would be able to see into the car. Plus I’m pretty sure everybody we know has already gone home. Well, everyone other than Swanson, and I wouldn’t so much mind if he saw you giving me a toe-curling orgasm.”

Owen knew what she was doing. She was simultaneously trying to stroke his ego and appeal to his jealous side. And, damn it, it was working. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of saying so out loud, so instead he merely opened the door and began to climb into the truck. Once he was in the back row of seats, he turned back to look at her. “It only works if both people are in the vehicle, you know?”

Normally a comment like that would’ve earned him an eye roll, but she was so happy he had agreed that she merely smirked and crawled into the truck after him. She plopped gracefully onto the seat next to him, reached immediately for the hem of his shirt, and whipped it over his head. He followed her lead, and pretty soon they were shirtless and making out in the back seat like a couple of horny teenagers. All in all, he’d call this a success.

Well, until she tried to remove his pants, that is. She reached down, gave his package a gentle squeeze, tossed a wink his way, popped the button, and undid his fly. He groaned when she reached into his pants and stroked his erection through his boxers. “Mmm, somebody’s ready to go,” she teased before tugging his pants down his hips. Everything was going fine until they made an attempt to completely remove his pants. It turns out that the logistics of taking one’s pants off become a bit more complicated when one is sitting in the back of a vehicle that doesn’t have much leg room. “How about I sit on the ground and you swing your legs up onto the seat?” she suggested. He nodded and pretty soon she was crouched on the floor while he shimmied out of his pants.

“Now what about yours?” he asked while she climbed back up onto the seat next to him.

“Here, let me try,” she said, already unbuttoning her pants and beginning to squirm around in an attempt to remove her pants. After quite a bit of flailing, she managed to get her pants off without having to ask Owen to crouch on the floor of the truck. “Some of us just have more skill,” she teased as she tossed her pants toward the front seat.

“Yeah, sure, if by ‘skill’ you mean legs that are 6 inches shorter than mine,” he sulked.

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to take off your boxers, or are we just going to sit in the back of your truck in our underwear like a couple of high schoolers?”

His eyes widened. “Oh shit, my boxers,” he cursed. “I probably should’ve tried to take those off when I was taking off my pants.” And thus began another round of Amelia crouching on the floor and Owen flailing in the back seat of the truck.

It wasn’t until he narrowly missed kneeing her in the face that she spoke up again. “Car sex looks so much easier in the movies,” she huffed.

“I’m pretty sure they’re not in an actual car when they film those movies,” he reasoned while finally getting his boxers off and chucking them toward the front to join the clothing already piling up in the passenger seat.

As he came to settle himself back onto the seat, she was already pulling her panties from her right big toe. “I don’t know why you have to make such a big production of it,” she teased before tossing the garment toward the front seat.

“Show off,” he pouted, sticking his tongue out for good measure. Before he could get his tongue back into his mouth, she was covering his lips with hers and climbing on top of him.

“Your turn to show off,” she panted, and that was all the invitation he needed. He shifted her onto the seat and began to position himself on top of her so that he could take control. He once again underestimated the tight quarters they were in, and he somehow managed to whack his butt on the driver’s seat while moving to straddle her. This set off another round of giggles from Amelia.

“Would you stop laughing at my misfortune?” he groused, roughly grabbing her hips as he spoke.

“Make me,” she tossed back saucily.

“With pleasure,” he responded, a small smirk lighting up his face half a second before he slid into her. As promised, he succeeded in putting an end to her sassy comments. As his hips began to rock against hers, all she could think to do was wrap her arms around his shoulders and moan his name into his ear.

His hands strayed from her hips and began to wander everywhere from her face to her breasts to her thighs. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and she found herself breathily panting: “So close,” in a surprisingly short period of time.

“Me too,” he whispered, and it was only another moment before both were shouting, groaning, and collapsing into one another in the back seat. In perhaps his first agile move of the night, Owen managed to roll them so that Amelia was lying face down on top of him across the backseat. They stayed there like that for several more minutes, lounging in the moonlight and listening to each other catch their breath.

Amelia would’ve been happy to stay there all night if she didn’t know in the back of her mind that her neck and back would be extremely sore if she did. Nonetheless, there was no harm in indulging themselves for another few minutes. So she closed her eyes, laid her face back down on his shoulder, and allowed herself to become lost in the moment.

She was so lost in the moment that she didn’t take note of the noises outside the car until she could hear the driver’s side door being opened. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down at Owen in a panic. His eyes were wide too, but neither of them had the instinct to move or say anything. She would’ve sworn time stood still as a man climbed into the truck and sat down in the passenger’s seat. Try as she might, she couldn’t get her voice to work. All she could do was stare in horror toward the front of the car.

She continued to stare as the man in the driver’s seat made his cursory glance in the rearview mirror before turning the car on. All three pairs of eyes met in the rear view mirror, and that was when she realized exactly who they were now sharing Owen’s truck with. “Um, sorry, wrong car,” mumbled Swanson as he leapt from the door of the truck. In his haste to exit the vehicle, Swanson had made no effort to use the running board to climb down, so he ended up tumbling to the ground and landing on his hands and knees. He recovered quickly, jumped up, and slammed the door before quickly crossing the parking lot without another word.

Amelia and Owen stared at each other for a full 3 seconds before they both burst out laughing at precisely the same moment. Loud, raucous laughter boomed through the cab of the truck for the next several moments as they both enjoyed the hilarity and the awkwardness of the moment they’d just experienced. When the both began to settle down a bit, Owen finally managed to breathlessly say: “See? I told you car sex was a bad idea.”

In response, he received a light swat to the chest. “Seriously? Are you actually going to try to tell me that you’re upset that Swanson saw us naked and basking in post-orgasmic bliss after that shameless territorial display you put on earlier in the ED?”

Owen at least had the shame to hide his face in her neck for a moment. “Okay, fine, I guess if someone had to see us, I’m not exactly sad it was him.”

“Thank you,” she replied smugly.

“Now that we’ve settled that, can you please promise me that our next time will be in a house like normal people instead of a vehicle that is far too small for this type of thing?”

She smiled. “When you say ‘our next time,’ you better mean ‘in about 30 minutes.’”

Owen said nothing in response. Instead, he reached for the stack of assorted clothing in the passenger seat and began to separate hers out from his. As they fumbled around for the next 10 minutes in the back seat while trying to get their clothes back on, Owen found that any doubt he’d had about whether or not he’d like to try car sex again had evaporated. While fun in theory, actually trying to have sex in an automobile was more annoying than sexy. That being said, he was most certainly not upset about the way his evening had turned out.

#omelia #omeliafic #omeliafanfic #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #grey's anatomy #greys anatomy

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