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mrs-gucci · 3 years

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Rough Around the Edges {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! taking a quick break from all the fourth of july stuff to submit this piece for this week’s writer wednesday :) thanks @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape for organizing this wonderful weekly event!

this story takes place in a medieval AU and is lightly inspired by certain elements in “Beauty and the Beast”.

warnings: angst with a hopeful ending. partially unreciprocated feelings. arranged courtship. time period-authentic sexism (women are meant to please men and that’s all). there’s a kiss.

(possible) tw’s: arranged relationship. implied age gap (not specified, but everyone’s above age).

word count: a touch over 2k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

You sit in front of the mirror while Anna pulls your hair into a flattering updo. Your eyes begin to tear up at the painful sting of your hair being manipulated in such a forceful way, scalp throbbing with each of Anna’s harsh, calculated movements.

"Must you be so rough?”

She offers little empathy in her expression as she looks at you through the mirror’s reflection. “The Prince insisted that you wear your hair up tonight, madame. He was absolutely furious when you wore it down the last time, and I’m the one who had to stand there while he threw a tantrum over it.”

Your eyes roll, knowing all too well of your betrothed’s legendary fits of anger. He’s much too old to be doing such childish things, but god forbid you ever say that to him.

Anna finishes up with your hair, much to your relief, but now the real pain begins. You look over at the corset waiting on the bed and already, your ribcage aches.

“What, are you trying to turn it to stone?” She asks, and you shake your head. “Well, you’re certainly staring at it long enough. Come on now, stand up, we don’t have all afternoon.”

You sigh, rising up out of the chair and walking over to the bed where Anna’s standing, corset in-hand. She wraps it around your torso, pulling the laces impossibly tight over your ribs and stomach, caging them both within the garment.

After the corset is very securely tied, Anna grabs your dress and helps you step into the golden yellow skirt. She ties the top part with just as much aggression as she tied the corset, making simply breathing a painful process.

“Try to at least look like you don’t want to jump out of the East tower’s window.” Anna remarks as you scowl at your reflection in the mirror. “Have you ever considered smiling?”

“I have absolutely nothing to smile about.” You reply curtly, unamused by this conversation or her suggestions.

She sighs in defeat. “I’m only trying to help, madame. You need to learn how to be a princess, or at least try and act the part.”

“I’m not interested in being a princess, Anna. But, if you ever asked my opinion on the matter, then you’d already know that. Now please, I wish to be alone.”

Anna’s surprised at the hostile tone of your words, but she keeps her lips pursed, knowing she’s in no place to press the issue any further. She simply nods, backing out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as your vision blurs with tears, abruptly turning away from the mirror so that you don’t have to look at what you’ve been forced to become.

There’s nothing that you wish for more than to be free from this life, free to live the way you want to live instead of the one that was chosen for you to live. You loathe the mask you must wear, the painted face that looks back at you through the mirror.

But, you have no choice...you’ve never had a choice.

The palace is aglow this evening, thousands of candles burning and casting a warmer shade across the normally-bland ivory color. Your shoes clink on the marble flooring as you make your way to the front steps, looking over the railing at the grand room below.

Lords and ladies, princes and princesses are all arm-in-arm, walking through to the ballroom. Some have stopped to converse with each other, fake smiles plastered on their painted faces.

You huff to yourself as you reach the top of the staircase, and at the bottom, stands your betrothed. He looks up as you make your way down the stairs, a pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with each step you take.

Kylo holds his hand out to you when you reach the bottom, guiding you down the final stair before looping his arm through yours. The two of you walk towards the ballroom, smiling and nodding politely at the other guests.

“You look nice.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

You huff in false amusement, physically having to prevent your eyes from rolling. “Am I supposed to thank you for saying that?”

"Ah, you’re learning.” He says, stopping to look down at you, fingers holding your chin and forcing you to look up at him while his eyes linger over your face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little dove.”

You yank your chin from his grip, snarling softly. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand suddenly comes up to wrap around your throat, teeth bared. “I can touch you however I please, young one. You’re mine, and you ought to learn your place.”

Once he feels you relax, feels you surrender under his touch, he lets go of your neck and continues walking as if nothing’s happened, dragging you along with him.

He wears you on his arm the whole evening as he talks to various noblemen and you just stand there, silent with a small smile, pretending like you don’t exist.

Then, the two of you take a seat at the big table with King Han and Queen Leia, beginning to feast on the royal spread. You barely eat, partially due to the fact that you’re afraid to bust the ties on your corset if your abdomen expands even a little bit too far, and Kylo seems to take notice.

“I promise I didn’t poison it.”

You look over at him with widened eyes. He simply smirks, laughing softly to himself.

“I’m only joking, little dove.”

You’re incredibly surprised, stunned into utter silence at the fact that he’s just joked with you. You'd been convinced up until this point that humor wasn’t a part of his emotional capabilities, that he was only capable of anger, hatred, and inflicting fear.

His hand hesitantly rests on top of yours, which makes you flinch. He looks conflicted in the moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to be upset that you react this way to his touch.

“Why aren’t you eating? You need to eat.”

You look away, jaw clenching. “I know you don’t actually care why I’m not eating, Kylo. Plus, none of my answers will be good enough to please you, anyway.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand away immediately.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the tone of his voice. He almost sounds...upset. Not upset at you, though, upset at himself.

The rest of the time he’s silent, only glancing over at you occasionally. Dessert comes around and you don’t even touch it, simply sitting up straight with your hands in your lap.

Couples rise from their tables as the musicians begin to play an upbeat tempo, gathering on the ballroom floor. Kylo stands up next to you, holding out his hand without a word.

You rise from your chair and take his extended hand, allowing him to lead you out to the ballroom floor. Dancing was customary in Alderaan and was a very popular practice at gathering’s like this.

Kylo’s large hands drop to your waist as soon as you reach the floor and you reach up to rest your hands on his broad shoulders. The two of you sway in unison and make your way around the dance floor skillfully, gracefully.

After the song comes to an end and another slower one begins, the Prince tilts his head down to look at you. His face is stoic, unchanging, but there’s something different about this look. It’s not as harsh or as emotionless as it normally is; there’s a certain gentleness to it.

Your eyes keep his gaze, looking back up at him with a curious glint in your eyes, drinking in his up-close appearance for truly the first time since you’ve arrived in Alderaan. He’s intoxicatingly handsome, there’s no getting around that, but his personality and temper leave a lot to be desired.

Yet, despite his hostility and distaste for you, you still find yourself temporarily entranced by his presence, melting under his gaze. It’s in this moment that you catch a glimpse into your own psyche, recognizing the true source of your vehement hate and closed-off behavior towards him.

All of it is done out of a desire to hide your attraction to the man that you’ve tried so, so hard to dislike. There’s always been a small part of you that’s known this, but you figured that if you pushed it down long enough and acted otherwise, perhaps you’d eventually convince yourself otherwise. But, alas, those feelings of attraction have only grown and festered beneath the facade of hatred.

It is true, Kylo Ren is a moody, closed-off, hostile and frankly childish being, but you’re somehow able to look past that and see the diamond-in-the-rough quality to the young Prince. You know that somewhere, behind the stone wall he’s so clearly built up around himself, there’s a goodness to him. You’ve seen glimpses of it throughout the time you’ve known him, but he almost immediately shuts it down instead of letting it show further, a fact you find incredibly perplexing.

“Y/N?” His voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You snap from your temporary trance and shake your head. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

“I gathered.” He chuckles softly. “If I asked what it is you were thinking about, would you tell me the truth?”

“Probably not.”

He nods. “I appreciate your honesty.”

The two of you continue to move around the floor before the handsome Prince clears his throat, cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink.

“May I ask you a question, completely unrelated to my previous inquiry?”

You nod, and he swallows harshly.

“What is it about me that you loathe so much?”

Your stomach drops and you suddenly feel a touch of lightheadedness begin to pressurize within your skull. You’re frozen for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.

“I don’t...why are you asking me such a thing? I know you don’t actually care about the answer.”

His jaw clenches and his grip suddenly tightens on your hips. “Why do you always insist that I don’t care?”

“Because I know you don’t, Kylo. At least, not truly.” You reply, squirming beneath his grip.

“W-Well, what if...” He huffs, looking away. “What if I do care? Or am at least trying to care?”

You’re genuinely surprised by his words, taken aback for a moment. This is a turn you certainly didn’t see coming...

“I find your ever-changing moods and stubbornness often makes you difficult to deal with. You never try, at least up until this point, to understand my feelings or show any sort of interest in getting to know me, which just makes me feel even more unwanted than I already do, and I--”

Before you can continue, you’re cut off by a sudden presence on your lips. It registers in your mind, then, that he’s kissing you. You stiffen, and he pulls away slowly, eyes staring into yours.

“You are not unwanted, Y/N.” He says, voice low. “Never...p-please never think that.”

Did he just say ‘please’? That’s almost the most shocking thing he’s said thus far.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kylo. Just...a little rough around the edges.”

His entire demeanor shifts for a moment, and for a split second, you swear he looks happy; truly, genuinely happy. Perhaps a bit of relief was sprinkled in, too. He wears a small, barely-there smile as he continues to look down at you.

“I would like to try and change. We should at least try to get along, considering the fact that we’ll be wed soon. I know you don’t want to be here, but I’d like to at least try to make things a bit easier, h-however I can.”

You can’t stop the smile that quickly spreads across your face, delightfully pleased to hear these words. Your expression widens his smile ever so slightly.

“I think we can certainly give it a try.”

Kylo nods, a subtly optimistic expression etched on his features.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

#mrs-gucci #writer wednesday #mrs-gucci writes kylo ren #medieval au #medieval kylo #prince kylo ren #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren angst #adcu #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adcu fanfic #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver angst #tw: implied age gap #arranged courtship

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crusherthedoctor · 3 years

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Can you list anything you unironically like in the games (and cartoons and comics) that you don't like?

I won't bother mentioning music, since that goes without saying and is to be expected for a Sonic game... unless you're Chronicles.

Sonic Adventure 2 (mixed gameplay-wise, annoying story-wise) - While I prefer Sonic's SA1 levels for a number of reasons, I still think his and Shadow's gameplay in SA2 is fun on its own merit. I also don't mind the treasure hunting gameplay returning or how big the levels are this time around, since Knuckles and Rouge are still fast and not '06 levels of slow. It's mainly the gimped radar that creates the unfortunate domino effect of making them a problem.

- Introduced Rouge, one of my favourite characters for how playful she is and how she's a lot more nuanced and intelligent than you'd expect.

- Some genuinely good scenes, like Eggman's trap on the A.R.K and Sonic escaping from the G.U.N. helicopter.

- Had some good ideas going for it, like the Pyramid Base and the Biolizard as a scientific monster instead of an ancient one.

- Despite my thoughts on the backstory itself (or rather, its execution), Shadow has enough depth and subtle qualities and occasional unintended hilarity to stand out from the typical dark rival characters you see in media.

- The Last Scene's music in particular is one of my favourite cutscene tracks in the series.

Sonic Heroes (mixed gameplay-wise, loathed story-wise) - The gameplay is fun when you're not being screwed over by repetitive combat, overly long levels and/or ice physics.

- Boasts some of the most consistently Genesis-worthy environments in the 3D games, up there with SA1's and Colours'.

- The in-game dialogue that isn't the same tutorial drivel repeated ad nauseam can be interesting, funny, etc.

- Reintroduced the Chaotix, which provided me with another character I quite like in the form of Vector.

- Bringing Metal Sonic back in full force and front and center in the plot after a long absence (not counting cameos and the like) is a perfectly fine idea. Just... not like this.

Sonic Battle (decent yet repetitive gameplay, mixed story-wise) - Emerl's arc is compelling, and it earns the emotional weight of having to put him down at the end.

- While some characters are iffy (read: Amy), other characters are extremely well-handled. Shadow is probably the prime example.

- Gamma's belly dance healing animation is fucking hilarious.

- When I was young, and the game was first announced, I was really excited about being able to play as Chaos. This proved to be my downfall when it turned out he was arguably one of the worst characters in the game due to being slower than me during the writing process, but I still recall that excitement fondly.

Shadow the Hedgehog (comedy classic) - The sheer amount of legendary stupidity this game has going for it makes it practically impossible to actually hate. It helps that it's not quite as white-knighted on the same level as '06... usually. You know you're in for a unique experience when you hear a gunshot every time you click something in the menu.

- By extension, Black Doom never gained an unironic fanbase like Mephiles/Scourge/Eggman Nega did, which means I'm a lot more willing to take Doom's dumbass brand of villainy in stride. He even has a unique design... a terrible one that rips off Wizeman granted, but alas, even that is a step-up from Fridge Shadow and Bumblebee Eggman.

- Despite being... well, Shadow the Hedgehog, some of the environments would fit right in with any other Sonic game, like with Circus Park, Lava Shelter, and Digital Circuit. Even the Black Comet levels look pretty cool.

- This game understands amnesia better than IDW does.

Sonic '06 (what do you think?) - The obvious one: Shadow's character was handled pretty well, even if it came at the cost of everyone else being a dummy and being forced to interact with Mephiles.

- Like SA2, there are some good moments, like the Last Story ending sequence with Sonic and Elise.

- In the greatest form of irony ever, I like Solaris as a concept and design(s), and its backstory has potential to serve as a parallel with Chaos without being a complete ripoff. Iblis sucks, Mephiles sucks, but I'm fine with Solaris.

- Introduced legendary characters like Sonic Man, Pele the Beloved Dog, Hatsun the Pigeon, and Pacha from The Emperor's New Groove.

The Rivals duology (apathetic outside of Nega-related grumbling) - There were some cool zone ideas in both games that were sadly let down by the restrictive and limiting gameplay. I particularly like Colosseum Highway for thus far being the only full-on Roman level in the series instead of merely having a couple minor hints of Roman, and Meteor Base for the unique scenario of the space station being built into an asteroid. These level concepts and others deserve a second chance IMO. (At least Frontier Canyon got a second chance in the form of Mirage Saloon, amirite?)

- Ifrit has a better design than Iblis. Not saying it's amazing, but the Firebird motif it has going on is a lot more interesting for a fire monster than the Not-Chaos schtick they had with Iblis.

Sonic and the Secret Rings (a very frustrating gaming experience) - Erazor Djinn, A.K.A. Qui-Gon Djinn, A.K.A. Dr. N. Djinn, A.K.A. I'll Take It On The Djinn, A.K.A. Not From The Hairs On My Djinny Djinn Djinn, is one of the best villains not associated with Eggman in the series. He's a Mephiles-type character done right, and there's actual weight and reason to his actions, however sinister or petty.

- I don't have strong opinions either way on Shahra as a character, but the Sonic/Shahra friendship is sweet and well-handled.

- The ending is one of Sonic's greatest moments. The sheer contrast between how ruthlessly he deals with Erazor and how comforting he is towards Shahra speaks volumes... Still gonna make fun of the mountain of handkerchiefs though. (Before anyone lectures me, I understand the significance of it and can even appreciate it from that angle... doesn't mean I'm not allowed to poke fun at it. :P)

- Another game with some redeeming environments. I love the aesthetic of Night Palace, and Sand Oasis looks gorgeous too.

Sonic Chronicles (my personal least favourite game in the series) - Uh...

- Um...

- Er...

- I like Shade's design?

Sonic Unleashed (overrated game and story IMO) - The obvious two: the opening sequence and the Egg Dragoon fight deserve all the praise they get.

- Seeing Eggmanland come to life was an impressive moment to be sure. While part of me does feel it didn't quite measure up to what I had in mind (ironically, the Interstellar Amusement Park ended up being closer to what I had in mind), it still looks badass and works well for what it is. I also don't mind the idea of it being a one-level gauntlet... key word being idea.

- Obviously, the game looks great. Not a fan of the real world focus (real world inspiration is fine, but copy-pasting the real world and shoving loops in it is just unimaginative), but it can't be denied that the environments look good.

- This game pulled off dialogue options a lot better than Chronicles did, since they didn't rely on making Sonic OoC.

Sonic and the Black Knight (just kind of boring all around) - Despite my gripes with the story (Merlina wasn't nearly as fleshed out as her unique anti-villain status deserved, which ends up severely undermining the ambition of the plot in more ways than one, and the other characters go from being useless yes men for King Arthur to being useless yes men for Sonic), I will admit it provides interesting insight into Sonic's character.

- Like '06 and Secret Rings, the ending is very nice... well, aside from Amy being an unreasonable bitch ala Sonic X at the very end.

Sonic the Hedgehog 4 (apathetic) - The admittedly few new concepts sprinkled within had promise. They may not have been as fleshed out as they could have been, but level concepts like Sylvania Castle and White Park, bosses like Egg Serpentleaf and the Egg Heart, and story beats like the Death Egg mk.II being powered by Little Planet, all could have been brilliant had they been better executed.

SatAM (apathetic outside of SatAM Robotnik-related grumbling) - I'm not a fan of the environments on the whole due to them looking too bland or samey, but there are some exceptions that look pleasant or interesting, like the Void.

Sonic Underground (apathetic) - The character designs make me feel better about myself.

- Does "large quantities of unintentional meme material" count as a positive?

Sonic X (mostly apathetic outside of Eggman's handling) - Helen was a better human character and audience surrogate in her one focus episode than Chris was throughout his entire runtime.

- Actually, most of the human characters not named Chris were legitimately likable. Including everyone in Chris' own family not named Chris. Hilarious.

- Despite arguably having the most Chris in it, I actually don't mind the first season that much, partly due to slight nostalgia from seeing it on TV when it was new, but mostly because Eggman actually acted like a villain for the most part, and certain other characters weren't quite as flanderized yet. It's season 2 and onwards where things started going off the rails IMO. (Incidentally, Helen's episode was part of season 1...)

The Boom franchise (apathetic) - Along with Chronicles, the games provide yet more proof that just because someone isn't SEGA/Sonic Team, that doesn't mean they're automatically more qualified to handle the series.

- The show had some good episodes here and there, and Tails' characterization was probably the most consistently on-point out of the cast.

- Despite not exactly being favourite portrayals for either character, even I'll admit that many of Knuckles and Eggman's lines in the show on their own were genuinely funny.

Archie Sonic (pre-reboot is mostly terrible, post-reboot is mostly... bland) - Whenever I doubt myself as a writer, I think back to Ken Penders, and suddenly I'm filled with a lot more confidence.

Sonic the Comic (apathetic) - Fleetway isn't a comic I tend to recall much of aside from how much of a loathesome cunt Sonic is, but IIRC, Robotnik's portrayal is pretty good. Different, but good.

IDW Sonic (stop pissing me off, comic) - Putting their handling aside (and being too obviously "inspired" by MGS in the latter's case), Tangle and Whisper are good characters IMO.

- Same goes for Starline, before he was killed off-screen and replaced with Toothpaste Snively.

- Execution aside (noticing a pattern?), the zombot virus was a fine concept on its own and an interesting new scheme for Eggman.

- I get to remind myself that I've never drawn scat edits and posted them publicly on Twitter.

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i-make-questionable-choices · 3 years

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And Then There Were Two

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Injury, Character Death (alluded to).

Word Count: 1,655

Summary: Regardless of how hard Dean tries to keep everyone safe, some things are still out of his control.

A/N:I have been sitting on this one since fucking January, it was complete, it was edited and for whatever reason my brain was like: don't post it. So here I am finally overcoming that bullshit to tell you that one: I am alive. And two: this is going to be the start of a crap load of angsty oneshots because this is the first square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card: Amputation. As always, please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!

“Y/N!”

Being weightless was strange, your stomach lurched as your body was whipped backwards. It was almost like being on a rollercoaster when the seatbelt wasn’t super snug and you kinda got jostled around a bit.

Except this time wasn’t just a tiny bit scary. This time was terrifying.

You hit the rocks with a sickening crunch, and there was no doubt in your mind that you had broken most of your ribs. You could almost declare yourself lucky - the angle at which you had hit the wall had saved your head from being crushed like an empty soda can; and you simply tumbled down to the ground - almost.

The rocks in this area were prone to crumbling, and a net had long been installed on the cliff face to keep any of the loose cracks formed by erosion from breaking off completely and served as just an extra second for anything below.

When you had collided with the wall, however, the weight of your body sliding against the rocks had severed the net.

And the boulders came crashing down.

“No!”

Deans second cry of anguish was accompanied by the agonized screech of the burning wendigo; Sam had managed to get close enough with the blow torch in that brief moment of chaos to set the monster alight.

It was as though hell were raining down on you, the dust from rock hitting rock eluding your eyes as you tried to heave yourself up and out of the way, only for a softball sized chunk to hit you in the back and send you sprawling since more.

And then you couldn’t move.

The pain was unbelievable.

A screech ripped through you, loud enough to be heard as the final boulder hit the ground with a deafening crash. Loud enough to make Deans heart freeze in his chest.

Loud enough to make Sam’s drop into his stomach.

Their safety disregarded, the pair rushed towards where they had last seen you, shoving what rocks they could to the side with hysterical strength.

If Sams heart had dropped to his stomach before, he didn’t know where it was when he saw you.

The back of your shirt was tattered, soiled with blood and grime from the rocks where it had scraped across. One particularly large gash where the small chunk of rock had hit you.

As he took in the limpness of your form, he barely noticed Dean come to his side, trying to take in what neither of their minds wanted to accept that they were seeing.

Your arm, from the middle of your forearm and down, was pinned under one of the largest boulders from the collapse.

Already there was blood trickling towards you, small snakes leaving the shelter of the rock to pool against your face.

Dean threw himself against the rock, unable to grasp that even with the two of them, the rock that pinned you was simply too large to be moved.

Sam was too shaken to stop his brother, tentatively, he brushed your hair out of your eyes, relieved to feel the faint fluttering of your breath against his skin, and to see your eyes closed, you were, at the very least, not in pain.

He looked up at his brother.

Dean had collapsed against the boulder, in the faint moonlight, Sam could see tears budding in the corners of his eyes, mimicking those he felt himself.

“Dean-”

He stopped himself, loathing the way his voice cracked, hating the resignation to the inevitable.

“I know.”

Sam wondered if he hated that even more; Dean would always protest when any plan of theirs put one of you in harms way. He would always insist that there could be more options, even if that might drag things out so long as you and Sam were safe.

They both new there were no alternatives here.

Dean crouched beside you, shrugging off his jacket, then his flannel, the former of which he covered you with and the later of which he began to wrap around your arm. Accepting the stick from his brother he looped into the fabric, finishing off the tourniquet.

Neither brother bothered to check the time to ensure it didn’t stay on to long. There was no point.

Hesitantly, Sam retraced his steps to where he had dropped his knife. It had fallen from his hand as he ran towards you. When he had first gotten it he had appreciated the sedation at the end. Not to much to make it stick itself in a monster and not want to pry out, but enough to bite through the bones.

He hated that now, even though he knew he should be grateful, it was their only way of getting you out from that boulder.

Dean had hardly moved when he returned, still crouched over you, but one hand now cradled your cheek while the other rested underneath your head as if to protect you from the hard ground.

Sam could hardly keep his voice from cracking when he addressed his brother.

“You’re gonna have-”

“Don’t.”

Deans voice was so final, so flat, that Sam sagged from the power of but one word.

Without Sam having to finish, Dean moved his hands to steady you, one resting on the back of your shoulder, the other one your mid-back. The spurt of blood at the first saw of the knife was sickening, and Dean had to turn away lest he throw up. His heart seized in his chest as you tensed under him, and he steeled himself to hold you down to keep your thrashing at bay.

Your eyes shot open first, darting about before they fixed on his face, then on Sam’s blade that was sawing through your upper arm. As your body lurched, Dean prepared himself for a scream, only to have you vomit what little snack you had eaten before the hunt, and they pass out once more.

The sound Sams blade made as it sawed through your bone was spine chilling and part of Dean was relieved when it was over, the other part was even more inclined to vomit.    Barely seconds later, your body shifted as the knife severed the last of your skin and what was left of you arm slumped towards the ground.

Sam, who had discarded his own flannel alongside Dean, reached it over and wrapped it around and over the stump; he too could feel a sickness rising his stomach, the reality of what he did hitting him like a freight train.

As Dean scooped you up, gently maneuvering you over his shoulder, he met Sams eyes for the first time since the rock slide. Just like himself, Sam had silent tears racing down his cheeks, despair visible in the depths of his eyes. Dean longed to reach out and hug him, but more pressing matters were at hand.

The pace they made as they rushed towards the Impala was astounding. The hike out had taken them almost and hour and a half. It only took them half the time to make it back to the car. The whole time Sam had has his phone out, searching for a signal to call 911, Dean had tuned him out 4 minutes ago when he had started talking to the dispatcher.

They were to meet the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Fortunately the road out to Deadman’s Cliff was quiet and Dean didn’t have to worry about how fast he went as he pushed the Impala to her limits.

Sam, who was riding in the back keeping, albeit pointless, pressure on your arm, and checking that your were, in fact, still alive, had had to brace himself against the roof and seats a few times as Dean burned around corners much faster then they were meant to be taken. Sam would later wonder how they hadn’t crashed in those moments.

Only when they heard the wailing of the ambulance, nearly an hour from where they had began their drive, did Dean ease up on the gas. Fortunately for them, the ambulance was about ten kilometers down road, so they had just enough time to make a safe stop without the car flipping over.

It seemed unreal as the paramedics leapt from the ambulance, the bright lights of the interior felt fake as he watched them unload the gurney for Sam to set you on, they strapped you in, protecting your neck with a cervical collar before pushing you in. He hardly could process time as he watched Sam climb into the ambulance the doors shutting as Sam turned back to look as him and then the ambulance sped away, leaving a broken man standing in the middle of the highway.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, it could have be seconds, or minutes, maybe even hours; but eventually Dean snapped back into reality. He could no longer hear the wail of the ambulance, or see the bright lights even on the vast expanse of plains. He could feel the tear stains on his cheeks though, could feel the aching in his heart, and the terror in his mind. As he made his way to the Impala, he could feel a strange numbness seep through him.

He and Sam had done all they could to help you, but you had still gone almost and hour without basic wound care, resulting in a high chance of infection. The blood loss and the shock wouldn’t help you fight it off; and you had gone two whole hours without any professional help. Even then, the paramedic’s were still limited in what they could do to help you. And with a sinking feeling, Dean realized that your death could be coming far too soon.

It was too much, with so many feelings left unsaid, and so many more coursing through him, Dean Winchester sat behind the wheel, and wept.

Supernatural Tags: (open)

Dean/Jensen Tags: (open)

@akshi8278

Bad Things Happen Bingo Tags: (open)

@badthingshappenbingo

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sfb123 · 3 years

Text

Sapere Aude - Part 10

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, allusions to smut (but nothing graphic), discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Disclaimer: I have no current affiliation with any other Via Imperii themed stories. Any claims that I have pre-read anything are false.

Word Count: 2,759

A/N: Sorry for the wait, I’m not going to keep broadcasting my self-loathing bullshit, but I’ve been having a hell of a time in my life. I’m working my way out of it thanks to a stellar support system (shout out @jessiembruno and @txemrn for being the Tumblr pieces to that puzzle). I’m also now up to 3 friends that are pregnant, which means I have 3 baby blankets to knit in the next 6 months, so that’s something that will be taking up a bit of my time. But I promise you more stories are coming, as well as some kind of ending to this story. I’ve hit the awkward place that I’ve feared since I started writing Sapere Aude; where I know where I want it to go, but I’m not quite sure how to get there. I’ll figure it out though, I promise, just bear with me.

As always, big ups to @twinkleallnight for my awesome moodboard!

Tags: My tag list angels are all listed below. Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

It was the day of the Royal Council meeting, Liam and Drake were planning to take this opportunity to work with Olivia in outfitting Riley with a camera or recorder for her next interaction with the Via Imperii. Mara had informed her of an upcoming meeting, which she was going to use as her opportunity.

Liam was trying to keep his focus on the task at hand, destroying this group, instead of all of the information he had learned about them, and what they had done to him. The thing that made that difficult was the constant reminder of his betrayal and loss, in the form of his brother, who was still charged with guarding Eleanor. He and Bastien had decided that it would be too much of a risk to reassign him, or remove him from the guard entirely. The timing would, no doubt, tip them off that Riley had said something, and he was not about to put that target on his wife’s back. He was hoping he would get used to being around Thomas, but a part of him knew he would not be fully at peace with the situation, at least not without being able to confront him.

He also knew that Olivia was going to need to be brought up to speed. This meant that he would need to go through everything all over again, and he was dreading it. As he stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his tie, he was planning out the best ways to have this conversation. A look of concern clearly etched in his face, Riley noticed it the second she stepped into the room.

“Hey, you’ve been getting dressed for an awfully long time. Are you doing alright?” She walked up behind him, taking him out of his thoughts. She knew he wasn’t, but he needed to tell her that, the last thing he needed was to feel cornered into talking about things.

He exhaled deeply before turning and wrapping his arms around Riley’s waist. “Yes, just going over the plan for today.”

“And figuring out how you’re going to get through reliving everything when you tell Olivia what’s going on?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Am I ever going to be able to get anything past you?” He smiled, placing a hand on her cheek.

“Nope, never. I can read you like a book, Your Majesty.” She tapped her index finger to his nose, taking a brief pause to enjoy the sound of the soft chuckle that escaped him. “Maybe I can help. Olivia and I are having lunch before the meeting, I can fill her in on everything, then you and Drake can just work with her on the techy stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that, Riley.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t have to, but it will help you, so I want to.”

Liam pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “Thank you, love.”

A few hours later, Riley sat on the terrace waiting for Olivia to arrive. She had Bastien perform a full sweep of the area to ensure that their conversation remained between them. Part of her hoped it would be easier to explain everything this time. After all, she had already explained everything three times. Then she remembered the hardest part of this whole thing, it wasn’t telling people what was going on, it was seeing their reactions. She was, one by one, breaking the hearts of all of the people closest to her. While Olivia had already made peace with the shortcomings of her parents, she was about to learn the truth about what happened to her best friend’s mother. Not only was she with Liam when he lost her, seeing his heartbreak first hand, but Eleanor had taken Olivia in when she lost her parents, she took care of her as if she were her own mother. Better than her own mother, she showed Olivia love and kindness, things that her mother taught her to be weaknesses.

As Olivia approached the table, Riley stood to greet her with a smile. Olivia was instantly suspicious. It had been a few weeks since the pair had seen each other, usually when that was the case, Riley would charge her and wrap her in a hug. An action that Olivia would begrudgingly reciprocate.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia stood in front of her place at the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Good to see you too, Liv. Why would you think something is wrong?”

Olivia rolled her eyes before continuing, “Because you’re standing there smiling like the queen. You didn’t run up to me greeting me with that annoying sing-song voice.”

“I’m smiling like the queen because I am the queen, and this is how I smile.” Riley feigned offense. “Maybe I’m just maturing as a person.”

“You sent me a video the other day of cats pushing things off of counters.”

“Oh yea, that was hilarious! Cats can be real je--” She stopped when Olivia arched her brow in a silent ‘I told you so’. “Alright fine, I have to fill you in on some things.”

Once they sat, Riley filled Olivia in on everything that had happened since the Harvest Ball. The recruitment, the meeting, and all of the information she had learned along the way. As difficult as it was, Olivia remained silent while Riley spoke. She wanted to make sure to get every piece of information that was being thrown at her.

“So that’s why Liam scheduled a meeting with you when the council lets out. He and Drake are going to speak with you about cameras and recorders that I can sneak in with me to get some evidence.” There was a silence between the two while Olivia processed the information.

Olivia took a deep breath before speaking. “How is he handling all of this?”

“I mean, you know Liam. He’s keeping it inside and not really talking about it. And when he does, he’s blaming himself.” Riley shrugged. One of the things she loved about him was how much he cared about everyone else, but it was also one of his most frustrating traits. He was always too worried about those around him to properly take care of his needs, and would often blame himself for things he had no control over.

“That sounds about right.” Olivia’s expression softened. “He took it so hard when his mother died. He was so broken.”

“And now, it’s like he’s losing her all over again, but so much worse, because he’s questioning everything about himself.” Riley could feel the emotion building up inside of her.

Olivia smiled sadly as she reached across the table and placed her hand over Riley’s. “It will take time, he’ll get past it, and you’re going to be a big part of that.”

Riley nodded, taking a moment to compose herself. “So, you’ll help right?”

“You’ve been through a lot the last couple of days, so I’m going to let that ridiculous question slide.”

Riley sat a little lower in her seat and raised her glass to her lips before mumbling out a ‘thank you’.

The pair finished their lunch, and made their way to the council meeting. Liam was waiting by the door, greeting the members as they entered. Riley approached first, placing a chaste kiss on his lips before taking her place next to him. As Olivia approached, an uncharacteristically sympathetic look spread across her face before she leaned in, kissing Liam on the cheek and bringing him into a brief hug. As they pulled away, they looked at each other and nodded, and Olivia continued into the room.

Liam wrapped his arm around Riley’s waist and kissed her on the temple before returning his attention to the council members that were still arriving. Though it didn’t seem like much, Liam knew exactly what that greeting meant, and it was just what Liam needed from his childhood friend.

As the members of the council cleared out of the room, Riley and Liam found a corner where they could have a moment to themselves. “That went well, they really seemed to like your new proposal.” Riley smiled, smoothing her hands over the lapels of Liam’s jacket.

“I’m very excited to move forward with it.” He brushed a loose hair out of her face, placing a kiss on the newly exposed spot on her forehead. “Will you be joining us for our meeting?”

“No, I’m going to pick up Eleanor and take her outside to play. You guys need some privacy. Just make sure that if it’s wearable, you pick something cute.” She reached up and kissed him on the nose.

Liam gave an over exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Riley Rys, have you ever known me to give you something that wasn’t of the utmost caliber of cute?”

“Hmm let me think, cute outfits, cute jewelry, cute baby,” she pondered, placing her forefinger over her lip as she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, “cute husband. Nope, you’re right, you’ve given me the cutest everything since day one.”

He laughed and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers.

“Alright, break it up. You’re adults in charge of an entire country, you can’t keep being late for stuff because you were making out.” Drake interrupted the pair, who pulled away blushing slightly.

“We’re the king and queen, we’re never late, everyone else is just early.” Riley teased before looking up at Liam. “We really should get going though.

Riley kissed Liam softly and gave Drake a hug before walking out of the room. Liam watched her exit before turning to his friend. “Let’s get Olivia and head upstairs.”

When they entered the Royal Quarters, Liam signaled for Olivia and Drake to sit on the couch before he took a seat on the chair adjacent to them. “Olivia, I appreciate your time this afternoon. I understand Riley filled you in on the situation.”

“She did. How are you doing?” She paused, looking over to Drake. “Both of you.”

Drake knitted his brows in confusion. “Since when do you give a fuck about feelings...or me, for that matter?”

“Listen Drake, we’ve had our...differences over the years, but I know how it feels to be betrayed by your family. That isn’t something I would wish on even my worst enemy.” Olivia had a kindness in her voice that neither of the men expected.

“Oh, well thanks. I’m alright. Liam really got hit with the brunt of it though.” Drake turned to the chair, he was also hoping to hear Liam’s answer. He hadn’t spoken much about everything since that initial meeting.

Liam looked between his childhood friends, the two people in this world that knew him almost as well as Riley did, he knew that they wouldn’t let him get away with brushing the question off. He exhaled and wiped his hand over his face before responding. “It has been difficult, I have a lot that I still need to process. I cannot fully process everything without confronting Thomas, and possibly Eleanor. Which I clearly cannot do until this has been resolved. Riley would be exposed, I can’t put her in danger like that. My focus right now is making sure she is safe, and that we end this. That’s where you come in, Olivia.”

“Of course, talk to me about what kind of information you are looking to gather. We can go from there.”

They spent the next few hours talking about what kind of information they were hoping to collect, what Olivia had for equipment, and what she could get without causing suspicion from outside parties. They settled on an audio recorder embedded in a button that could be sewn into one of Riley’s existing blouses, along with a retractable pen that doubled as a camera, taking still shots every time the top was clicked. This would, not only, allow Riley to get the devices into the meeting, but it would enable Olivia to easily have everything delivered from Lythikos to the palace.

As their meeting wrapped up, Riley and Eleanor walked through the door. As soon as Eleanor saw Olivia on the couch, she broke into a sprint. “Auntie!”

Olivia raised her hand before Eleanor could make it all the way to the couch. “Eleanor, what did I teach you about running?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, pausing to remember. “Running is for the weak.”

Olivia nodded. “Very good, now approach like the princess you are, and greet your aunt properly.”

Eleanor carefully approached Olivia, stopping when she got directly in front of her. “Hello, Auntie Olivia.”

“That’s better.” Olivia reached out and pulled Eleanor into her lap, giving her a hug.

Drake leaned in behind Olivia’s back and whispered in Eleanor’s ear, “You. Me. Maze tag. After Auntie Olivia leaves.” Eleanor covered her mouth and giggled.

“I heard that Walker.” Olivia turned around, staring Drake down. “She is going to be the Queen of Cordonia one day, there are more important uses of her time.”

“She’s a kid, Liv, she needs to have fun.”

“Alright, alright.” Riley stepped in and took Eleanor from Olivia’s arms. “Why don’t you two put a pin in this conversation. When you finally get over this fake hate that is so obviously love, you can fight over how to raise your children.”

Drake and Olivia both snapped their heads toward Riley, who now had Liam standing beside her trying to stifle a laugh.

“Yes Drake, then Riley and I won’t be the only ones running late for stuff because we were making out.” Liam exchanged a high five with his wife.

Drake shook his head, “Gross. I’m leaving.”

“But Uncle Drake, you promised maze tag?” Eleanor looked up at him with sad eyes.

“You’re right, I did. Let’s go kid.” He reached his arm out, taking Eleanor’s hand. “You won’t make fun of me like your mom and dad do, will you?”

“Never ever.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite.” With that, they made their way out the door.

Riley shared a brief laugh with Liam before they both turned their attention back to Olivia. They spoke for a while longer, Liam and Olivia filling Riley in on what they had come up with. Olivia was invited to stay for dinner, but she had to get back to Lythikos to prepare the recording equipment to be sent to the palace. Riley walked Olivia out while Liam remained on the couch. When she returned to the sitting area, she sat in Liam’s lap.

“It sounds like we have a decent plan in place. I hope I can get some good information in this meeting.” Riley wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

Liam looked at her with a hint of sadness in his eyes as he brought one hand up to stroke her cheek. “Me too, I just wish we didn’t have to risk your safety to get it.”

“Hey, I’ll be ok, I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “We’ve got this.”

He nodded. As much as he wanted to believe her, he knew this battle was so much different than any they had fought before. They couldn’t trust anyone, and there was a possibility that they were being observed at any given time. He didn’t doubt Riley’s strength or tenacity for a second. But this time, there were so many questions and unknowns about their enemy, that he feared the worst.

Riley noticed Liam falling deeper and deeper into his thoughts, she knew she needed to do something to get him back to the present. She began playing with the hair at the base of his neck as she placed soft kisses along his jaw. “You know, I don’t have to start dinner for another hour...and Eleanor is outside with Drake...any thoughts on what we could do with this sudden time to ourselves?” She asked in between kisses.

The sadness in his eyes was quickly replaced with a look of desire. “Mmm...I do have a few things in mind.” His hands traveled the curves of her body as he methodically kissed down her neck.

“Care to tell me?”

“I’d rather show you.” Liam stood abruptly, lifting Riley with him and tossing her over his shoulder, slapping her on her behind. He delighted at the yelp that escaped her at the sudden contact. He quickly carried her to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

Permatag: @anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @chemist-ana@choicesficwriterscreations @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @pixie88 @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @sweatyrysconnoisseur @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

Sapere Aude: @burnsoslow @busywoman @ofpixelsandscribbles

Liam x Riley: @jared2612

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

Text

it’s just what you do.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: “my problem is that if you bring anymore whores around and it’ll start to feel like a brothel in here. and i am far too young to be a madam.”

word count: 6.0k

a/n: if you’ve read some of my st stories, you know i have a little bit of a love for bratty, bitchy readers lol so here ya go! a bratty bitchy reader in the hg universe! (though the reader is pretty tame for what i usually write for a bitchy!reader) i hope you enjoy, and if you do let me know in some feedback (:

You padded down cold stairs in bare feet, yawning as you did. You could already hear Roman and Peter talking quietly at the breakfast bar over cold cereal and sleep graveled voices as you reached the bottom landing. You stretched your arms above your head with a resounding squeak that announced your entrance.

As you push away unruly strands of hair from your face, you rub your cheek, still sheet streaked and warm to the touch.

“G’morin’ (Y/N).” Peter greeted through a mouth full of milk soaked Sugar Crisp.

“Morning, love.” You replied, placing your hands on his bare shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

You let your hands linger on his skin a moment longer before you stepped around him and to the pantry.

“Good morning,” Roman called after you as he watched appreciatively as the hem of your short negligee dusted the tops of your thighs.

You acknowledged him with a hum, but gave him no further greeting. No good morning, no kiss, no smile. Just a hum as you rummaged around searching for your box of oatmeal.

Roman hadn’t come to bed until just before dawn the previous night, only furthering the animosity you felt for him. The new, deep and unrelenting displeasure you held for him now that he had let another woman into your home.

“What? Peter gets a fucking endearment and I don’t get anything?” Roman griped. His voice grated on your ear drums and his angry breathing only served to churn your disdain for him.

You kept mute, clenching your teeth as you gathered a bowl and some milk to make your morning oats.

You pictured turning around to spit in his face, and how it would feel to watch his reaction as your saliva splattered his skin. You’d then tell him to go fuck himself, maybe break a glass while you were at it, anything to get his attention. Or maybe you’d go hop on Peter’s lap, place his hands on your bare thighs and stick your tongue down his throat. That was probably better than any tantrum you could throw. Your boyfriend was nothing if not possessive of what he deemed as his. You fell under that laundry list of Roman’s possessions, though you were unsure if you were soon to be erased and replaced with five new letters.

Because it had been a little over a week since Annie had taken residence in the second guest bedroom. A fucking week of seeing her and Roman eye fuck each other and share whispered conversations. A week of her connecting with Roman on a level you couldn’t understand, of being a part of schemes, of helping him and Peter (something you were never allowed to do) and talking about Nadia. You’re fucking daughter. You swore the next time her mouth began to form the syllables to the child’s name, you were going to strangle her to death. Upir or not, you were sure your pure maternal rage would be no match for her.

And, it had been a goddamn week of you sulking and pouting and seething without Roman taking even the slightest notice, or if he did, not caring a bit. That, more than anything else, is what was truly making you irate.

“(Y/N)? What the hell?” Roman cursed again as you slammed dishes around in cabinets.

Before he could say anything else, another pair of footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Good morning!” Came her happy french lit as she bounded toward the three of you.

You didn’t acknowledge her presence, simply continued on with your oatmeal.

“I still haven’t gotten over the water pressure here. It’s so wonderful,” Annie says, and you’re sure Roman is half hard at her stupid compliment.

You still haven’t looked at her, but you’re picturing her with damp hair and ruddy cheeks from the hot water. Her face smooth and freckled with youth. Her damp hair turning her already light sleepwear see through and sticky.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Roman chimes and your neck prickles with anger.

The ice he was treading on with you was growing thinner and thinner by the moment. Melting under your fiery ire for his behavior. When he finally fell through, you hoped he’d drown.

“What are you planning on doing today? Do you have work?” Annie asks.

“I do, but do you need me for something?”

You scoff much louder than you had anticipated and you can feel three pairs of eyes on your back. You square your shoulders and turn toward the group, but don’t look at any of them. The stupid Hardy Boys with their brand new Nancy Drew, resigning you to be the villain, you supposed.

You walk around the breakfast bar with purpose, turning your body obnoxiously to avoid touching Annie as you pass. You weren’t close to her as she leaned against the counter, but you wanted her to know just how much you loathed her. So much so, that the idea of touching you made you recoil.

“Uhm, no. I was just making conversation.” She replied, her voice wavering after your subtle outburst.

You held back a pleased expression as you went to the couch, sitting at the farthest corner from the kitchen and taking the throw blanket from the back and wrapping yourself in it. You took your first bite of oatmeal and clinked the spoon loudly back in the bowl in protest.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” You hated how your name sounded so melodic coming off her tongue, “Are you feeling alright?”

You don’t reply, just continued to eat your breakfast, looking straight ahead. The tension was palpable in the room as Annie shifted her feet and waited for your response. You wish she would pick up on your clear animosity toward her and quit trying to engage with you. Her efforts were admirable, you’d admit, but with the way she looked at Roman, and the way she spoke to him, there was absolutely no way she could possibly expect you to indulge her.

You could feel Roman’s glare on you, his green eyes burning holes through the knit throw to sear your skin with displeasure. Peter was still turned toward the island, shoulders tense with discomfort at the scene you were creating. You almost felt sorry for him, it wasn’t his fault Roman was being an oblivious asshole (and that you were retaliating the way you were). He didn’t deserve to be caught in the awkward crossfire. Maybe you would sneak him into a corner and feel him up for a bit? He did deserve some pleasure for living with Roman’s pain (and hey, if it made Roman jealous in the process, that would just be a bonas of your good deed).

Soon, Annie recovered from your echoing silence and moved back to talking with Roman and Peter. You could see her out of the corner of your eye, sleep shorts hanging low on her hips and flimsy white t-shirt you had imagined, dipping down from her relaxed stance, giving both men a perfect view down her top. You didn’t have to be looking at Roman to know he was stealing glances.

You stayed on the couch, trying to eat your breakfast, but the oats were soggy and not as good as when Roman made them with cinnamon and maple sugar. You toyed with the beige mush until Roman announced he was off to The Tower. He gathered his jacket and briefcase before saying goodbye to Peter and Annie.

“I’m leaving,” Roman called over to you.

You kept your vow of silence and pretended to be interested in the curdling food before you.

“Jesus fucking-- fine! Goodbye.” He spat, irritated.

You continued to fold your oatmeal around your bowl until the front door slammed shut and Annie spoke after a moment's pause.

“I think I’ll be off, too. I have some errands to run.” Biding you both a quick adui before she exited the kitchen for the stairs.

You huffed to yourself. She could only stand to be around you and Peter when Roman was in attendance.

“I feel like I’m in a high school cafeteria and Annie just took your seat next to Roman.” Peter joked, having heard your annoyed sound.

“Well, she should know I always have an assigned seat next to him,” You said, setting your bowl on the coffee table and crossing your arms.

“Oh my God, (Y/N)! Do you hear yourself?”

“I do, and I know I sound childish but I’ve lost the will to care.”

You hear Peter sigh, then the sound of him getting up from his stool to come sit next to you.

“What’s next? Are you going to spread a rumor about her to make Roman think she’s icky?”

“Like anything I said could make him stop mooning over her,” You reply with disdain.

“He loves you, you know that. He’ll ask you to prom, buy you the most valentines and all that shit.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.” You pout with a furrow of your brows.

“Have you considered just telling him how you feel about Annie staying here?” Peter asked.

“If he can’t figure out on his own why I’m so angry, it’s not my problem.”

“Do you really think that’s fair?”

“No,” You tighten your arms across your chest, “But it’s not my fault that your gender has no emotional intelligence or inference skills.”

Peter chuckles, “All the more reason to just come out and tell Roman how you’re feeling.”

You roll your eyes and give him a half hearted glare, “Don’t you have a job to be getting too?”

“Yes, but I want to make sure you at least mull over my option first.” He nudges you gently with his knee

You give a small pause before a small smirk breaks out over your lips, “I was actually thinking about making out with you to make him jealous. Would you be willing?”

Peter claps his hands down on his thighs and pushes up from the couch, “And with that, suddenly I’m late.”

“Oh c’mon!” You giggle and get up to follow him, “Not even a little peck? Just put your hand on my ass!”

“I would rather keep all my limbs attached, thank you very much.” Peter says as he trouts up the stairs.

“You’ll like it!” You call up after him with a laugh.

“That was never in question, sweetheart! I just like my head on my shoulder and not on Roman’s mantle.”

“It’s my mantle, too.” You mutter, going up the stairs after him and heading to the master bedroom in hopes of avoiding Annie before she left for the day.

You had taken an angry nap until noon and then went downstairs to your office to get some work done. It was during this time that Jane, Roman’s new housekeeper after Anna, informed you there were some nice cuts of meat that would be going bad soon, and if you’d like it for dinner that evening.

“That sounds wonderful, Jane. Thank you.” You replied, peering at her over your computer screen.

“Would you like to ask Mr. Godfrey if he would like steak for this evening? Or if another night would be better?” Roman was known to work late, so this question wasn’t unreasonable to ask.

“I’d call him and ask, but unfortunately I am about to hop on a conference call and don’t have a spare minute. Would you mind calling to ask?” You asked in your sweetest voice.

“Of course, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Anna gave you a smile before she parted from the room.

You sighed, and went back to your riveting game of solitaire.

That night with burgundy stained lips, you sat at the head of your long dining table waiting for Roman to return for work. The beautiful reclaimed wood table that you had excitedly picked out at an estate sale that you had seen Annie sitting on just two days before. Swinging her legs like a child and eating a peach while letting Roman ogle her as the juice dripped down her flawless skin. You had slammed the front door so hard that the frame shook.

As you guzzled down your third glass of Merlot, Peter kicked your foot. A silent plea to slow down, so this evening didn’t explode with your loose lipped temper. But, you paid him no mind. You mostly just thought about how much you hated Annie for making you hate her. Hate her, and Roman. Because, really, you weren’t one of those women who stewed in jealousy or was in a constant fear of their partner cheating. Maybe that was because Roman had always been clear in his devotions to you. Sure, his eyes would wander when an attractive woman passed, but you knew he never acted on it. You had a trust in him that had never wavered until now.

You didn’t want to be one of those women who hated other women or demonized them for having your boyfriend’s attention. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend that men could point at and make stereotypical remarks about your possessiveness and label you “crazy” because of your actions in this scenario behind the three of you… but you were near the end of your rope and the woman had barely been staying with you two weeks. You were starting to question that unmoving trust you placed in Roman and it made you sick. All you could hope was that you were wrong… or at least that Peter would have told you if something happened between Annie and Roman by now.

Half way through your fourth glass, the front door sounded open and in sauntered Roman, with Annie in tow.

“Nice of you both to join us,” Peter teased, though you saw a split second of panic cross his features. You knew he didn’t want to play into your paranoia and had just done so unwillingly.

“Oh yes, we just happened to run into each other in the driveway,” Annie said, throwing a beaming grin over her shoulder at Roman who offered her a smile.

“How coincidental,” You offered over the rim of your glass.

Everyone in the room darted their gaze to you, clearly surprised that you had decided to end your silent streak.

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Annie replies, her smile still intact, “Now what’s all this then?”

“Jane noticed some food that was going to go bad in the fridge and offered to make a nice meal for us.” You said evenly.

You remembered when us just meant you and Roman.

“How thoughtful,” Annie said, looking to Jane who thanked her quietly.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) was a great help with it as well,” Jane said, opening another bottle of wine as you had almost polished off the one she had originally opened for the evening.

Ms. (Y/L/N). Not Mrs. Godfrey. You were easy to be rid of, exiled at a moments notice.

Jane was been modest. You had sat with her while she cooked and idly chatted, handing her utensils and chopping up garlic, but nothing else. You were sure she was trying to get Roman to take notice of your efforts, which you thought was sweet. You hadn’t come out and explicitly talked about your problems with Roman to Jane, you were sure she had figured it out on her own.

See that Roman? Your housekeeper knows more about what’s wrong than you do!

“Well, thank you, (Y/N). It looks wonderful.” Annie said.

You might have even thanked her through gritted teeth, had Roman not just pulled out a seat for her and gently pushed it back in. Instead, you settled back into your discontented humming and poured what was left of the original bottle of wine into your glass.

Peter could sense your inebriation level bordering on dangerous, so he quickly raised a glass in distraction.

“Let’s make a toast! We don’t get to have such a fancy dinner this often, y’know?” He smiled through his unease, and if you weren’t almost five glasses deep you might have even caught the desperate looks he was throwing you.

The please-for-the-love-of-god-don’t-start-a-fight-with-me-here looks.

“Well, how about to (Y/N) and Jane? For making this feast?” Annie offered, raising her glass to match Peter’s.

“Yes,” Roman said, his voice tight, “To (Y/N). And Jane of course.”

His eyes bore into you, both of you on opposing heads of the table. He raised his wine in the air like he was challenging you to a game you weren’t sure the rules of. You had never felt so uncomfortable in his presence ever before, and suddenly the idea that something was really wrong between the two of you seemed more plausible.

You raise your glass to your honor, but don't cheer’s anyone, just simply place the glass back to your lips.

Everyone then went around dishing out food on their plates and passing bowls to each other. Annie was always sure to pass to Roman first and he was always the first to offer her what he was holding. You felt like you and Peter were intruders on the romantic dinner that you had cooked for them (well, helped cook).

“Oh, I have some of Pryce’s plasma left in the fridge, do you want any?” Roman offered to Annie as she took a dish of mashed potatoes from him.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Thank you,” She accepted his offer so meek and polite you almost gagged.

Maybe this was meant to be? She was the perfect little wife for Roman after all. Sweet, attentive, was just subversive enough to seem interesting, an upir. The latter was likely the best contender for why Roman would be kicking you to the curb soon. It made sense, they were the same and she was new. And don’t all men want some new pussy after a while? You were no stranger to Roman’s reputation, and you had been reminded by many a peer of his serial adultery in the past… you had just hoped he’d outgrown it when he fell in love with you.

Roman came back with the plasma and leaned over Annie’s shoulder to fill her glass. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath at his closeness and watched as she glanced up at his face, which was mere inches from her own.

You ground your knife hard into the porcelain of your plate, and the sound broke her from her Godfrey trance. You pretend nothing happened and put a green bean in your mouth.

You tuned out the table’s conversations about their days and recent events, feeling isolated and somber. The wine was no doubt contributing to your sadness, but the residual feelings of neglect and rejection were getting to you. Because if Roman really cared, wouldn’t he have pulled you aside by now and just asked you if you were alright? Why you had been avoiding him, why you wouldn’t kiss him goodnight or good morning? Or did he just truly not care at all? Had you been replaced so easily?

You continued to sulk and play over a fictional break up in your head when a topic caught your attention.

“Any news on Nadia?” Annie asked as she swallowed a piece of bread.

Not the baby. Not your baby. Not the child. But Nadia. This woman who was trying to usurp your place in Roman’s life while you were still very present, had just again spoken your daughter's name. Like she had the fucking right.

Before Roman could answer, you pushed up from your seat, again causing all eyes to attach to you. You walked over to the fridge and obtained an old bottle of steak sauce (that you didn’t even want, you were just angry) and returned back to the table with a scowl.

And it seemed this most recent outburst was Roman’s tipping point.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He bellowed, throwing his hand in the air with similar fervor.

“Nothing.” You replied with a snap.

“Sure as shit fooled me! Because you’ve been acting like a fucking brat for the past week. So, why don’t you share with the class what’s on your mind, hmm?” Roman leaned back in his seat and dramatically gestured for you to speak.

“You wanna know my problem, Roman?” You bit out.

Peter was likely already planning his escape.

“That’s what I said.”

“My problem is that if you bring one more whore into this house, it’s gonna start to feel like a brothel. And I am far too young to be a madam.”

And there it was. Grievances were now aired, and unfortunately in front of your two house guests.

Roman’s jaw tensed and flexed as he stared you down, “Peter. Annie. Would you excuse us?”

Both stood without any more prompting and scurried to the stairwell as you and Roman continued to glare at each other in silence. When you heard the twin sounds of doors shutting, Roman finally spoke.

“So you’ve been a fucking nightmare because Annie is staying here? Are you kidding?” He scoffed.

“Don’t belittle me,” You ran a hand through your hair and looked away from his piercing gaze.

“What? Like you just did to Annie?” He motioned to where she had sat.

“Oh,” You mock, “Roman, her knight in shining armour. I’m sure it’s hard to save her when you’re up on your high horse.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about this fucking obsession you have with this woman! This obsession your culviating right under my nose and in my home.”

“Are you fucking serious?” He spits.

“Yes, I am. And don’t play so god damn naive. If the roles were reversed, you would have thrown a fit by now! Fuck, a fit! Fuck any amount of tantrums I could even begin to think of throwing! You would have murdered someone by now.” You seethed.

Roman looked at you with a bewildered expression, his eyes bugging and his mouth agape, stuttering for words, “So, you’ve really just been jealous? Fucking Christ!”

“Like you wouldn’t be if the tables were turned.”

“Fuck off about if the tables were turned. We’re talking about you, not me.”

“No! We are talking about you, Roman. This is just as much about you as it is me.” You shout, “And it has everything to do with the tables being turned. Because if I invited a man to stay in this house -- our house -- and all he ever did was fawn over me and I batted my eyelashes at him and giggled at everything he said while in nothing but a towel you would give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Roman snarled.

“Can you tell me with absolute and utter certainty that if I offered some guy a room, then spent all my time with him, had little inside jokes with him and touched him, you wouldn’t be angry?”

Roman doesn’t respond, just resets his jaw.

“So, if this man told me how beautiful I was, flirted with me and would never shut up about how similar we were, you wouldn’t be mad?” Roman just clenched.

“What if you started to suspect that I was fucking him, huh? What if you started to think about him inside me? Kissing me? Making me cum? Making me--”

Roman’s fist connecting with the tabletop cut you off.

“Enough! You win, OK? I would hate it, alright? I’d fucking kill him.”

“Thank you! That’s all I wanted. I just wanted you to see my side of this fucking story. Why I have been so mad.” You deflate against your chair, though you know this fight is far from over.

“And you didn’t just tell me, why?” Roman inquires.

“Because you should have known! I know that sounds ridiculous and I can see you rolling your eyes, but you should have known that I was upset and asked me what was wrong.” You said, tears bubbling up, causing your throat to constrict.

“I did ask you! I asked you this morning.”

“Yeah, in front of fucking Peter. Like I was going to tell you then… and you didn’t even mean it when you asked. If I would have told you, you would’ve just yelled at me and made me seem like I was crazy. I wasn’t going to open up to you when I already thought you thought I was being stupid.”

“You thought that I thought? Jesus… I have no idea what you want from me…” Roman sighs, reaching around the back of his chair to retrieve his cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“I want you to hear me when I say that having Annie here, a woman who so clearly wants to fuck you, bothers me. A woman who you are clearly attracted to, a woman who is clearly attracted to you. It hurts me that you’re letting her stay here, especially when you didn’t even ask me if she could.” You were barely holding off the overflow of tears from your eyes at this point and you knew the second you started to cry this would all be over. Because you would start to blubber and Roman would get irritated that you couldn’t get a word out.

“Let me get this straight: I’m attracted to Annie, she’s attracted to me? So I’m going to have sex with her? And what? Leave you? Is that right?” Roman puffs around his cigarette, the condescension in his tone unbearable.

And your dam broke, the tears threatening to breach your lash line were flowing freely now. Why Roman wasn’t able to just see that something was hurting you and help change, was beyond you. You decided right then and there that you refused to let him have the satisfaction of watching you cry. You were done, for an unforeseeable amount of time.

“You’re so fucking mean.”

You sucked your teeth loudly before pushing up from your seat and heading for the front door.

“C’mon, what are you doing now?” Roman groaned, turning to watch you leave over his shoulder.

“I’m done. I’m going to Destiny’s.” You said curtly, taking your purse and keys from the hook in the entryway.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m done, Roman.” You slung your purse of your shoulder and clutched your keys tight.

“What for tonight or forever?” He asked like he was calling your bluff.

“If you can’t understand why I am so hurt, then I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“Hey, woah, what?” Roman’s voice was startled as he got up from his seat and rushed to the door, “No, you aren’t leaving. This conversation isn’t over.”

He planted a large hand on the door handle, preventing you from opening it. You could feel his hulking figure behind you and you wanted to shrink under his size, but stayed strong.

“Roman, move your hand.”

“You’re not fucking leaving. Let’s just talk this out, OK?” He bargained.

You tried to pry Roman’s long fingers from the handle, but even with all your might working to untangle their hold, he was just too strong.

“I’ll listen, OK? I’m sorry, just let’s talk. Let’s talk about this.” His knuckles were turning white below you. You could see his bones threatening to break the surface of his reddening skin.

“Are you going to listen to me, or just dismiss and make fun of me? Because if you do Roman, I’ll just go out the back door.”

“I will. Promise.” He sounded sincere. Maybe now that he knew you were serious, he was more receptive to what you had to say.

You turned to press your back to the door and look up at him. The fear on his face was surprising to you. You hadn’t expected him to be so scared at the prospect of your leaving, he sure hadn’t cared that you were around since Annie arrived.

“I’m mad at you.” You stated frankly.

“Yeah, I caught that.” He sighs.

“I don’t like how you act around Annie. It’s disrespectful to me. I’m not a woman who cares when you look, but when you start to flirt and threaten to touch? I’m done, Roman. I’m not kidding.” You raised your eyebrows as Roman listened intently.

“I never touched.” He swore.

“Yes, but you’ve flirted and “innocently” touched. Flirted, touched and now you are starting to look at her like you looked at me.”

“I have never looked at her the way I look at you.”

You scoffed, then pantomimed his love lorn expression for him, clasping your hands over your heart theatrically.

He just rolled his eyes, “I’ve never looked at Annie like that.”

“Trust me, you have.” You say, ducking under his outstretched arm to walk back to the kitchen.

“Baby…”

“Don’t baby me, I’m still pissed.” You started to gather the abandoned plates to put in the sink for Jane.

“Then what can I do, huh? How do we work this out?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Let me just ask you something,” You abruptly turn from the sink to face him, “Do you want to fuck her?”

Roman sucks in a deep intake of breath and opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly.

Your tears threaten once more. You already knew his answer was yes, though all but hearing him say it was worse.

“Ok, let me ask you something else. Have you slept with her?”

“No! Absolutely not, baby. Never.” Roman said, taking a step toward you.

“And why should I believe you when I know that you want to have sex with her? Hm?” You crossed your arms.

“Because you know I love you. Because you know that I can’t even stomach the idea of my life without you,” Roman says, his tone frighteningly serious.

You look at him for a long moment, his eyes pleading for you to speak while you collected what you wanted to say next.

“Do you want to leave me for her?” You finally said, trying your best to sound collected.

“Baby, hey--”

“No, just listen Roman,” You took a breath, “Because, you know, if you wanna be with her, be with her. Just do it. Don’t string me along because you’re scared of losing more people. Because I get it, I mean I do. She’s an upir, you’re an upir... You have shared experience and she can teach you about what you are and just… Roman if you leave me just don’t be a pussy and cheat on me. Just break up with me.”

Roman looked at you bewildered and once again stammered for his words. For a moment, you were planning on looking at the price of U-Hauls; on how long you could stay with Destiny before you were intruding; if you would stay in Hemlock Grove because it was less expensive or just go straight to shopping for places in Philly?

But Roman doesn’t sigh and tell you it’s over. He doesn’t let you down easy or even scream and stomp his feet.

He just says:

“I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life. Family, friends, whatever. It doesn’t matter because you win. You always win. I’m not breaking up with you, alright? Jesus fucking Christ, nothing sounds worse to me than that.” Roman takes a long stride toward you to look soulfully into your eyes.

“Yeah, I think Annie’s hot and yes, she’s an upir. So fucking what? I’m not going to leave you because of that! I could give a shit about either of those things when you’re right under my nose.”

Your pick at your nail polish as you listen to him, feeling embarrassed. But Roman doesn’t let you wallow as he tilts you by the chin to look at him.

“I should’ve asked you if she could stay, I’ll admit that. I shouldn’t have been so chummy with her, either. And yeah, I probably should’ve just asked you why you were being so fucking moody. But you should have told me what was wrong without pouting.”

“I just wanted you to come to me and ask… for some reason I convinced myself if you asked me what was wrong, it was a sign that you still loved me.” Saying it out loud made your face heat uncomfortably.

“I love you, but that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Roman chuckles.

“Don’t be rude,” You huff, pushing him gently by the shoulder, “Letting another random woman stay here was the real stupid thing.”

“How about we call it a draw?”

“I think I can handle that…”

“Ok, then it’s a deal. I’m sorry, you’re sorry, it’s all good.” Roman pinches your chin lightly to hold your face in place to place a soft kiss to your lips.

You hadn’t kissed him in days, and the feeling made you whimper.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest crazy lady?” Roman asks, his breath dusting your mouth with a smirk on his face.

You push him again, with more strength this time.

“I don’t like when Annie mentions Nadia. She is our daughter and hearing that woman say her name makes me go into like, hyper lioness mode and all I think about is punching her.”

Roman’s eyes widened.

“I do not need another woman sticking her nose in our business with our daughter. May I remind you that’s how we got into this whole mess in the first place?”

Roman sucks in a deep breath through his nose, “That’s fair.”

“I already miss her, I don’t need some woman who’s trying to hop on my boyfriend’s cock talking about her.” You were starting to get angry again.

And fucking Roman, he just smiles.

“Hearing you call her our daughter, calling me your boyfriend, all while being on a little jealous rampage? I gotta admit baby, it’s got me hard as a rock.”

“It always comes back to your weird primal possession,” You roll your eyes.

“Eh, you knew that from the beginning.” He shrugs.

“You’re still not totally forgiven, y’know?”

“Yeah? And what do I have to do to get out of the dog house, baby?” His smile turns devious.

“I want Annie out of this house,” You began.

“Done.” Roman cups your face as he started to walk you back toward the counter.

“I don’t want you seeing her without someone else present, or without telling me first. Not because I don’t trust you, but because--”

“--You don’t trust her. Got it,” Roman says, firmly pressing your lower back to the marble slab now.

“You know I have an intuition about these things,” You purse your lips in a pout as Roman begins to trail kisses across your jaw, “You should really be thanking me. I just know Annie’s going to turn out to be bad news. I have a feeling.”

He laughs, “Is there anything else, baby?”

“Yes…” You pause, “I want an inground pool. You promised me one when we moved in and the plans keep getting pushed back. I want to go swimming.”

“I’ll get the plans drawn up tomorrow,” He sucks on your pulse point.

“And you have to buy me as many bikinis as I want, designer ones, and I don’t want to hear one peep out of you about the price.” You crane your neck to give him more access to continue his sweet assault on your skin.

“I’ll leave you with my credit card so you can order as many as you want.”

Roman moves from your neck to look down at you, his cocky persona flickering for a moment so you can see the sweet eyes of a lovesick boy hoping for forgiveness.

“Like I don’t already know the number,” You smile, letting him know that it had been granted.

He groaned, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I love you, too.” And you reached up to kiss him fiercely.

i hope you enjoyed! this was fun to write, i love writing a moody!reader lol. if you did enjoy, let me know with a comment or reblog (: ‘til next time, ily! *lets hope third times the charm and this ends up in the tags lol

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Text

Fic Friday: Respite

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Been playing a lot of FFXIV lately, so of course all the handsome men from it are taking up space in my head. I’ve written for a couple before in short form for Kinktober, but this is my first official one-shot for anything FFXIV. Took a good deal of cutscene study to pick up proper word usage/speech patterns, but I also got to listen to Aymeric, so that’s a plus.

Summary The Warrior of Light looks forward to some relaxation of sorts with their favorite denizen of Ishgard upon returning from an adventure.

Tags/Warnings Consensual Sex, Creampie, Established Relationship, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Sex

Respite (F! WoL Reader/Aymeric de Borel)

Upon returning from yet another duty - the list of tasks both mundane and daunting assigned to you seemed insurmountable sometimes - you were looking forward to the hospitality oft afforded you in Ishgard. Hospitality likely borne from all the aid you had lent them and your standings with many prominent figures of Ishgardian society, but hospitality nonetheless. Of course, there was a particular hospitality you were most greatly anticipating, and it was that which you would tend to first.

You began by asking some of the stationed soldiers if the Lord Aymeric was in. Several of them had no clue, leaving you increasingly frustrated. Eventually though, you came across a man who could confirm that, yes, the Lord Commander had recently returned from some business and instructed you where you might find him.

So off you set, with a renewed spring in your step and a trembling anticipation that was a struggle to contain. It was obvious even to simple passersby how much more your mood had changed compared to when you had initially returned to the city, particularly brighter than after questioning the previous soldiers. Excitement overflowing or not, you tried to contain yourself, managing to not break out into a sprint through the stone cobbled streets and alarm the city folk.

At last, you pushed open the last doors you expected to separate you and your reunion with the Lord Commander. The sight of the man in all his armored elegance greeted you immediately, and you tried to the stifle a grin. For a split second, Aymeric de Borel remained unaware of your presence, engaged in conversation with an Ishgardian official you didn't recognize off the top of your head.

The sound of the doors and your boots on the ground though drew the attention of both elezen swiftly, however, and they glanced towards the interruption. You noticed a nearly imperceptible flicker in Aymeric's stunningly blue eyes as he saw who had arrived. But he was practiced in self-restraint, too, and the shift in his eyes had been all that spoke of his truest emotions. The smile that curled his lips, while pleasant, held the warmth acceptable of the standard pleasantries expected of him.

"Have I come at a bad time? I can return later, if must needs be," you said tentatively.

You knew Aymeric would be loath to turn you away - he hadn't seen you in several weeks thanks to various business that preoccupied either of you. Though you knew he took his responsibilities seriously, and you also didn't want to interrupt anything important.

Aymeric shook his head gently. "We were nearly done. You needn't go," Aymeric informed you, turning back to the other man. "Pray, keep me informed. I look forward to word of progress in the near future," he said with a respectful bow of his head.

With an agreeing nod and a few more words you didn’t bother to try to catch, the other man turned to take his leave. You moved aside courteously so as not to bar his way, and the pair of you exchanged cursory passing pleasantries. Then he was gone, leaving only you and Aymeric in the chamber.

Once Aymeric was certain you were alone, the initial spark of excitement you had spied in his eyes grew many fold, the blue tumultuous as stormy seas in his mirth. You hadn't doubted for a single ilm Aymeric would be happy to see you, but seeing the warmth and sparkle in his eyes was always reassuring. "I've news for you of my latest task," you started, tone level and business-like. A flash of disappointment darted across Aymeric's face at the prospect you had dropped by merely for the sake of business alone, as often the case unfortunately was.

"Though I find myself rather...tired from the trip. Would my Lord allow me a brief respite before my report?" you inquired, tone growing more coy. It was a bald-faced lie that you were tired, laced with an underlying subtle hint. A hint you doubted would go over Aymeric's head.

"Ah, of course. Come, come, allow me to escort you somewhere you might lie down for a time," he responded with a gentle sweep of one hand, moving closer to you. He lay a hand over your shoulder, as if to guide you in the right direction.

In the public eye, Aymeric might not even have laid that same light hand on you, appearances mattering as they did. You had shared many a more-than-pleasant private moment, yet still it seemed imperative that what you shared remained hidden from the rest of the world. And as much as a part of you would have loved to declare your affections for Aymeric to the very streets of Ishgard and all who might listen, you didn't mind keeping things quiet.

You fell in step with Aymeric, or as much as you could with his long strides, the featherlight touch on your shoulder settling just a bit heavier, slender fingers splaying more relaxed over you. As you went, you made a quip here or there, telling snippets of a story from one of your more fun adventures, knowing how well Aymeric enjoyed them. True be told, you did actually have business that required reporting at some point, but it wasn't urgent, so it could wait.

Several minutes whiled away as you spoke, taking in the subtle smile on Aymeric's lips that made your own grow with each moment and getting lost in the man before you, as you were wont to do in his presence. You came to another set of solid wooden doors and paused. Aymeric, gentleman as he was, quickly pushed them open before you, with a slight 'after you' motion. You took the invitation, walking into the room, certain to put a sway in your step, knowing he would watch all the way.

Following, Aymeric sealed the doors behind you, turning locks into place and double-checking they were secure. Too many close calls and interruptions had made the both of you wary of ensuring doors were actually locked. If an emergency occurred, they could very well tell either of you through the door - without catching you in a compromising position.

Satisfied the locks were secured tight, he turned to you, and the sparkling cheer in his vivid blue eyes darkened, pleasant still, but intense and a more raw. You made no move towards Aymeric, acting as if the act of fussing with various straps and buckles of your gear was far more interesting. Or mostly, at least. Aymeric seemed entertained enough watching you make slow progress, though wasn’t content only to watch for long.

"Might I lend a hand?" he asked, making his way toward you again. You huffed exaggeratedly and feigned ignoring the Lord Commander further. "Though perhaps you would rather struggle and do away with what little time we possess," he ribbed in a playful voice.

Arriving by your side, he didn't wait for your permission before he set to work assisting you, holding bits of leather or cloth or metal in place to make removing them easier or making quick work of various buckles and ties. With Aymeric's help it wasn't long before you were standing in the room - which you observed was a warmly decorated room appearing to be one of the more affluent guest rooms - hidden scarcely by your small clothes.

Aymeric didn't follow suit at first, instead reaching out toward you, while you, too, pressed yourself in closer, now free of your restrictive adventuring gear. Large hands spread across your back and over your rear, pulling you flush. The touch of his ornate armor plates here and there was cold, as if they had trapped the frigid air from outside, and you couldn't help but shudder. You quickly brushed off the sensation, in favor of leaning into Aymeric's embrace until your face hovered next to his.

There was a moment that internally went on forever until your lips met, in a way far more eager and passionate than before. It had been some time since you met the Lord Commander for a private moment, and all the pent-up desire came pouring out as soon as his fingers brushed over your skin and small clothes. Aymeric, too, seemed eager, but showed more restraint all the same. Sometimes his restraint was admirable, and you were jealous, though other times you wished, nay, longed for him to throw his restraint to the winds.

As you kissed, beginning mostly closed but fervent and a bit messy, Aymeric's hands stroked in light lines and circles over the skin and cloth they rested on, making you squirm impatiently. You grabbed handfuls of the cloth of his armor and tugged lightly, as if to convey your frustration at how he was still dressed head-to-toe.

A smile twisted your kiss, and he took the lead to deepen it, distracting your grasping hands. He relished your impatience and enthusiasm, even if he more oft than not didn't give into it immediately, even when your time together was fleeting. But it was always worth it in the end.

In an ardent rush of motion, you were suddenly beside the bed, with Aymeric urging you down to the sheets. He followed you down, though didn't immediately join you on the bed. You whined plaintively when he separated from the kiss and took a step back from the bedside, taking his warm touch with him. Your noise of complaint was silenced effectively though as he worked through discarding his own armor.

After a process that took far too long in your eyes and asked too much of your patience - or lack thereof - Aymeric had stripped away the pauldrons and plates and cloth, carefully setting it all aside. Left only in his own small clothes, through which you could easily see his arousal strain, he at last joined you on the sheets. You moved up and back until you lay more securely on the sheets. Meeting you at the head of the bed, Aymeric pressed himself over top of you, his lips crashing back to yours.

In that moment Aymeric's admirable restraint frayed somewhat, as if he had shucked it off along with his armor. His lips pushed against yours more fervidly, his tongue trailing your lips and slipping between them when given the chance. You groaned, more than pleased to meet him in a twisting, passionate dance. Strong hands clasped you by the wrists when you moved to wrap your arms around him and you whined again.

When Aymeric broke the kiss again, it was to tip his head up and laugh gently, a warm, soft sound that made you shiver and rub your thighs together. "My, what troubles you, my love?" he asked, pretending an innocence that was ruined by the low, sultry timbre of his voice.

Half-lidded eyes stared down at you with a burning, affectionate intensity you had seen before. Even before you had come together, you had caught glimpses of it in Aymeric's eyes, mistaking it at first for only the admiration between friends and warriors-at-arms. But you could see it now for what it truly was. Between it and the desire making Aymeric's eyes dark and stormy, your breath nearly caught in your throat. But you shook off the awed stupor, focus returning to Aymeric's question.

Your lips curled into a pout before you spoke. "However can I touch you like this?" you complained, pushing against his unyielding grasp as if to emphasize your words.

Another amused, rich laugh met your question. "Ah, but you well know how your touch affects me," Aymeric rumbled. He dipped down until his lips ghosted the shell of your ear. "Pray, grant me some dignity, won't you, my dearest?"

You shivered again, snaring your lower lip between your teeth and biting down as if it might quiet the heat and pulse growing in your underwear. You freed it quickly when the hot touch of his tongue curled over your ear, followed by a coy nip on the lobe that made you gasp.

"Aa-alright, fine," you groaned out, bowing up unbidden into his body still pressed snugly to yours.

Your fingers flexed greedily, itching to break free and and draw your nails along his shoulders and back, or tug his lips back to yours to entangle you both in another mind-numbing kiss. But you yielded, making no attempt to escape his hold, and his grip shifted. Gathering both of your wrists in one large hand, the other was left to trail down your skin. A light touch dancing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, before pausing at the top of your small clothes.

Pulling the fabric down to free your chest, he set to massaging each breast in slow, almost lazy motions, lingering to brush a teasing thumb over steadily standing nipples. You groaned his name softly, closing your eyes and basking in the sensation, letting your head fall back against the pillows and arching up into him once more. You whimpered when he pushed back, letting you feel each hot, hard inch of his body, the most intimidate parts of you hid away by scant scraps of thin fabric.

Your eyes had fluttered shut without meaning to, so keen you were on relishing the feeling. When they fluttered back open and you met his gaze, another roiling wave of desire hit you square in the gut. There was something more intent, sharp, primal, smoldering in the desire-deepened irises and wide blown pupils as he watched you lose yourself in the pleasure he provided. You swallowed hard, stifling another pleasured coo, and a mischief of sorts flashed through the swirl of emotions in Aymeric's expression.

His hand on your chest slowed until it was toying with each nipple frustratingly lightly, alternating between the two. You squirmed and whined, craving the more thorough touch from before. Aymeric's new touch was pleasant, but the bare brushes and strokes made you feel strangely over sensitive. You struggled reflexively against his grip again, not really trying to break free, whining his name in that same plaintive tone from before.

"Aymeric, was it not you who stated how short our time together is?" you tried to reason, knowing it was a wasted effort.

"Mm, it was, and I am enjoying such precious time to the utmost," he assured you. "Do you not share that sentiment, my dearest?" Aymeric added, as if daring you to speak otherwise.

Your face, already hot, flushed furiously further, equal parts flustered and frustrated from the game Aymeric was playing. He didn't enjoy teasing you quite so much, no, not so much as he enjoyed hearing how much you needed him in plain words. So he persuaded you to beg or demand of him what you wanted.

"Aymeric..." your tone was mock warning, serious but breathy, trying to deflect him half-heartedly, and hoping he would give you what he knew you wanted, but he wouldn't be so easily dissuaded.

He bent forward, continuing to teasingly massage your breasts, mouthing at the soft flesh of your throat and shoulders. "Tell me then what more you would ask of me?" he urged you. His teeth scraped against the column of your throat, and you groaned again.

By then, you were a ruin, skin abuzz with heat and desire and his fleeting touch. Your underwear felt damp and sticky, your arousal soaking it through, leaving an obvious wet spot on the cloth. Each little push sent you tumbling further and further, grinding down your resolve until you gave in at last.

"Pray, cease toying with me," you began to beg. "Fill me; I need to feel you inside of me, now. Nothing else will do," you finished, almost surprised at how thick the desire had made your voice. You tried to turn your head to reach Aymeric, to convince him more with what few kisses you could leave across his cheek and jaw despite being held down otherwise.You wriggled and ground your core against his needily, as if to prove your point. "Please, please."

"Who am to I deny you when you ask in a voice so divine?" Aymeric answered in a husky hush.

He released your wrists, though shot you a pinning stare that made you think twice about moving from your prostrate position. You settled for watching him sit up and move down your body, hooking his fingers beneath your underwear and dragging them down. You assisted as much as you could, and he discarded them to the side of the bed. Before removing his own underwear, he paused, dark eyes focusing on your newly revealed cunt, dripping and slick and inviting.

He drew one long finger up and down your slit until the digit was coated in your fluids. He withdrew it, raising it to his lips and somehow making a show of licking it clean seem refined. A deep, pleased hum rolled through him, and Aymeric turned to rid himself of the last article of clothing keeping him from you.

Just as your sopping cunt had drawn Aymeric's gaze, the sight of his erection, thick and hot and hard, crowned by a fat pearl of pre-cum. drew your attention. You licked your lips in anticipation, resisting with all you had to remain still and not sit up and reach for his cock. You wore that eagerness on your face readily, though, and another pleased laugh slipped from Aymeric's lips.

He shifted forward, covering your body with his again, though this time when his hips ground against yours, his erection slipped lewdly through your lips and you moaned; Half in the pleasure of feeling him so very close to the hottest part of you, half in anticipation, nearly shaking with it. But even though Aymeric had agreed to grant to your desires, his pace was leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, rather than hardly a bell to spare. One hand reached up again to bind your wrists, despite how obedient you had thus far been.

Aymeric's other hand strayed to your face, cupping your jaw between his fingers. He tilted your head until it lay at the perfect angle for him to seal your lips together again and drink deep of the passion between you. Your eyes fluttered closed again as his tongue swept coyly across your lips, persuading you to let him in.You were all too glad to let him though, and as he slid his tongue into your mouth to explore and dance once more, he eased his hips forward, too, until his cock breached your folds and pressed into your awaiting entrance.

You would have moaned his name in gratitude for at last fulfilling your desires, in appreciation for the delicious way his cock sank deeper inside, but with your mouth preoccupied, you settled for a wordless groan smothered by his lips and tongue. Though the sensation of him stretching your walls was what you had craved, a sweetly maddening fullness that you would think about again when your duties took you far from Ishgard, it stung as well. Aymeric was no small man, and his thick cock filling you ached in a way that somehow melded exquisitely with the pleasure.

His tongue swept up yours, beginning to writhe and twist as he rocked his hips steadily against you, eliciting yet more muffled moans. You bucked up into his thrusts, longing for him to fill you up all over again each time his cock retreated, leaving so much of you feeling empty. The heat in your body had reached a fever pitch, breaking out on your skin in a slick sheen of sweat, and Aymeric, despite all his slow, precise actions, fared little better. His skin pressing into yours was just as slippery and hot, adding to the obscene sound of your bodies meeting.

The steady rhythm of Aymeric's thrusts, though increasing in force as time wore on and whatever willpower he had left dissolved, unwound you slowly, but surely. Your fingers and toes curled and flexed, and your chest rose and fell more quickly, breaths shallow. Around his cock your walls squeezed just as eagerly and as desperately. A familiar coil of pressure and heat in your belly was hard to ignore, blocking out all coherent thought, leaving you to worry only about chasing the high that was so close within your reach.

Throughput your coupling, Aymeric had spent much time matching the thrust and twirl of his tongue to his rocking hips, as if in imitation. The kiss had grown sloppy, wet, and hot, and when he tore his lips from yours eventually, his breath came in hot pants along with yours. He placed several more needy, desperate kisses on your jaw and your neck, the ragged sound of his breath informing you he was nearly as close to losing himself as you. Though he seemed determined not to do so before dragging you there first.

"Come now, my dearest, I want to feel you come to completion," he breathed huskily into your ear, finally releasing your jaw as one long arm trailed down between your bodies.

You whimpered and moaned aloud, barely having the sense to bite down on your lip and stifle the bawdy noise, lest someone in the corridors outside hear. "Oh, Aymeric, I-I..." you trailed off, mouth hanging open and forming a wordless 'oh' as all the pressure and heat came to a head when his fingers stroked through your folds and massaged your clit.

All you could do then was repeat his name, over and over, a ragged, breathy pray under your breath, as if you might completely drift away from the mounting bliss if you didn’t speak it. The build up reached its limit, and the coil snapped, and Aymeric's lips descended on yours again to quiet you as you cried out in earnest, unable to stop yourself. The rush that flowed through your body was liquid heat, searing and tingling. Your digits curled so tightly they ached, and your cunt fluttered frantically around Aymeric's cock. The pull of your body and the instinctive roll of your hips against him were Aymeric's siren song, luring him to the point of no return.

His moans, low and feral, rolled through him and died on your tongue in a reflection of your own. He drove himself harder forward, as if he might sink even deeper, fingers still dancing over your clit and dragging out your orgasm. After several desperate thrusts that filled the room with the obscene smack of sweat-slicked flesh colliding, Aymeric met his peak and tumbled over, each new pump into your heat filling you with ropes of cum. He pumped himself into your core through your orgasm and his, his grasp on your wrists tightening enough to make you gasp and wince through your pleasure.

His pace died away smoothly, each thrust weakening after he spent himself within you, until he lay still atop you, a heaving, sweaty mess. He lay his head in the crook of your throat, damp strands of ebony hair clinging to his forehead and tickling your skin. The startlingly cool touch of the earring he wore brushed your overheated skin, and you weren't sure if the sensation was pleasant or not. Even spent, his cock took a time to soften, occasionally twitching inside of you and making you start each time.

He withdrew gingerly, and a stray trickle of cum seeped down your thigh. Rolling over off you and onto his back, Aymeric pulled you along with him, urging you to settle yourself against him. Drained and sated, you rest your head in the same hollow of his throat as he had done to you moments before, placing tired, half-hearted kisses there. Splaying your arms across his chest, you were tempted to close your eyes and slip into a peaceful sleep. Someday there would be time to relax and laze for bells on ends, but wasn't one of those times and your fun had nearly reached its end.

Beside you, Aymeric seemed to be fighting off the same need, though was coming to the same conclusions as you, too. There was much to be done, and it didn’t matter how badly he wanted to remain in bed beside you. But he would ignore those duties for just a little longer. He sighed softly, curling an arm around you and pulling you a little tighter to him.

#writing #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #ao3 #archive of our own #fic friday #nsft #n/s/f/w #reader insert

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feelinglikecleopatra · 3 years

Text

setbacks

so, here goes nothing.

i’ve never posted my writing here before but i’ve been feeling inspired recently and i thought if at least one person likes this it’d do wonders for my at-an-all-time-low-because-of-the-pandemic-and-all-round-hellfire-year self-esteem. it’s a lil somethin’ somethin’ i wrote after re-reading crooked kingdom (and reading the entire works of @anonniemousefics, s/o).

summary: kaz and inej negotiate their demons. a short continuation from the docks scene at the end of ck.

have at it!

high overhead a gull was diving for some unsuspecting tourist’s pretzel but kaz was too distracted by the swing of inej’s hair to notice. he straightened his tie and, with a smile pulling at his mouth, followed her down the quay.

she was flying. while her feet barely touched the boardwalk, kaz struck a more measured pace, matched by the even cadence of his cane. he looked down at his cane, his bad leg, the scars over his knuckles and frowned. she had asked him to meet them, she wanted him to meet them. he repeated the thought over again. she wanted them to meet him. even clad in most of his armour. she was not ashamed so neither should he be.

still, the waters lapped at his feet.

up ahead inej’s voice pitched forward in a flurry of suli spoken into the crook of her mothers neck. kaz understood only snatches at a time but the joy on her face, on that of her parents’ was plain as day. it was a balm after days of distance he hadn’t known how to close.

his gaze flicked to the ship. the answer to the question, how to keep inej? don’t hold her too tightly.

it had been obvious, really. he’d known all along. that didn’t mean it’d be easy to watch her sail across the horizon. he would, watch her go, that is. the memory of her palm, warm and dry and gloriously alive against his, the sign of a deal struck.

“mama, papa, i want you to meet someone.” inej turned and held out her hand to him. the sun was no match for the brightness in her eyes when kaz curled his fingers around hers and stood by her side. “this is kaz.”

“mr. brekker?” her father’s brows were dark and full, the furrow between them a perfect match to the one between inej’s. kaz nodded dumbly, his words lost somewhere in the feel of a bare hand in his. “i think it is you we should thank, no? for bringing us here.”

kaz looked down at his twined fingers and reeled himself back in. “no thanks necessary. your daughter saved my life. more than once, i might add. i’m still settling the debt.” he could feel inej building up to correct him but rather than wait for her to do so he gestured to the city behind them and continued, “since this is your first visit to kerch let me be the one to tell you, welcome to ketterdam—the city of dreams.” and nightmares, he didn’t add. kaz felt certain inej wouldn’t approve of that.

“there’s so much i want to show you,” inej breathed, her smile almost splitting her face.

kaz wondered about that. although he knew (hoped?) she wasn’t ashamed of her life in his city, the battles she had fought and won on the streets and rooftops of the barrel, those weren’t the kinds of things his suli saint would share with her parents.

of course, he had other things to do. between taking over from haskell, setting up his new shop on the lid, and taking full advantage of rollins’ absence, he’d be neck-deep in paperwork and barrel messes for the foreseeable but he spent hours with the ghafa’s just to find out which version of ketterdam inej would let her parents see.

it was a revelation. that inej possessed the ability to walk through ketterdam as if she had no idea of the putrid, degenerate understory that pulsed behind every decadent facade still surprised him. it shouldn’t, not any more, but it did.

it was a terrible deja vu. kaz knew she saw it too. the wide, doe-eyed look of her parents as they took in the canals, the teetering, multi-storey houses rendered in cheerful pastels, the hawkers promising them their wildest fantasies. he tried to unsee it, to see them only as themselves but he, dirtyhands, had seen them now. there was no undoing it. there was no use in undoing it. if he had seen it, so had others.

for the entirety of their walk around the lid, kaz watched inej struggle with how to shatter the illusion without breaking their hearts in the process. between pointing out the landmarks, the sights and smells of ketterdam, she slipped in warnings and precautions, which streets to avoid and when, signs of trouble or crooked business. when they asked her how she knew all this, she joked, “too much time in the wrong company.”

when they sat down for waffles, inej ran out of evasions. the server disappeared behind the counter and all around them the early afternoon thrummed. seizing the privacy of background noise, her mother took her hand, took a breath, and let loose. tears filled the older woman’s eyes, spilled over her lashes, and landed on the ringed tabletop. inej’s father wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and placed his hand atop theirs, love and guilt all too apparent in his dark eyes.

kaz didn’t need to speak suli to know what was happening and he felt himself recoil. he shouldn’t be here. he had no right to witness this. he didn’t want to be witnessing this. inej had offered him her vulnerability time and again, moments he held closer than his most cherished grudges but this was another thing entirely. inej was crying. hot tears rolling down her cheeks. kaz couldn’t breath around the anguish in her voice as she spoke the few words he could understand, “mati en sheva yelu.”

what could she possibly be apologising for?

the ache it caused in his chest almost pinned him to the chair but he pushed against it and rose. if he stayed here he might vomit or throw something and that’s just the opposite of what inej needed.

kaz grit his teeth, knuckles white, the crows head of his cane digging painfully into his palm. his rage was a wounded, flailing animal. there was no one to direct it at, no scheme to hatch, or revenge to plot. the peacock would get what was coming to her, as would the slavers and barrel bosses on inej’s growing list. so here, now, kaz was useless, just a boy in a good suit and scars.

he needed to get out of there.

the bell above the door jingled obnoxiously as he pushed his way onto the street. his hand, gloved once more, was wrapped in some poor skivs collar before he had a chance to think. the lad had made the mistake of stepping on the toe of kaz’s polished shoe at a moment of blinding self-loathing. lips peeled back from his teeth, kaz snarled, “learn to use your eyes or i’ll put them in a jar.” the boy whimpered. “do. you. understand?”

“yeah, yes, of course, i’m sorry, please don’t hurt me. i didn’t mean—”

kaz all but threw him to the ground. the fear in the boys eyes was familiar, it slid in to replace the pain kaz had seen in inej’s. this was kaz brekker, dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel. not above meaningless acts of cruelty. the boy inej was in the process of apologising to her parents for associating with. kaz shrugged on the feeling like a favoured coat—well worn if a little snug in the shoulders—and headed in the direction of home.

his room in the slat was all shadows and sleep seemed far away.

kaz had worked late into the night, hunched over stacks of bills and contracts and intelligence until his back had raised a complaint. that new place on the lid would need work if it was going to bring in the kind of marks he intended for it. perhaps, he thought, it might even form a branch of his operation with inej.

inej.

the shadows seemed to mock him, altogether too empty of her silent presence. what was he thinking? he didn’t want her here, in his room. kaz groaned into the darkness. the old lie, that it’d be better when she was away at sea, tasted bitter on his tongue.

abruptly, kaz sat up. if sleep was off the table there were other things he could be doing with his time. he’d never been a very committed sleeper anyhow. ten minutes later kaz was pulling on his boots and heading out the door.

the night was unusually cold and kaz hiked his collar against the wind that ruffled his hair, tugged at his breath. he smiled. bad weather’s good for business. nothing pulls punters into the club like a bite of wind.

pim and keeg straightened as he approached. “what business?”

“wouldn’t you like to know. have either of you seen milo?”

“he’s inside, watching the floor,” pim gestured with a thumb.

“and who’s watching him?”

“anika. she’s been breathing down his neck all week,” keeg snorted. “won’t let him out of her sight since—”

kaz knew the crew talked about his coup, about the way their fellow dregs had come at him with knives and bats and cudgels, the things he’d said to them but they never did so in his presence. he didn’t socialise. he didn’t joke. kaz kept money in the coffers and kept their enemies at bay. he’d made it very clear, he wasn’t their friend.

“good. now, eyes front and centre. i don’t want to see anyone just walking past here—not in this weather. no ones choosing this over the home comforts of the club, understand?”

they both snickered but nodded. “got it, boss.”

the moon’s face was a pale smudge against the dome of the sky, offering only the illusion of illumination between the flickering gas lamps of the city. it was in this metropolitan semi-darkness that he felt her approach.

a shadow separated from the rest and inej stood before him.

kaz’s breath caught when she pushed her hood back. she looked up at him with limpid eyes, wide and expecting. his mouth opened, “following me, wraith?” inej sighed and cocked her head. why was he like this?

he didn’t know how else to be. kaz had thought long and hard about what he was without his armour and the answer was, afraid. he’d become a barrel boss, fear was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“what do you want from me?”

inej stepped closer, into his space, and his breath caught, again. “you know what i want, kaz. the question is, what do you want?”

“i’m a simple man, inej.” the words felt strange and foreign. he knew it was because they were a lie, few were quite so complicated as he. “i want—”

“why did you leave today?”

he looked away.

“why buy me that ship? my indenture? why bring my parents here? if—if you cannot even tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed. kaz, look at me.” he could refuse everyone but her. “i’m not upset that you left.”

“you’re not?” he couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“no.” the word was wrapped up in a rush of breath that sounded almost like a huff, almost like a laugh. kaz titled his head and frowned down at her. “of course not. kaz.”

“yes?”

“i do not begrudge you your weaknesses,” she said. he couldn’t stop his eyes from falling closed. how does she do this? cut him to the quick. “i will have you without armour, or not at all.”

“i’m trying,” he rasped.

inej nodded, she knew that.

he flinched when he felt her small hands slide up his chest. she stopped moving immediately and he opened his eyes. “go on.”

inej’s smile reminded him of warmed treacle and like any good misdirect, it distracted him from her hands smoothing over his shoulders, from her body pressed flush against his.

“is this okay?” she asked, eyes dark and earnest.

he hardly knew but he nodded anyway.

his heart took up a ragged beat, the waters lapping at his ankles, up to his shins.

she was so close. she was impossibly far.

kaz made plans, schemed and strategised, that was his nature. every penny of his haul from the van eck job was assigned and accounted for but this, inej in his arms, had been the measure of his desires for longer than he dared acknowledge and now that she was here he didn’t know what to do with her.

she was so small, lithe and perfect, against him. he let the hand not resting on his cane come up to rest between her shoulder blades, pressing into the fabric of her cloak. the moon limned her hair, her eyes, the inky fan of her lashes in silver. dark and deep and watery.

the waves rose. his breath stalled in his lungs. he almost pulled back but then—

“they liked you.”

she caught him. the sound of her voice was a tether to this moment, to the whisper of her breath against his neck, the heat of her body through the layers of their clothing.

“they also thought you were a little strange, too pale and solemn.”

“we can’t all be blessed with your sunny disposition.” the words spilled from his lips like kvas from the bottle. kaz clenched his fist, his jaw. “inej.”

“kaz.”

“did you tell them about the menagerie?” he watched her with a lock-picks attention, one eye on the door and the other on the haul. it was maybe too much, too soon. she had become his tether but he hadn’t yet figured out how to become hers.

the fabric of her cloak shifted against him as she let out a breath. “yes.”

how did you find the courage? he wanted to ask.

“why?” is what came out.

the slightest tremor rocked her before she pressed the fingers of her right hand into the rough wool of his collar, a solid pressure against his neck. her eyes closed. she was holding him to steel herself.

oh, how he ached.

“because they asked and because i needed to tell them.”

the fingers of the hand she hadn’t wrapped around his neck caught the lapel of his coat as if to hold him closer. i’m not going anywhere, he wanted to say.

with her attention focused on his chest, she tilted her head. the sight of her pulse, fluttering in the hollow of her throat, pushed a wave of longing through him so powerful it almost sent him to his knees. the memory of his mouth on her neck was fresh like morning dew.

as was what happened afterwards.

kaz’s mouth worked around things he wanted, no, needed to say. “inej.” she looked up at him and in the generous well of her gaze he found just enough courage to say, “you must teach me the secret to your bravery because there is so much i want to tell you, so much i want to do with you but i am afraid. afraid that i am not, that i cannot be, enough for you. afraid that you will become just one more thing i had and lost, one more thing i was never meant to keep.”

the look she gave him then, made kaz feel richer than a king. here she was, the only treasure he never had to steal, smiling at him like he’d gifted her the moon.

inej tapped a slender index finger against her pursed lips and said, “you’re a notoriously poor student.” he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. “but, you show promise. perhaps, kaz brekker, we can teach each other.”

#soc #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #leigh bardugo #fanfiction #my first soc fic #be kind #i just wanted to find out what happened after he met her parents #kanej exorcising their demons #i'm not sure if i have inej right #or kaz for that matter #if a scene where they just say each others names back and forth made sense i would write it #i'm working on my characterisation #making people recognisable and distinctive is hard you guys

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Love, Misunderstood (FE3H)

Sylvix | Modern AU | Fake Dating | Teen So, here’s the thing: Felix doesn’t date anyone that isn’t his sabre.

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A/N: I wrote this for the Sylvix Server's Secret Santa Event last year. Read here on AO3 for better quality! And follow me on Twitter here! @Satodee1 on Twitter drew an AMAZING fanart for this fic as well! I cannot believe I've been blessed so. Please take a look here and give them a follow!

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Let go the fear of falling in love.

So, here’s the thing: Felix doesn’t date anyone that isn’t his sabre.

One, there isn’t time. By day he’s almost a professional athlete with dozens of fencing titles to his name, and by night he’s a business student double majoring in Marketing and Finance. His days are full of workouts and conditioning, a carefully maintained diet, and when the sport isn’t on his mind, his academics are.

Two, there’s no interest. None. Whatsoever. Felix has never once looked at another person and thought, Yes, I would like that one.

Which brings him to his current problem: there’s an annoyance in his face that some might think is pretty if they liked overly bleached hair and heavily lacquered nails. Gum pops in her mouth. She twirls a long tendril of hair around a finger like the love interest from a nineties sitcom.

Felix doesn’t just hate; he loathes and despises. Less so the girl and more so at being perceived as a romantic option. He feels as though he does a pretty good job selling the fact that he’s entirely off of the market, even going as far as snarling at hopefuls. Apparently, some people are just infuriatingly stubborn.

Or maybe just oblivious. Felix is starting to lean towards the latter, watching carefully as the girl stares back at him, dreamily.

“So, like,” she says, punctuating the words with a giggle, “I’m a big fan. Of you and you know, your fencing.”

Felix is a hundred percent sure that she has no idea what she’s talking about. What he says instead is, “I’m studying.” Neat and simple, and not even mean. Hopefully enough to fend her off. He’s almost proud of himself.

She blinks at him like she’s trying and failing to process what he’s just said. “So, that bout last weekend,” says the girl, relentless in her pursuit. “You really honed in the touches, winning before the time limit.”

This surprises him; maybe his earlier assessment is incorrect and she’s honestly a fencing fan. Felix meets her gaze and she stares back, smacking her gum, hair still wrapped around her finger, and eyes glinting.

Right, no, she’d just done her research.

“Thank you,” says Felix because he’s not entirely an asshole. “But as I said, I’m studying, so if you would--”

“It was truly riveting,” continues the girl, clasping her hands before her. “Your form is just exquisite.” She says the word like he’s a prized pig.

Felix is losing his patience, his fingers tightening around his pencil and squeezing tighter and tighter. It might snap under his grip. It’s happened before.

“Look,” says Felix, his tone hardening just a modicum, “I appreciate--”

“So, how about grabbing a bite to eat together?” asks the girl, batting her eyes at him in an exaggerated flourish.

Felix opens his mouth to say something rather nasty, but he’s interrupted by someone dropping into the chair next to him. “Darling.” An arm finds its way slung around his shoulder and Felix goes rigid. “I’m sorry that I’m late; got stuck in traffic. You know what rush hour is like.”

It takes everything for Felix to not grab the man’s arm and break his wrist.

Before he can do so though, the man looks to the girl and says, “A bite to eat? All of us? Group dates are always fun.”

The girl, to her credit, looks about as flabbergasted as Felix feels. “Um--”

“Unless you meant alone with my boyfriend?”

Felix immediately starts, turning to look at him incredulously. “Boyfriend--”

“My mistake,” the girl apologizes immediately. “I didn’t, um, realize that you… Anyway, thank you for the chat!” And with a wave, the bleached-blonde bimbo takes her leave.

Felix whirls onto the man next to him, immediately shrugging out of his grasp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The man is lightly tanned, cheeks dusted with a spattering of warm freckles. His hair is auburn and unruly, curling wildly around his forehead and ears. His smile is crooked, a dimple forming at the left corner of his mouth. Handsome, if Felix likes people. He doesn’t, he reminds himself.

“Saving you,” the man says. “Really, she just wouldn’t let you go. It’s astonishing really, I could feel the leave me the fuck alone vibes radiating off of you from across the shop.”

Felix blinks at that. “I didn’t need help.”

“I think that you did.”

“I didn’t,” repeats Felix, unable to let go of his stubborn need to get the last word in. Glenn used to say that it was the best and worst part of him.

“You could have just told her no.” The man pauses, thumbing at his chin as though he’s amused. “You don’t seem the type to be nice and gently let someone down.”

Felix isn’t; he’s the type to throw books at people instead, and be brutally blunt about what he does and doesn’t want. “I was distracted,” he finally says, “I’m studying for an exam and she just caught me off guard. I promise you, had I been on my game I would have done far worse.”

The other man cocks his head to the side, watching him, and Felix already hates the calculating gaze. “You really go all in, don’t you?” he asks. “Just no fucks given as to what people think about you?”

“I’m not here to date, I’m here to go to school.”

“How boring,” says the man.

“I like boring,” says Felix.

There’s a beat and then, “I’m Sylvain.” Sylvain holds his hand out for a shake. Felix stares at it as though it might bite him, but Sylvain waits patiently. “You owe me at least yours.”

There isn’t a chance in hell that this man doesn’t know who Felix is; his face is plastered across every Garreg Mach University billboard this side of Fodlan. Still, Felix has been raised with manners and he can hear Glenn rolling over in his grave.

Felix hates manners but sucks it up.

“Felix,” he says finally, still ignoring Sylvain’s hand. “Thank you for the help, but I don’t need it. Now leave me alone. I don’t have time to entertain jockstraps like yourself.”

Sylvain eventually puts his hand down and watches Felix for a long moment. Felix doesn’t like the slightly amused grin that seems permanently attached to his face. “Got it,” says Sylvain eventually. He stands and throws his bag back over his shoulder. “Then this jockstrap will take his leave.”

Felix almost feels bad, prompting him to say, “My appreciation is honest. If you hadn’t stepped in I might’ve snapped the girl’s neck instead.” He expects him to run off at such vivid imagery, like so many do.

But instead, Sylvain just throws his head back and laughs, before leaving him be.

“Do you like Adrestian Barbecue?”

This one cuter than the last, pert little nose and wavy locks of brown framing her face nicely. Felix still isn’t remotely interested. “I’m studying,” he says, trying his best to sound at least polite. He’s not very good at it, but the woman pays it no mind.

“This’ll only take a moment,” she says. “I’m wondering if you’d like to go get lunch or something? There’s a great new place that’s just opened up off of Twenty-Fourth Street, and--”

“Babe,” someone cuts in, leaning over Felix’s shoulder, their cheeks barely inches from each other. Sylvain, Felix’s mind supplies before being annoyed that he’d remembered. Felix hadn’t seen him in the shop for a few weeks. Sylvain to his credit doesn’t sling his arm around and immediately drop into the chair without permission, he just hovers next to him. Waiting.

A slight improvement.

“Sylvain,” says Felix. Then pauses, unsure how to continue. He swallows and then, “You’re late.”

Sylvain chuckles. “Traffic.”

Felix huffs, a little emboldened. “That’s the excuse you used last time.”

“And it’s still true,” says Sylvain.

“Um,” says the woman who’s been interrupted. “I was trying to ask--”

“My boyfriend to lunch,” cuts in Sylvain. “Yes, I saw that. I can barely get him to go out with me, what makes you think that he’d have a go with you?”

Felix’s eyes nearly bulge at the aggressive raking. Sylvain seemed like a nice man the last they met, but perhaps Felix has underestimated him. It sounds like a jab straight from Felix’s book.

The woman’s mouth falls open and she gawks but quickly recovers. “Right,” she says. “My apologies, I’d thought-- Never mind that. Have a wonderful day Mr. Fraldarius.”

Felix cringes as she turns and walks away.

“Mr. Fraldarius,” drawls Sylvain, falling into the chair next to him. “I really do have a habit of coming to rescue you.”

“I didn’t need to be rescued,” says Felix, acerbically. “It isn’t my fault that you insist on butting in where you aren’t wanted.”

“So, you wanted to go grab lunch with her?”

Felix closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets out a frustrated grunt. “Absolutely not.” Sylvain doesn’t say anything, just watches him with unwavering patience. Eventually, Felix says, “Look, I appreciate your willingness to help, but--”

“You know, I could just pretend to be your boyfriend and they’d leave you alone for good.”

Felix blinks and then he scowls. “What?”

Sylvain shrugs, noncommittal. “You study here nearly every day. I study here too. I finally stepped in because you seem to get attention all of the time and it does nothing but annoy you. Seriously, people have no boundaries.”

Felix wants to tell Sylvain that he has no boundaries either, but decides not to fuel the fire. Instead, he says, “There’s no reason for you to help me, you would gain nothing from it.”

“Some peace and quiet. Do you know how hard it is to focus on schoolwork here when women and men are trying to approach you? I come here for the quiet, not to watch the latest episode of Blind Date.”

Sylvain has a point; the people who approach him tend to be rather loud about it. Felix thinks about the proposition for a moment. “No,” he finally says. “You don’t have to study here. Go elsewhere.”

“It’s preferable to my dorm,” says Sylvain, not bothering to elaborate. “And, I think that’s why you study here as well. You hate people and would do anything to avoid them entirely. Even if it means studying in public.”

Felix cringes because Sylvain’s nailed it on the head; the general public is less invasive than Ashe is. His roommate is nice but needlessly curious. “I don’t need your help.”

Sylvain opens his mouth to answer but stops when the barista comes by their table. “Felix,” he says, smiling kindly. “I’ve brought you a refill, yeah?” He drops a take-out cup to the table. “Just let me know if you want more.”

Felix nods, his lips quirking the slightest bit. The boy has always been nice to him and unfussy. “Thank you,” says Felix, genuinely.

The barista leaves and as Felix reaches for the cup, Sylvain raises his eyebrows. Felix’s mood immediately sours. “What?” snaps Felix acerbically.

Sylvain points to the cardboard sleeve around the cup. Felix turns it around to find the barista’s name and number written in curling script. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” says Felix. But, at least the barista has the decency not to accost him publicly. Felix rubs at his forehead.

“Say that I take you up on your offer,” starts Felix, already wanting to pull them back, “what are you expecting in return?”

“Nothing,” says Sylvain. Felix meets his eyes, narrowing his gaze as he watches him carefully. “Honestly,” continues Sylvain under the scrutiny. “I also like to study in peace, but I don’t like to sit at tables alone. I work better when there’s someone else there, even if it’s not to talk.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” says Felix.

“So is every person on this campus thirsting after your mangy ass. It’s a mystery to me.” Sylvain bites back just as hard as Felix, it seems. Felix respects that, if only slightly.

��Fine,” says Felix. “But only because I’ve got tests coming up and I’m tired of being bothered.”

“It’s a deal then,” says Sylvain. “We study and pretend to be dating, reaping the benefits of a quiet and quaint coffee shop.”

“You’ll have to be convincing,” says Felix.

“So far, it’s worked.”

Sylvain holds his hand out to shake on the deal and Felix looks at it warily. Then, with a resigned sigh, he takes it. Sylvain’s hand is wide and warm, and it makes Felix want to pull away. He hates closeness and doesn’t do well with physical contact. When they part, Sylvain smiles and then finally drops his book bag from his shoulders, settling in.

Felix hopes to the Goddess above that he’s not making a mistake.

Felix wants to hate Sylvain on mere principle, but they fall into an easy companionship. Felix hates it, hates that he doesn’t dislike Sylvain. But, Felix doesn’t quite like him either, and it’s the last thread of hope that he hangs on to.

A week into the charade, Felix is still stunned by the fact that Sylvain actually studies. He expects Sylvain to joke or flirt incessantly. He hasn’t; Sylvain’s quiet when they sit at their table in the corner of the coffee shop, nose-deep in a math text.

Felix’s gaze narrows slightly when he reads the title. “You’re taking Calculus III?”

“No,” says Sylvain, eyes not leaving his book. He flips a page, looking bored. “It’s a prerequisite, so I’ve already taken it, but sometimes I have to revisit.”

“Already taken it?” Sylvain taps another textbook to the side and Felix’s eyes widened. “Ordinary and Partial Differential Mathematics?” Felix can not for the life of him, think of a degree that would require a course like this.

Sylvain hums. “Yeah, it’s my required math for this semester.”

“For a jockstrap like yourself?” The nickname has stuck and so far, Sylvain hasn’t stopped Felix from using it.

Finally, Sylvain looks up, eyes crinkling in amusement. “I like math,” he says simply, “and I’m good at it. It’s an easy course for me.”

Felix isn’t sure what’s easy about math that he doesn’t even grasp the purpose of, but Sylvain’s only proven himself to be a weird man at his core. Sylvain looks at Felix’s book in return.

“Statistics,” says Sylvain. Felix has a distinct impression that he’s not remotely impressed.

“A requirement,” says Felix. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t take math at all. But it’s part of a Business degree.”

“Business.” Sylvain snorts. “What a boring degree. Aren’t you here for fencing?”

“On a fencing scholarship, yes. There’s no future in a sport, though.” Felix narrows his eyes at him. “Something that you should probably learn.”

Sylvain’s got the build of a footballer, though, so Felix knows that he’s likely on that track. But, Sylvain doesn’t really talk about himself much, let alone his schooling. He has a tendency to watch people carefully with a gaze that’s far too knowing.

Felix never likes that look, like Sylvain’s mind is far away and thinking. A thinking Sylvain is likely a dangerous Sylvain. It’s always the ones you least suspect. Glenn would have been best friends with this dolt.

“What?” says Felix, annoyed.

“Nothing,” says Sylvain, turning back to his textbook.

Felix frowns but doesn’t push to ask more.

As the weeks pass, things shift from a tentative, peaceful study, into an actual friendship. Felix wants to hate it; a large part of him wants to loathe it because he doesn’t like people, nor does he like it when people admire him in return.

But, Felix has learned in their brief time together that it’s not all bad. Not every person who is friendly with you wants something in return. Being a Fraldarius has severely skewed the way that he views the general public, but Sylvain seems to have no idea what his roots are, thank the Goddess.

It’s led to a low-key relationship, full of quiet jokes and genuine care. Felix grudgingly accepts it.

Like always, Felix finds Sylvain holding their table in the corner, a cup of coffee already ordered and waiting for him. Bernadetta’s handmade mugs might be odd and a little bizarre, but they serve drinks all the same, even if it loses its heat more quickly.

Sylvain once berated him for his wasteful use of to-go cups and Felix relented without much of a fight. Much to his irritation.

“One large red-eye, black as your soul,” says Sylvain, pushing the cup towards Felix. “I think he threw in an extra shot this time.”

Felix grunts, noncommittally, drops his bag to the ground and slumps into his chair. The mug is hot to the touch, so it must be fresh, and Felix leans over to inhale deeply. Sylvain makes a gagging sound which causes Felix to glare at him.

“No judgment,” says Sylvain. Then he pauses. “Actually, a lot of judgment because only stone-cold dicks can drink that dredge--”

“Go back to the field,” snaps Felix, before taking a sip. It’s dark and bitter as it burns through his veins. Perfection, really. Sylvain just has bad taste.

“Always with the jock references,” says Sylvain. “At least you haven’t called me jockstrap yet.”

“Apt name for someone like yourself.”

Sylvian blinks. “What does that even mean?”

Felix huffs. “An athlete, you dolt.” He takes another sip. “You make fun of my sport enough that it's only appropriate that I do the same.”

Sylvain is quiet for a long moment and then he bursts out laughing. “Wait, wait,” he starts. “You think I’m an athlete? Why?”

“You're built like a footballer,” says Felix. “Infuriatingly tall and broad.”

“Not to say that jocks are dumb, or anything, but with my courseload what makes you think that I even have time to think about playing a sport?”

Felix thinks for a long moment, coming to realize that even with their burgeoning friendship, he knows next to nothing about Sylvain. He’s easy to get along with, they’ve fallen into an easy routine and Felix even finds that studying flies by with little to no thought by his side. Something about Sylvain’s quiet presence in the coffee shop makes it easier to focus.

Still.

“Wait, you don’t?” asks Felix. “Why didn’t you ever say--”

“I thought that you were just insulting me, I didn’t think that you actually thought that I--” Sylvain stops, laughing again. “I’m sorry, this is hilarious. It shows just how bad you are with people. Pure comedic gold.”

“You said you were on scholarship!”

At that, Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, an academic one. Astronomy and Astrophysics.”

“Astrophysics?” blurts Felix incredulously.

In retrospect, it’s painfully obvious, he thinks. Suddenly, the textbooks of differential calculus and other various maths and sciences he can’t pronounce make a hell of a lot more sense. He reaches out, lifting the book that Sylvain’s currently working from, eyeballing the title.

“Steller, Galactic and Extragalactic Astronomy,” Felix reads. Then he moves to the next. “Statistical Quantum Mechanics.” Felix meets Sylvain’s sheepish gaze. “You aren’t joking, are you?”

“I’ve wanted to understand the planets ever since I saw Star Trek as a kid--”

“Are you really basing your degree on a television show that you watched growing up? One that isn’t even that good?”

Sylvain’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, you did not just disrespect the best television show to ever have been created.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” says Felix. “I have an essay for Business Statistics, and it’s going to be hard enough to focus knowing that you’re doing experimental math over there.”

“Theoretical math,” says Sylvain, coyly correcting him.

“Whatever,” hisses Felix. “Honestly, being a footballer would be less annoying.”

Sylvain frowns slightly. “Than being smart?”

“What?” Felix scowls. “No, that isn’t what I meant. I don’t give a rat’s ass how smart you are, but really, Sylvain-- Star Trek?”

Sylvain lets out a long breath and Felix realizes that he must be used to being judged. Sylvain doesn’t have the typical look of a scientist when you think about it. He’s handsome and well built, looking like he spends more time on a beach than a mechanics lab.

Felix has the decency to be at least a little bit embarrassed for assuming, not that he’d publicly admit to it.

“Look, just go back to your book,” says Felix. “I’ll go back to mine. And if I have any math questions, I’m going to expect your help.”

At that, Sylvain lets out a little chuckle, different from his usual boisterous laugh. It takes Felix a moment to realize that it’s a genuine moment from Sylvain, one where he’s let down all those walls he’s carefully put up.

It seems that he’s even more guarded than Felix is, something of mild interest. If Felix took an interest in things. He doesn’t, he thinks, but it’s more like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Alright,” says Sylvain. “But I don’t know how much help I’ll be. Simple math confuses me more than this does.”

What a ridiculous thing to say, but it’s not as annoying as the way that Felix’s mouth twitches into a near smile.

In the aftermath of Felix’s assumed snafu, Sylvain makes irritating strides to get to know Felix better. Irritating, because Felix has come to learn that he likes spending time with the genius of a chump, be it lunches between classes, or dinner after their study session. A variety of low-commitment activities that are usually full of small talk that Felix is angered he doesn’t hate.

“Just to be more convincing,” said Sylvain, doing most of the talking like always. Felix was inclined to agree, considering that Annette told him that Sylvain wasn’t his type and the idea of the two of them together seemed frankly, odd.

“I don’t get what the issue is,” says Annette, one day that seems like eons after Felix struck his deal with Sylvain. It’s past winter holiday and creeping into the spring, warm enough to catch a snack at the crepe stand after Annette’s yoga class. “Are you bothered that you like to spend time with him?”

“No, that’s not--” Felix pauses. “I’m not good at making friends.”

“We’re friends,” says Annette, shoving a mouthful of crepe into her mouth.

Felix wants to remind her that they met after she asked him to dinner, and it was the one time he’d said yes. It lasted about thirty minutes before they both decided dinner was a bust and went bowling instead. Annette kicked his ass, looked pretty while doing it and he’d felt nothing in return.

Instead, he says, “You're persistent.” It’s half-hearted and he doesn’t really mean it, but Annette’s cheeks puff up anyway.

“Oh, Felix! You’re evil,” huffs Annette, but she never stays mad at him for long, turning her attention back to her food.

“Sylvain is… different,” says Felix, as they sit down on a bench.

Annette nods sagely. “I mean, yeah, isn’t that why you like him?”

“He’s sufferable.”

“I mean, I’ll admit, he’s an odd choice and definitely not your type but--”

“Wait, Annette,” says Felix. “Do you think that I actually like him? As in romantically?”

She blinks at him, confused. “I mean, don’t you?” asks Annette around a mouthful of food. She’s never been very ladylike, but it’s a breath of fresh air at the end of all things. Normally it would endear Felix. But.

“ What?” snaps Felix, eyes immediately narrowing. “Of course I don’t, this entire thing has been a ruse to get people to leave me alone.”

Annette chews at her food thoughtfully for a second and then says, “But you enjoy spending time with him.”

“I’ve made that apparent,” says Felix. “It vexes me.”

“You’ve admired how smart he is.”

“Infuriatingly so, but it’s useful when we study.” Felix pauses. “Don’t tell him that I said that.”

“You spend your free time with him,” says Annette, gesturing at Felix with her crepe. “This is the first time I’ve seen you face-to-face in like a month, but you go out of your way to see him every day.”

At that, Felix starts, mouth snapping shut as he thinks. Annette’s right, he does go out of his way to spend time with Sylvain. And if they can’t meet properly, it’s texting. Sylvain’s usually the one to greet him in the morning with a corny horoscope that neither of them believes, but still laugh about. And Felix is usually the one to say goodnight, even if it isn’t warranted.

It feels wrong if they don’t share words at least once a day.

“Annette,” says Felix.

“Hm?” hums Annette, cheeks bulging around the last bite of her crepe.

“Am I in love with him?” It’s rhetorical, of course, and dreadful in tone, but Annette answers anyway.

“Would that be a bad thing?”

“No,” says Felix, mouth parted in awe as though the heavens had just been explained to him. Or, Sylvain explained theoretical warp theory and Felix finally understood it. That’ll never happen, but--

“I love him.” The words come easier than he expects and they fill him with unexpected warmth. He wants more of it. He’s also afraid of it, but if there’s anything that Felix is good at, it’s striking something head-on with force.

He hasn’t lost a fencing match in nearly three years.

Annette, blessedly, is quiet for once, just watching him process his feelings. And when he’s done, when Felix comes to his conclusion, she asks, “Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” says Felix, and it’s honest and true, and strangely welcome. He hasn’t felt this good in years. Certainly not since Glenn passed.

“Good,” says Annette, “Now go kiss him.”

Felix’s answer is dumping the rest of his crepe directly into her lap, the loss of his snack well justified.

Because Felix’s life is apparently a romantic comedy, he expects things between him and Sylvain to become awkward.

It doesn't. In fact, everything is disgustingly normal. They keep their study dates, emphasis on the study part. Sylvain still greets him with his coffee order, and on the few occasions that Felix beats him to the shop, he greets Sylvain with his ridiculous white mocha, extra whip.

There are a few differences, Felix supposes.

When Sylvain leans over to help with a math problem, Felix turns to him. They meet eyes more often than not. Felix willingly covers Sylvain’s dinner, which raises an eyebrow because he’s notoriously stingy.

But, if Felix seems off, Sylvain never mentions it or broaches the topic. It’s aggravating, how easy it is to just keep to the routine. And it’s not that Felix doesn’t want more; ever since his talk with Annette, he finds himself entertaining the idea further.

He’s done a lot of thinking. Sylvain’s handsome, there isn’t a doubt about it, but that’s not what pulls Felix to him. Sylvain’s smart as a whip and doesn’t mince his words. And yes, he puts walls up and dances about things personal, but Felix does the same.

And lately, Sylvain’s started to pull those walls down, comfortable in Felix’s presence.

No one’s ever comfortable around him and Felix is struck by how much it means. Feelings are hard and love is even worse. Felix isn’t quite sure that it’s worth it.

But, he hasn’t written the idea entirely off.

“Felix?”

Felix blinks. “I, er--”

Sylvain’s mouth tugs slightly downward at one side. Concerned. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

“Fencing,” blurts Felix. “The big tourney coming up.”

“You mean the one two weeks ago?”

Okay, so, Felix has been more distracted than he cares to admit. It’s all Sylvain’s fault. “Sylvain, it’s nothing. I’m just tired. School is draining. The usual.”

“Tired,” says Sylvain, unconvinced. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed and watching Felix carefully. Curse Sylvain’s perceptiveness and his ability to look right through people.

“Look, Sylvain--”

“Felix Fraldarius,” drawls another voice. They both turn to find a familiar face framed by bleach blonde hair and twirling a lock around her fingers. There’s the snap of gum in her mouth as she chews open-mouthed and unflattering.

Immediately, Sylvain is on the defensive. “Hey--”

“Hold it, golden boy,” says the girl, “I know you aren’t really dating. Heard it one day after you grabbed a bite to eat.”

Sylvain’s face darkens. “Have you been following us?”

The girl makes a face at the accusation. “Ugh, as if. It was a coincidence, I swear, but what a wonderful one. Means that I’ve got a chance.”

Felix immediately bites back, hackles raised. “I already had little interest, but as of right now, there’s not even a remote possibility of you having a chance.”

“Is it really so hard to just give it a go? You might even like me.” She bats her eyes in a pathetic attempt to appeal to him, but all Felix can think of his tanned skin dotted with freckles and sun-kissed auburn hair.

“Doubtful,” says Felix, dryly.

It takes only a second for her features to change dramatically, from coy and shy to contemptuous and sneering. “I wonder why I even bothered,” says the girl, before nodding to Sylvain. “Clearly your taste isn’t as good as I would have thought. Haven’t you heard the rumors about him?”

Yes, ad nauseum. From friends, the general public, even Sylvain himself. His problems with women and dating, and commitment issues. His brother and father, and the pressure of family legacy. At first, from those around them who’d heard of their dating, who’d seen them hanging out. People who felt it their duty to warn Felix.

And eventually, Sylvain himself who’s recently opened up about the heavy baggage that he carries around, shouldering it without much of a complaint. If anything, Sylvain’s the one looking out for others.

So yes, Sylvain doesn’t have a stellar reputation, but there’s a lot more to a person than what’s seen on the surface. A lesson that Felix has spent the last half-year learning quite unwillingly.

“Do you think yourself superior?” asks Felix, eyes narrowing at her. “You have no concept of personal space, nor do you seem to comprehend the words ‘no’ and ‘not interested’. Sylvain could murder someone in cold blood and still have twice the worth that you hold.”

“It’s a wonder, why you would even consider him,” scoffs the girl.

“Obviously it’s because I love him and despite the terrible things the lot of you gossip about, he makes me perfectly happy.”

The table goes quiet, both the girl and Sylvain staring at him. Likely, for different reasons. Felix didn’t mean to say it so plainly, but he’s never been good at pulling his punches, even when it comes to verbal lashings.

Besides, she brought it upon herself.

And against all odds, Felix feels wholly and utterly satisfied, not a moment of regret at his confession. He takes a sip of his coffee, fingers curled around his mug tenderly, meeting her gaze head-on.

“You should leave,” says Sylvain, before the girl can even respond. She opens her mouth to retort, but stops when Sylvain smiles at her. Only it isn’t a smile, it’s a nasty-looking smirk, more like a wolf that’s about to pounce its prey.

Wisely, she backs off, huffing in annoyance as she turns and leaves.

And then there are two, sitting at a table in silence. Felix is oddly comfortable, sipping at his drink while Sylvain’s mouth opens and closes. Thinking about what he’s going to say. Felix supposes that he’s opened the inevitable can of worms.

“So,” starts Sylvain, “correct me if I’m wrong, but when you said that you love me, it sounded pretty genuine.”

Felix scoffs, he can’t help it. “I always mean the things that I say.”

He expects Sylvain to bolt, to run away, to want nothing to do with this. Instead, Sylvain smiles, small and real, regarding Felix with a kind of warmth that immediately sets him on high alert.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asks Felix, testily. But Sylvain only chuckles, soft at first and then louder. “Really Sylvain? You’re laughing? Right now?”

“Sorry,” says Sylvain, “It’s not actually funny-- okay, that’s a lie, it’s hilarious.”

Felix frowns, sneering defensively. “Is the idea of me loving someone, least of all you, so entertaining?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” demands Felix, exasperated. Sylvain’s not one to beat around the bush, but he can’t seem to find his words, too busy being amused by Felix’s feelings, to his utter embarrassment.

“It’s because I love you too.”

Felix’s mouth falls open because that’s the last thing he expects Sylvain to say. He doesn’t answer, gaping openly at Sylvain, floundering for an explanation. Eventually, Sylvain finds himself, clearing his throat slightly.

Sylvain looks to Felix’s face and then his gaze drops to where his hand rests on the table. Considering. Felix really hopes that he’s not planning on taking it, but Sylvain does, fingers tugging at his palm gently.

Felix lets it happen, settling on the explanation that he’s just not like himself at the moment.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, this time quieter and more serious. He thumbs at Felix’s knuckles, the touch soft and hesitant. “I’ll admit, I’m a little bit relieved.”

“I’m annoyed,” says Felix. “I’ve been annoyed since the moment I realized it because all I’ve been able to do is think of you. It’s infuriating in the worst of ways.”

There’s a moment that passes as they watch each other, Sylvain’s hand practically burning around Felix’s. And then, Sylvain says, “Felix, can I kiss you?”

Yes, Felix thinks. It’s such a foreign feeling that he nearly pulls away but he doesn’t. He’s determined to indulge. It’s about time he’s enjoyed something in his life.

So, what he says instead is, “If you must,” the words clipped but his usual crustiness softer than normal. It makes Sylvain smile at him again, looking at Felix like he can see right through him.

Sylvain leans forward smoothly, cupping Felix’s jaw in his other hand. He’s still looking at him, like he’s some sort of treasure, paused right before Felix’s mouth. And that makes Felix impatient.

Felix is the one to close the distance, sealing their lips together like a promise. Sylvain’s mouth is soft under his, but he responds eagerly, his han moving to the back of his neck. Felix has never really put stock into the whole sparks flew and things were felt nonsense. Turns out that he’d been wrong and that kissing is kind of everything. All he can think of is Sylvain’s presence and the solid weight of him as he leans in.

Sylvain licks into the kiss, but only just barely, coaxing a tad more than just a mild response from Felix. And Felix can feel his skin burning bright red with strain, or embarrassment, or maybe just the idea that they’re doing this in public.

He doesn’t care, Felix wants more, fingers curling into Sylvain’s shirt and tugging slightly.

Eventually, they part because breathing is necessary and even Felix requires air. Regrettably. He wants to go back in, to kiss Sylvain again, just one more time before he gains his senses back and thinks better of it.

But first.

“You know, I’ll kill you if you hurt me,” says Felix, fingers tightening their grip around Sylvain’s shirt.

Sylvain laughs, leaning close to Felix's ear and pressing a soft kiss there. “I know. But that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #felix x sylvain #sylvix #sylvain/felix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius

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prompts-of-a-dreamer · 3 years

Text

Dead Weights

Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader

You felt insecure about your recent acne breakout and worries what your boyfriend would think of it.

Tags : Hurt/Comfort, a little fluff and angst

Words: 1.5k

You remembered that day vividly, the scene never forgetting to replay in your mind every single night, as it was very important, and was one of the most beautiful things to have ever happened to you. Last night, a burst of joy and warmth escalated as the memory unfolds again.

°°°

You were nervous and fidgeting, not daring to look at the tall boy in front of you. You can hear his breathy, soft exhales in the silence of the moment. He hadn’t said anything, but you thought you knew what it was about.

There was no one around.

You’d left a piece of chocolate in his locker on Valentine’s Day, some weeks ago.

“(Y/n)…” he says, his voice low and as soft as a whisper. But there was a trembling vibrato in there. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, he was nervous. You caught it, but you didn’t know how to ease up the situation.

“Do you want to go to prom with me?”

The tense, icy atmosphere melted and the hallway was burning with heat. The moment was foreseen, but it still caught you off guard. Fictional sweats ran down your face and palms, you felt so hot you would’ve taken your clothes off, if it weren’t for Todoroki standing in front of you.

The moment was thrilling for him, too. His arm trembled as he reach out to offer you a bouquet of flowers. “There’s chocolate in that too…”

Your cheeks tingled, as you could not remember the last time you interacted with Todoroki. Ever since you left the chocolate in his locker, you’ve been avoiding him, picking the furthest seat away in the cafeteria and joining different groups for school projects. Mustering up all your courage, you tilted your face and looked him in the eye. When both of your eyes met, he wavered a little, pulling the boquet, glancing to the side for a second and then looked back at you.

The details of how you replied to his request were a blur, perhaps from the tension of the moment. But you’d said yes, stuttering and stumbling over your words just to accept the request. When you made your point clear, he took a deep breath of relief.

His lips formed a simper as he offered you the bouquet.

“So do you want it or …”

You sprang up and snatched the bouquet from his hands. “Oh! Um, yeah, sure!”

A silence passed as neither of you knew what to say.

Todoroki took a glance at his watch and said, “So, um, I’ll pick you up at … seven? Where’ll you be by then?”

Your mind was at a blank for the moment, so it took you a while to process your calendar events.

“Is seven okay?” Todoroki leaned down, thinking you couldn’t hear him clearly.

“Seven’s … good. No, great! I promised Kirishima to help him force Bakugo into his suit. I’ll be by the dorms.”

Todoroki grinned. “Don’t you think Bakugo would already be asleep by then?” he let out a chuckle as he turned around. “Seven, then.” You watched him walk away.

The night of the prom was mesmerizing. You wished you could relive every single moment of it. The nervous-pouting you did in front of the mirror, wondering whether you look good or not. The moment you walked down the stairs, when you saw Todoroki in his grey-black suit, holding yet another bouquet. The hot-tense atmosphere, the loud party, the food, the drinks. It was all very memorable to you.

“You look very beautiful,” were the words from his mouth that will stick with you forever.

°°°

That’s why it was a shock to you when you woke up and saw that your reflection on the mirror had an acne breakout. It wasn’t that bad, but it’s not unnoticeable.

A friend of yours had horrible acne, yet you always told her that it didn’t matter to you, that you’d still be friends with her no matter what. Those words were true, but they didn’t apply to how you feel about yourself.

You felt gross. And really annoyed at yourself. You couldn’t stop touching your face, picking at the bumps on your face. You just wanted to scratch them all off, like picking fruit from a bush, until you were left with nothing but porcelain skin.

But of course, that wasn’t how it worked. Acne medications need some time to work. No matter what you do, they weren’t going to disappear overnight. And people would certainly take notice of them. They looked like little red bumps on your forehead and cheeks. As you caressed your face, you felt them, like little rocks on a formerly smooth pavement.

None of your classmate’s opinions would matter, but there was one person, just one person that you didn’t want to see you like this. The person that should be the one that knows you most. Your boyfriend, Shoto.

Tears started to form under your eyes, so you grabbed a tissue to wipe them off. Looking at the mirror brought nothing but self-loathe. You averted your eyes to your phone, only to see a good morning message from Shoto.

The visualization of how you would feel if Shoto looked at you right now and changed his whole perspective of you was too painful. You fear the rejection, the shame, the loss. The vulnerability you were in had he seen you like this made you uncomfortable, so you chose to close the door of possibilities and walk away, avoiding the encounter.

You’ve avoided him before, a long time ago, before you were dating, and now you’re doing well at it, having remembered the strategy from memory. Ignoring his texts, sitting far away in class and the cafeteria, trying not to bring any attention to yourself. He tried walking up to you, but you turned away and stroke up a conversation with Mina, asking her to accompany you to the bathroom.

Shoto, of course, felt bothered by your attitude, but he didn’t know if he’s done anything wrong. He tried asking you about it, but you’ve avoided him with expertise, as if you’d done it before. Did he miss an important thing? The thought grew like a burden on his mind, but like the cold-headed man he was, he stayed calm and thought of a solution.

Night fell, and the clock hit 10. You’d been sitting on the lounge sofa, chatting with the girls. You’d confided in them about your problem, but they were kind and supportive, telling you that how your skin looks doesn’t ward off your beauty.

Their words encouraged you a little bit, and you decided it was time for you to go to bed. But something stopped you before you entered your room.

Shoto was sitting in the hallway, by your door. He looked like he’s been waiting for a long time, his head hunched over his knees, back slouching on the wall.

You didn’t know how to get past him, surely the sound of the door creaking would have him bolt upright. But you didn’t even have the opportunity to test out that theory, because he lifted his head, making eye contact with you.

You froze, not knowing what to say as he rose up from his hunched seat, slowly walking towards you. In a deep, raspy voice he confronts you.

“What’s wrong?”

Tears started to form in your eyes. You weren’t ready for his reaction, you never will be. And you’d thought to at least save yourself the embarrassment by breaking up with him, but you’d never want to break his heart like that. And it would hurt you more if he accepted it like it was nothing and hung out with another girl.

Shoto rephrased his words. “…Is anything wrong?”

“Look at my skin!” you said, almost a yell, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your eyes.

He stepped forward to take a closer look, swiftly grabbing your hand so you couldn’t back away. He examined your face thoroughly, as there was a long pause before he said his next words.

“…Is it the acne?”

“See, even you notice it! That’s how big of a problem it is! I feel so fucking ugly.” You wiped away some of the tears, only for him to lift his hand and caress his finger across your cheek, sweeping off the ones that remained. You felt horrible as his finger brushed past the bumps on your skin, wishing it was smooth.

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true-” He grabbed and pulled you close, hugging you before you could finish your sentence.

“No. It doesn’t matter. Not to me. You’re still very beautiful, you’re as gorgeous as when I first met you, you’re just as pretty as you were at prom.”

Your body was pressed up so tightly against his that his soft voice sent vibrations throughout your bones. You could feel his heart beating in his chest, his breaths softly chilling the hairs on the back of your neck and shoulder.

He continued,

“So don’t feel bad about how you look to yourself, baby.”

You didn’t say anything, but you stopped sobbing. He tugged, pulling you away, and your eyes met again. He smiles and says,

“If anything, I’m the one who should be angry, because you really thought I’d be that shallow to judge you based on how your skin looks? You’re still fucking beautiful.”

#todoroki #shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki fics #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha #mha #bnha fic #mha fic #todoroki headcanons #shoto

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bluemoonbeam15 · 3 years

Text

Let's Ride

I can't find any inspiration to write my actual ABL fanfiction for Wattpad so I'll just write short stories.

____________________

Dot watched Flik put the finishing touches on the leaf. Stripped pieces of a stalk formed bone-like structures along its frame, making it solid yet flexible for movement. "I think that should just about do it...," he mumbled and glanced over it a few more times.

The princess jumped up and grabbed a charcoal stick from the table, "Wait! We gotta make it perfect!" She scribbled on the leaf. Satisfied, she sat back and allowed Flik to hold it up proudly.

"Let's go give it to him."

********

"Hey, Hop!" Flik called out as he crossed the clearing. Hopper had pulled down one of the stalks to pick the grain off. "Take a break for a moment, we have something for you."

Hopper kept his hold on the stalk, not able to let go lest it backfire and snap off. "Uh...can it wait?" He fought to not let his grip loosen.

Flik waved his hand, "Nope, this is important." Dot flew up and nudged the stalk. Hopper fumbled to catch it again but it had already rocketed away and broke at the base. He slowly turned to Flik with narrowed eyes. The ant looked at the damage indifferently, "We'll worry about that later. Now! Close your eyes," he could barely conceal the surprise behind his back.

The grasshopper sighed and did as told, "Is it solitude? I've always wanted that."

Dot giggled, "No, silly. It's better than that."

"Can't imagine," he deadpanned. Flik walked behind Hopper with the leaf in hand.

"Okay, now, stay loose--"

"Loose?"

"Yeah, just, don't flinch away." The ant lifted the hardened wing on Hopper's left side, revealing the absence of the clear wing beneath.

When Hopper dared to peek an eye open at the touch, Dot bopped his head lightly, "No peeking!"

"Geez, alright...what are you doing, kid?"

Flik concentrated on lining everything up right, "You'll see." Carefully so as to not hurt him, he snapped the leaf in place with the magnets he'd found in the city. Praying, he took a step back and grinned at Hopper, "You can open your eyes now."

It took a moment, but after staring at the leaf on his back he realized what its purpose was. "Is this...?" Flik just nodded when the sentence couldn't be finished. Hopper stood agape and tentatively took it between his fingers to stretch it out. It had been written on too.

'Isaiah 40:31'

Hopper still couldn't process everything. The inventor nudged him a bit, "Go on, try it out."

He let the leaf fall back into place, surprised when he found it moved according to how he wanted it to. Hopper closed his eyes and jumped in the air, giving himself plenty of space to open his wings up. The action was shaky at first, and he half expected to hit the ground again. But nothing solid reached his feet. The grasshopper slowly blinked and looked down. Flik and Dot beamed at the success.

"Haha! It works!" the inventor shot a fist in the air. "How's it feel to be back in the sky, Hop?"

There weren't even any words. Even if he had wanted to say something, it wouldn't have enveloped the emotion in its entirety. Looking behind him, the leaf blurred in a beautiful hue of orange and brown. He dared to hover forward, finding the action a little off after so long of being grounded. Growing confident, he made small circles above the ants, the joy intensifying higher than he dared to fly.

Shakily, he landed and just as fast tackled the inventor in a hug. Flik smiled, waiting for Hopper to say something. His eyes widened when tremors coursed through the grasshopper's body and something wet landed on his shoulder. "Thank you," Hopper whispered and tightened his hold.

As much as Flik wanted to be happy for him, he found himself in self-loathing for being the one to bring Hopper so low in the first place. "I felt horrible for...well for everything that happened--"

"I told you before, Flik, you did what you had to."

"I know, but there are always multiple solutions to a problem." Flik looked at Dot as she sat beside Hopper, rubbing his back. He hoped she would learn from this, too. Hopefully, she'd find the best solution to her problems, instead of going with the easier route. And if all else failed, the least he wanted to teach her was how to give back what was taken. "This is my official apology for what happened. I miss that little catchphrase you had."

Hopper finally pulled back a bit, sitting on his haunches, "Catchphrase?" he vainly wiped the tears from his eyes.

"You know, the 'Let's Ride!' thing you'd call out to your gang," Flik tried imitating Hopper's voice but it couldn't go to that low an octave.

It was obvious now how unguarded the grasshopper was at this point. He choked on a laugh, still trying to get a handle on the tsunami of emotion overtaking him. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, staying like that for a moment.

"You really missed it, didn't you?" Flik patted his knee. Hopper just nodded, not trusting his voice.

Hopper took in a deep breath and smiled shakily at Dot, pulling her in for a hug, "And thank you too, Squirt."

"Now we can touch the stars together," she buried her head in his neck.

Stupid emotions. Stupid heart. Hopper couldn't believe these were the things he'd been holding inside all his life. "Yeah--" he cleared his throat a bit when it cracked, "yeah we can."

Dot perked as an idea came to her, "We can be your new gang!"

Flik laughed while Hopper gave her a funny look, "I think I've had my fill of the gang life." Flik found himself pulled in for another hug, "Besides, who needs a gang when you've got family?"

#disney #pixar #a bugs life #flik #hopper #dot #fluff #family #fanfiction #vin diesel moment right here

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citrinekay · 3 years

Text

and I'd hate to fade alone

@bambikieren and I were talking about the pros and cons of S2 a few days ago, and we both agreed the richness of tension and relationship development between Bill and Holden would have been greatly improved by incorporating Holden's panic attacks. I said something along the lines of "their opposing personal traumas could have made them both feel as if they were alone in the investigation, their partnership from S1 abandoned." She suggested I write a fic about Holden calling Bill after a panic attack in Atlanta, so here it is:

A brief yet unsettling nightmare wakes Bill with a jolt. He was once again treading through the lightning dust to the basement of the house on Cimarron Court. It was pure daylight, full of warm sun. Then he reached the place where he’d witnessed the chalky shape of a cross laden with a toddler’s fragile form, but instead of a cleaned-out crime scene, he laid eyes on Brian hunched over a squirming figure.

Brian is a small kid - doesn’t look capable of anything violent; but behind Bill’s eyelids, he saw the worst possible version of what happened that day the boy died. His son - his own chosen child - smothering the life from the baby. In the dream, Brian looks up from the arduous task, his dark eyes gleaming with infernal impulse.

“Dad,” he says, calmly. “Is the fish dead yet?”

Bill is awake in the next instant, his heart thundering against his ribs and sweat itching in the creases of his armpits and down his back. His mouth is dry, tasting of the three beers he washed down before passing out on the couch.

It takes him a moment to convince himself it was a product of his mind encumbered by stress and fatigue and dread, and nothing more. When he gets his bearings again, he realizes that the clock on the wall isn’t indicating the afternoon but well past one o’clock in the morning. The only light Nancy had left on when she went to bed was the lamp beside the couch. The kitchen and dining area are draped in shadow, familiar fixtures undefined and murky and disconnected from his little pool of yellow light.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, Bill sits up slowly with a groan, and scrubs his hands over his face. The next logical step is getting up from the couch to walk himself to bed where his weary heap of bones belong, but the lingering dread in the pit of his stomach keeps him chained in place.

He isn’t certain when coming home on the weekends from Atlanta began feeling like a second job, but the joylessness is inescapable. Facing Nancy with the noble reassurance that he’s trying to save the lives of children no longer seems feasible just like facing Holden with the lie that he’s dedicated enough to his family to be flying home every weekend for no other reason than to spend time with them had reached the end of it’s credibility.

Perhaps that’s why going back to Atlanta now seems like less work than coming home. In a few short months, his life had become a careful manipulation, a tight-rope walk of convincing everyone in Atlanta, Quantico, and here at home of a specific narrative. While in Atlanta, don’t mention Brian. While at home, don’t mention Atlanta. At Quantico, don’t mention either one. The drive to keep his stories straight burned exhaustion through him like a hot fuse. At least now he isn’t bold-faced lying to Holden.

Rousing himself from the couch, Bill grabs his cigarettes from the side table, and ambles into the darkness of the kitchen. He doesn’t bother to turn on a light as he finds the cupboard by memory, and fills a glass with water from the tap. He washes away the stale taste of beer, and when his throat is no longer aching, replaces it with the heat and nicotine of a cigarette.

Standing over the kitchen sink, he taps ashes down the drain, and studies the night sky beyond the window. Constellations emerge against a tapestry of black, unhindered by clouds. In the silence, despite Nancy and Brian sleeping only a few walls away, he feels utterly alone.

The shrill ring of the telephone jars him from his sinking malaise. He has little time to ponder just who the hell would be calling this late at night as he rushes to grab the receiver and stop it’s ringing from waking Nancy or Brian.

“Hello?”

Raspy, labored breathing rustles across the line, startling his defenses.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Bill …” Holden whispers, his voice low and trembling, nearly unrecognizable. “Don’t hang up.”

Instant worry seizes Bill’s chest, those hassled defenses migrating into protective alarm. “I’m not. Are you okay?”

He hears Holden swallow thickly.

“It’s so late. Did something happen?” Bill presses.

“I … No.” Holden’s hesitation shines dishonesty clearly through the affirmation.

“Then why are you calling me?”

Silence registers across the miles of phone line between them, but Bill can hear the slight hiccup in Holden’s breathing, the undercurrent of distress that he recognizes because he’s been feeling it bubbling up within his own chest for weeks.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s okay.”

Bill presses his eyes shut as the rushed reassurance rouses another bout of silence, this one rife with confusion.

“It is?” Holden asks, at last.

“Yeah, of course. Look, Holden, I know things have been … rocky between us lately, but I know you care about this case. I know it’s been hard on you.”

“And you,” Holden whispers, carefully.

Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, and steadily exhales smoke past pursed lips. The nicotine doesn’t have the calming affect he’s searching for. Despite his honesty last week, he and Holden haven’t spoken about what happened with Brian. Part of him knows they should, but as the prospect approaches now it twists the knot in his gut tighter.

“Yeah,” he mutters at length.

“If it makes you feel any better, you hid it incredibly well. I had no idea.”

“It doesn’t, but thanks.”

“Got any tips?” Holden asks, offering a hapless chuckle.

“What? For lying to everyone and pretending I’m fine?”

“Yes.”

“None that I’d wish on anyone … least of all a friend.”

Holden’s muted sigh is tremulous. “Are we still … friends?”

Bill adjusts his grip on the phone, and bends to brace his elbows against the edge of the counter. Staring down at the ashes dwindling into the sink, he tries to come up with a response that doesn’t make him the bad guy in this situation. His thoughts are nothing more than an empty roar, taken by exhaustion and panic.

“I want us to be. Is that good enough?” he asks.

“Yes,” Holden agrees, his tone perking up. “I can live with that.”

“Then I guess I should apologize for lying to you and pretending everything was fine.”

“Mhm.”

“So … I’m sorry.”

“Me too. If I’d known-”

“But you didn’t.”

“I could have been a better profiler. Instead, I’ve been completely wrapped up in my own shit. You know, I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now, surrounded by the dozens of people who are on this task force. God, I really miss those early days when it was just you and me on the road.”

Bill’s instinctive reply is, “why would you miss me?” But he bites it down because he misses Holden too, and maybe he’s still too burdened by pride to admit it.

“Those were the days,” he says, instead.

“We weren’t so alone then,” Holden sighs, then stifles a yawn.

“You sound tired. I should let you go.”

“No, it’s just … it’s the Valium sinking in.”

Bill chest flinches at the mention of medication, the insinuation it invites - that Holden’s first impulse after surviving a panic attack was to call him.

“Are you okay?” he asks once more.

“I guess I would be lying and pretending I’m fine if I said ‘yes.’”

“Probably.”

“It’s okay. You can ask me about it.”

Bill draws in a slow breath against buzzing nerves. This isn't them. They don’t ask each other personal questions or talk about it. Holden is floating out of reality on benzodiazepine and Bill is too morbidly curious about someone else’s pain rather than his own; but it’s late and they’re both loath to fade alone.

“Does it happen often?” Bill asks, softly.

“Hmm … yes. Not enough to impede me from doing my job, but more often than I’d like.”

“What triggers it?”

“Sometimes the obvious things - a bad dream, a bad thought, a crime scene, a smiling picture of a kid who I know is dead and died terribly. Sometimes nothing. It’s unpredictable - that’s in the nature of panic disorder.”

“But the Valium helps?”

“It does damage control.”

Bill nods, biting the inside of his cheek as he processes this information. What he’d said by the riverside lashes across the back of his mind, and it looks utterly cruel from this perspective.

“What does it feel like?” he asks, closing his eyes against the surroundings of the kitchen.

He waits with bated breath while Holden thinks. His lungs burn with anticipation as if to say “sell me your pain; let’s make a fair trade of it; you try on mine, I’ll try on yours.”

“It feels like … suffocating. Very slowly. My lungs hurt, my head hurts. I can’t think or breathe, and I feel very small and trapped and …”

“And what?”

“Helpless.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is. Even if it only lasts a few minutes, I come out of it feeling like I ran a marathon. I’m exhausted for the rest of the day, but when I lay down, I can’t sleep. My mind races.”

“That’s why you called me?”

“Well, I couldn’t get up off the floor, but I could drag the telephone and the Valium off the nightstand,” Holden murmurs. “I wanted something to hold onto.”

Bill clenches his jaw as he imagines Holden lying on the hotel floor in his pajamas, his pallor white and clammy with sickness, his body trembling. He wants to say that if he were there now, he would leave his own room and come over, he’d pick Holden up off the floor. They could hold onto each other.

When he opens his eyes, however, he sees that he’s still standing in his dark kitchen, and the only warm body to hold onto within touching distance wants nothing to do with him right now.

“There isn’t much left,” he says with a grim chuckle. “For you to, you know … hold onto.”

“Because of what happened?” Holden asks, gingerly. “With Brian?”

Bill smothers his rising hackles. Holden opened the door by offering to talk about his panic attacks, but Bill had kicked it wide open by even asking the questions. Talking about Brian is quid pro quo. Now all that’s left is putting a price tag on his own pain.

“Ever since it happened, I’ve just been trying to hold everything together. Here at home, Quantico, down there in Atlanta. It’s like there isn’t enough of me to go around, and I keep cutting myself into smaller and smaller pieces, dividing them across the problems I need to control. You were right when you told me I was distracted, that I wasn’t there when I was there. Truth is, I can hardly focus on one thing. Every time I close my eyes or my thoughts wander just a little, it goes back there - to a baby dying, and my kid saying absolutely nothing about it to me or Nancy.”

Holden is quiet for a moment before breaching the invisible wall. “How did it happen?”

Bill inhales a steadying breath, and blinks against the sting at the corners of his eyes. “A group of them were playing in the park. They ended up over at the house Nancy is the realtor for. Things got out of hand. The older boys somehow suffocated the toddler. They put him in the basement of the house, but … they didn’t just leave him. They - well Brian - he-”

“What did he do?” Holden asks, his tone lacking condemnation but rather perking with twisted curiosity.

“There was some old flooring in the basement. They made it into a cross, laid the baby across it like … like he was Jesus, and he was going to somehow fucking rise from the dead. It was all Brian’s idea. It was …”

Holden’s breathing quickens against the line. “God, Bill-”

“How do I reconcile that? How do I fucking forgive him? It was weeks before they found him, Holden. Brian left a baby lying there for weeks, and said nothing. I mean what the hell is wrong with someone who does something like that?”

“Maybe he was scared-”

“No, he knows he can come to us. We’ve never mistreated him, hit him, yelled at him. Never once made him think he couldn’t talk to us.”

Holden falls quiet.

The silence over the line thickens, and pretense falls away. Bill can hear the normal reassurances splinter. Holden studies the mind, and he understands darkness. He can read Bill’s fears even from across the country - and he recognizes their validity.

“You think he didn’t feel anything?” Holden asks. “That he’s just like the subjects in our study.”

Bill’s throat chafes with mounting emotion. He hasn’t dared admit it to himself, but it is what he thinks. It haunts his every nightmare.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Bill, we don’t know everything. Especially when it comes to children. Remember when we talked about intervention, and we wondered if somewhere along the line, something could have been done to stop these men from killing?”

“Yes.”

“This is the time to do something. Get him help. Nothing is written in stone.”

Bill rubs his eyes hard. “You really believe that?”

“Aren’t we beholden to at least try?”

Try. Yes, all he has done for the last few months is try, but that is the god-forsaken truth of the human condition. Trying, and trying, failing and trying. Learning one or two things along the way. It’s inescapable.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“You’re welcome.”

They sit in silence for a long moment.

It feels better with some of the weight off Bill’s chest. He imagines it will be back in the morning. All the more reason not to hang up.

Holden yawns softly against the receiver, his rustling breath prickling down Bill’s spine. He presses the phone closer to his ear, and waits for the indolent moan at the end. When it comes, low and throaty, it doesn’t last nearly long enough.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Wanna go to bed?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. We can keep talking.”

“Okay. About what?”

“Something else,” Bill suggests, angling for a lighter tone. “Something not so fucking depressing.”

“Okay. Here’s something.” Holden’s voice takes on an impish tone. “A few weeks ago, I threw your betting sheets out the window of the car.”

“What?” Bill asks, a choked laugh fighting its way past the calcified emotion in his chest. “I wondered where those went.”

“You weren’t talking to me then. Christ, that makes me sound bitchy doesn’t it?”

“Yep. It does.”

“Fine. But since when do you bet on ponies?”

Bill bites his lower lip. This conversation isn’t heavy enough for honesty, at least not yet. It isn’t important for the truth that he hadn’t been interested in racing until Ted Gunn plopped the analogy in his brain right next to the trigger points that are Holden.

“Not long,” he says. “Just something to distract myself. Mindless entertainment.”

“With a price tag.”

“Everything has a price tag. It’s just a matter of scale.”

“What’s the price tag on this conversation?”

“Nothing. It’s an even trade.”

Holden hums something indistinct.

“What?” Bill asks. “You want me to take something from you?”

“Or I could take something from you.”

“You already took my betting sheets.”

Holden laughs, softly. “I did. Okay, what do you want?”

Bill’s levity disappears into a panicked, heady ether. Before Atlanta, he’d often wished for Holden to say those exact words for him; then his world came crashing down, and those wayward thoughts were available to blame for his own lack of dedication to his family. Holden was an easy target for a rage he doesn’t have the will to hold onto anymore.

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Bill says, finally. “Get some rest.”

Holden sighs, unhappily. “It is almost two o’clock.”

“Exactly. I’ll be back tomorrow. We can talk then if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, as long as we can both keep our eyes open. This surveillance is killing me.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to get him. If not tomorrow, then the next night.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Well …. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bill.”

They linger a moment longer before muttering further goodbyes. When the phone hits the cradle, a deep and abiding silence replaces the hiss of static across the line and the warm cadence of Holden’s voice. Outside the window, the stars are the same even as time marches forward, dragging him towards an inevitable precipice. It’s some small comfort that he won’t be making that fall into the abyss alone.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 6

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There's non-explicit smut in this part!

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Remember that questionable morals remark? Yea, this chapter is the reason. Y/N, girl, you gotta stop... But at least it's kinda funny. Okay, it's pretty damn hilarious.

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She is amazing. I larb her. 💙

"And then I was like 'No Way!' and he was like 'Totally' and that's how I met Tony Stark," I finished excitedly, opposite a laughing Mr. Davies. The story of how I met Iron Man was a total hit with the teacher and my vigorous mimicking of the facial expressions that described my feelings during the time had my teacher busting a gut something loud.

"I honestly have some trouble believing that but - hey, what the hell, he's a billionaire superhero, it's basically expected for him to be a little strange," When his laughing fit was over, Mr. Davies reminded me he was, in fact, a psychology doctor. There was serious brain power under that easygoing attitude.

I expected detention to be bearable in his company but Mr. Davies rose above expectations, welcoming me with another cup of tea and some colouring pages. Admittedly, I contemplated stealing some - those mandalas were really captivating.

"Oh, he's strange alright, but nothing I can't handle," I twirled a pencil between my fingers.

Mr. Davies grinned knowingly, too knowingly for my comfort, and I had no choice but to make a stone face before looking him in the eye.

He smirked. "So, anything else interesting for you going on?"

"Nah, not much. Really looking forward to being done with high school and going out into the bigger world, y'know."

"You turned 18 already, right?" I nodded in confirmation. "Maybe get a job, something part-time? OsCorp always hands these leaflets out, they're looking for lab assistants."

I wrinkled my nose. "I don't need a job. Plus, I'm sure Bruce-err, Doctor Banner would smash me if I went to work at OsCorp," I glossed over my slip-up, hoping Mr. Davies would do the same. But no such luck happened.

"Right. Me and Bruce, we actually go way back," He smiled, stirring his tea. I perked up in interest. "We studied psychology together, sat next to each other in half of our classes. It's a shame what happened to him but I hope he's happy now," Mr. Davies was smiling earnestly, looking out of the window where rain had started flowing down on the glass.

"Really? That's cool," I said, lacking anything else to add to his statement.

"He used to skip classes and always lost his glasses even though they'd be on top of his head," My teacher continued. "Banner was actually quite a rowdy student," He added with a smirk.

"Hah, he still routinely loses his glasses, although he wears them on a string around his neck now," I chuckled fondly. Bruce was such a dork.

I chatted with Mr. Davies some more, just casual conversation about everything and nothing in between. His parents were hippies, he had two moms and one dad and according to him, Thor was very overrated. I didn't even notice we were up in each other's space until our knees brushed when Mr. Davies - "Call me Will" - was showing me the pictures of his cats, dog and lizard. I figured that as the hippy child, personal space was kind of a foreign concept to him - and that rang true, I've seen Will give out more shoulder grabs and high fives than anyone else sans the gym teacher.

The clock's ding announced 6 PM and I quickly gathered my things, hastily saying goodbye. I was stopped though.

"If you don't mind a quick stop at my house, I can drop you off. It's pouring buckets outside and I would hate you to get sick," Will spoke casually.

Technically, I knew he was bending some rules of conduct. But it was also 55° outside and the water coming from the sky was unlikely to be warm. So I caved without any guilty conscience, obediently following Mr. Davies -Will- to the parking lot where a new-ish Jeep Cherokee proudly stood amongst several older, less gently used cars. With New York city traffic being the way it is, I didn't text Bruce yet, fully expecting for the trip to take a whole hour if not more.

Thankfully the parking gods were merciful and Will managed to find a spot right across his two-story townhouse. "You're welcome to come in if you feel comfortable, I just need to fetch some documents," He said.

And that's where I fucked up. I nodded affirmatively, I followed him through the door and made myself as comfortable as I could on his living room couch. It was a cozy home, his iguana chilled opposite me in it's terrarium and the little mutt that was his dog really reminded me of the atrocity that my parents used to own before they had me. It yipped and yapped, wagging it's bushy tail at me and demanding pets.

The steaming tea mug was dutifully placed in my hand by Will who hopped upstairs immediately after that, skipping steps. I watched the man with a benign stare: he'd removed his sweater and I could see the defined muscles of his back and the admirable backside that he possessed. There was no harm in looking respectfully, right?

I was halfway through my mug when Will came back down, brandishing a truly impressive stack of manila folders, setting it on a nearby table before sitting down on the other end of the couch, maintaining a respectful distance between us. We chatted some more and the more he spoke about his current research, the more passionate he became; by the end of his truly epic description of the effects that anti-depressants have on the learning process of depressed adolescents, I was mesmerized by the way his pink lips formed words.

Sitting with my calves tucked under my butt, leaning against the armrest , I was a goner. He caught my eye, diverting his own stare from my exposed legs to the side, blinking furiously. It calmed my spirits somewhat, knowing that I wasn't the only one affected by the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. My mug landed on the low table with a loud clang as I leaned forward, the sleeves of my sweater accidentally brushing against his leg.

Will cleared his throat and I startled, tilting my head up towards him in confusion. He was staring at me with a mix of fear and delight in his eyes, like a boy preparing for his first kiss. I would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation if the darkness in his stormy grey eyes didn't make my own breath do somersaults somewhere between my lungs and my esophagus.

Fifteen minutes later, both my sweater and my panties were thrown somewhere in the furthest end of the room and those thin lips were making me see stars. For some reason he was convinced I'd had only typical teenage disappointing sex up to this point and was really eager to show me what a grown man can do. I mean, I wasn't complaining, he was really, really good with his mouth - but I didn't have all night, so I flipped the tables and showed off my own oral skills until he had to bodily remove me from his dick and lift me onto it. Every movement felt surreal, like I was living in a dream. Despite my common sense yelling expletives at me, I kissed Will back with twice the heat and none of the finesse, each of us reaching the peak nearly in sync.

"Can I get that ride to the tower now?"

Will let out a decidedly unmanly squeak when he realised where exactly he'd be taking me after we did what we'd done. I smiled at him in hopes of calming down the man but it seemed it came out more predatory. He shivered, his dick twitching within me.

I texted Bruce the same time I was getting into Will's car. My brain was still somewhat in a state of shock and I used the brief moment to tidy up my hair and makeup, taking note of my sex-flushed face. I only hoped I didn't stink like man-sweat and Will's cologne.

Another realization was startled out of me: that was my first time having had sex without a condom. I was on birth control since I was fourteen so pregnancy wasn't a scare; currently, I was more worried about the mildly uncomfortable, wet feeling in my panties where my teacher's cum had pooled out.

Yikes. That moment Will took a careful monitoring of my facial expression and it took me a lot to keep it somewhere between neutral and happy. Internally, I was freaking the fuck out, torn between horror and incredible arousal.

It morphed into full fledged mortification when I saw Bruce's lab coat from afar, the man standing next to the entrance door. Having had a dumb moment, I texted Banner that a former schoolmate of his was the one giving me a ride and it really shouldn't have been a surprise that Bruce would go downstairs to greet Will.

'Fuck you, you dumbass,' was my approximate train of thought, directed at myself, when all three of us gathered, hiding from the cold rain and the autumn wind under the safety of the roof. Both men shared a brief, warm embrace before Bruce's arm snaked around my waist.

"You go upstairs, okay? I don't want you to get sick," Banner said, eyeing the disastrous weather.

I looked at Will, finding his eyebrow cocked at Bruce's frivolous gesture and a faint flush blossoming on his face. The man shuffled awkwardly, giving me a small wave and a tight-lipped smile before turning his attention back to Bruce. I wished him good night, hastily retreating into the safety of the elevator.

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-u-uck..." I chanted under my breath, acutely aware of the blossoming bruises on my hips where my teacher held me, the dampness of my underwear.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the common room couch being occupied by Wanda. Peter, Wanda's brother and the two resident super soldiers setting the table for dinner. Tony was off bickering with Loki and Strange by the coffee maker and Thor was standing outside on the patio, doing something very strange with his hands and his hammer. Was he summoning the shitty weather?! The audacity!

"Hey," Wanda greeted me quietly. Her eyebrows raised upon seeing my face full of perplexed confusion. "You okay?.. Wait, what? Tell me you did not!" As my internal crisis reached its peak, I remembered that a) Wanda is a telepath and b) There were other people in the room.

One ungraceful landing next to her later, I turned my bleary stare onto her. "Oops?" I offered in the way of explanation. What was I supposed to say if I didn't know for myself what the devil possessed me to fuck my social studies teacher after school? He was fucking hot, okay.

The witch smirked, obviously following my defensive internal monologue. "Oops?" Her tone was laced with gleeful sarcasm.

"I'm a human disaster," I groaned, finally caving in and palming my face. Wanda began snickering. "I have zero impulse control," I continued wallowing in self-pity. The redhead just cackled harder.

"I feel so attacked right now," Tony's voice loudly announced the man's presence. I was thankful for the distraction, happy that today, out of all the days, he decided to make the situation about himself. "I am the resident hot mess and nothing you do will change that. Or get out of my tower," He made a dramatic gesture, waving along everybody to the table.

At the dinner table, with Peter on one side of me and Bruce on the other, Wanda's speech was clear. "I think you two are about on the same level, Tony," Her tone was dry. The looks she cast me were cheeky at best and downright gleeful at worst. Not only was she the resident telepath but also, apparently, a huge drama fan.

I, on the other hand, felt like a fish thrown out of water. My mind was still jumping between astounded and horrified like a rabid rabbit and Bruce's excited remark about seeing a former schoolmate only worsened the anxiety. My brain was telling me EVERYBODY knew EVERYTHING whereas in reality, it was only Wanda and it didn't seem like she was upset enough to give up my dirty little secret. If anything, the witch seemed almost impressed. And that dry, mildly interested facial expression only solidified when she put two and two together: my teacher, whom I fucked, also known as Bruce's former study buddy.

"I have some spare sweatpants that might fit you," Wanda directly addressed me as we were finishing up the wonderful chicken roast courtesy of Clint and Bucky. Nobody batted an eye at the sudden exclamation, evidently used to being around someone who could hear their thoughts.

I nodded, mentally waving a big, red thank you note. With sparkles. And hearts. Wanda chuckled.

"Hey, did you change your perfume?" Peter's innocent remark made me nearly freeze in my spot.

Kill Bill sirens started playing in my head on repeat as I heard Wanda choke on her asparagus, inadvertently drawing attention to the three of us. Peter looked at us in confusion: Wanda kept on gasping, but it seemed like the dam had finally burst and she was laughing in earnest, snorting, loudly, as I engaged my willpower to stop myself from doing the same. Needless to say, it was a spectacular failure and now both of us were bent over our dinner plates, absolutely losing it - much to the concern of the adults present at the table. The rest of the team was growing concerned.

"Oh my god, your FACE!" Wanda's incoherent mumbling and the accusing finger pointed in my direction did it.

"A lady doesn't... kiss... and tell...." I fervently gulped the oxygen as I tried to articulate my thoughts into something comprehendible. The hysterical laughter won by a wide margin.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Natasha seemed to get the gist, relaxing immediately and picking up her fork to continue her meal.

I shook my head, unable to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. Bruce chuckled from somewhere beside me and just like that, the tension broke. The adults in the room traded knowing looks, chuckling and snorting amongst themselves.

The moments I needed to calm down went to waste really quick: my first laughing fit over, I took one look at Wanda and yet again, both of us were puffing out our cheeks to try and prevent another hysterical fit.

"Whew," I exaggerated, eyes wide and looking ANYWHERE but at Wanda.

"What a wild ride," She snorted and I put a palm over my face, shaking my head in...

Disappointment at myself? I wasn't disappointed. Now that I got over the WTF factor, I found the situation to be pretty damn hot. Will was hot. Eh, whatever.

My casual mood of zero-fucks-given began returning. After few of the last bites of potatoes, I was prepared to face Natasha. I looked the Black Widow dead in the eye as I firmly stated: "And for the record? We are NOT having this conversation."

She elegantly arched her eyebrow whilst everybody else held their breath. "That bad, huh?" The retort was immediate.

I allowed myself to radiate a bit of that newly acquired smugness I had begun to feel: "You have no idea," I hoped my smirk was as devious as I wished it to be.

"Alright, heartbreaker, colour me impressed," Natasha nodded in affirmation. We shared another meaningful look and reverted back to our plates with the menfolk observing us akin animals at a zoo.

Somewhat amazed, slightly afraid. Bruce's stare was somewhat concerned, too: he contemplatively eyed me from the corner of his eye, the same way I eyed him, checking out the fact that he appeared somewhat annoyed. Like a proper father would, I suppose.

Luckily for me, I finished off the remaining food and drink quickly, with Wanda being my saviour once again as she all but bodily dragged me into the elevator, promising to return me to the science den in no more than an hour. Tony went to complain but was promptly stopped by Natasha inconspicuously reaching for the butter knife: the engineer knew how to pick his battles. I didn't doubt that Romanoff was going to hear "all about it" second-hand from Wanda and I was fully prepared to face the redhead spy's judgement. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, escaped that clever woman.

A quick shower and a change of clothes later, I sat on Wanda's couch, nervously fiddling with the two sizes too big sweatpants, occasionally stopping to straighten the plain white tank top that just barely fit me. I washed my hair but didn't dry it before Wanda was impatiently telling me to hurry up: the mess sat atop my head held up by a single scrunchie.

"Okay... Where do I start?" She asked me, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"Don't start," I stopped her with a raised palm. "It was a casual, one-time thing and I've no interest in pursuing that shit on the reg," I answered honestly. The fact that he was my teacher simultaneously worsened the situation and made me elated. But ultimately, I didn't want to risk the trouble that would come along with this mess. Besides, I had no feelings for the guy whatsoever. As I've said previously, it was just bad impulse control on some teenage hormone steroids.

"You're a strange one," Wanda's penetrating gaze made me shiver. "You live without a care in the world but at the same time, your mind is always all over the place. It is interesting."

"Uh, thanks? I guess?"

"I think we should try being friends," The witch remarked after a brief moment of awkward silence. I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Because of my powers, I can literally see through people and predict what they will do before they even think about doing it. With you, it's not like that," She explained, her Slavic accent making a full guest appearance.

"So...you want to be friends because I'm a fucking mess?" I couldn't help but feel a little offended. The occasional shitty decision aside, I didn't think of myself as that bad.

"I want to be friends because I like you," Wanda fondly rolled her eyes, standing up from the couch and motioning for me to follow. "Now let's get you to Tony or he'll blow a gasket. He's already insufferable as he is."

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

#stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #bun writes #party favours #LEMME TELL YOU THERE WILL BE SURPRISES IN THIS CHAPTER

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