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talesfromunderthemattress · 4 years ago

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Father’s Day Tales: Daddy Night, Part One

This is Part One of a four-part Father's Day special, and while there's not so much sex in this one, there's plenty of vibes that will make all the sex that's coming - and there's gonna be a lot - even better. So stick with me, fellas. You trust me, right? Good. Let's go...

* * * * *

"Let's go get a drink."

As soon as his father said it, Ian knew he should shut the whole thing down right there and then. Against all odds, they’d had a pretty good day of it at Pride. He’d been thinking about attending the festivities, this being his first Pride in a new town. His first Pride ever, in fact. But when his father had announced he was coming to town for the weekend, Ian had shelved the idea altogether, and figured that was that until next year. Until his Dad happened to see a flyer for it while they were out for dinner after his arrival Friday night, turned to him with that charming grin of his, and said, “Well hell, buddy, looks like there’s a party goin’ on! What do you say we go check it out?”

“Uh, I dunno Dad, you’re only in town a few days, maybe we can hit a ballgame or something,” Ian said warily, searching his brain for the most likely Father’s Day weekend activity he could think of, in a city he was still getting to know.

“Hell with that,” Dan said, waving a slightly tipsy hand. “Let’s face it, baseball is boring, and the team here sucks ass, buddy.” He turned to Ian with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Well, I guess more than a few people at Pride suck ass too,” he said, cocking an eyebrow for humorous effect, and Ian had always enjoyed the jocular, easy kind of relationship he had with his father, but right then, he wished there was a manhole or something close by that he could crawl into.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, or interesting at the very least,” his Dad said, slinging one big arm around Ian’s shoulders as they walked. “You’re new in town, and these are your people. And I’m a proud Dad of a gay son. I want to show my support, for you and all your brothers and sisters.”

Ian felt a little wave of something inside him hearing that – gratitude, maybe, and in spite of how awkward this subject was making him feel, a definite warm buzz of love for his Dad, too. The big guy had taken his coming out a few years back with ease and not just acceptance, but warmth, a big embrace both literal and figurative. He hadn’t really expected that – Dan Cameron was an ex-Navy man and former football star, all roguish charm and long-striding manly-man confidence, a few rough edges still beneath his custom-fit suits. But he’d always been Ian’s biggest cheerleader, through school and sports and debate team, and now in this too.

“Besides, it’s Father’s Day weekend,” Dan said. “That means I get to pick what we do, right?”

“I guess…” Ian said, knowing there was nothing he could do about it now. The Bad Idea Train had already left the station, and he was just along for the ride.

“Then it’s settled,” Dan said with a decisive nod, giving him a friendly squeeze. “The Cameron men are goin’ to Pride!”

In spite of his misgivings – and they were many, and he’d laid awake that night thinking about them all – they’d had a good time at Pride. It was a first for both of them, and Dan had acted like the good kind of tourist, engaged and respectful and open-minded. He’d taken even the crazier sights in his stride – the roving pack of athletic dudes in pup masks and harnesses, the guy wearing a Babadook costume on his top half, and a studded leather jock below that, among other things – and the two of them had frequently found themselves laughing together at the things they’d seen. Even the slightly mortifying parts, like all the guys openly scoping out Dan’s handsome, athletic middle-aged form, didn’t bother Ian as much as he’d feared they might. For Dan’s part, he’d seemed pretty pleased by that, too.

“Hey, what’s that stereotype about you guys having good taste?” he said with a comically proud tilt of his chin. “And here I thought you were the exception to the rule,” he added, giving Ian’s ribs a playful dig with his elbow, grinning that charming grin beneath the rolled brim of his favorite old ballcap.

“Ah shut up, old man,” Ian shot back playfully, making Dan roar with laughter and sling his arm round his neck again.

“That’s my boy,” he said with genuine pride, making it a fine damn day for Ian indeed. “C’mon, let’s get another beer, smartass.”

Sure, it was a pretty unusual way for a father and son to spend quality bonding time, but like Dan himself said, it was a different world from when he was growing up, and in many ways, a much better one. And despite his initial fears, Ian found himself glad they were experiencing it together, and glad to have a man like Dan for his Dad. Feeling a genuine sense of pride, in their bond and himself, which he supposed was what Pride was all about.

They stayed out longer than Ian expected, and after grabbing some dinner at a food truck – the entire time, Ian grinning at the crazy scenario of him and his father eating tacos beside a gaggle of drag queens and a bunch of leather dudes, including a guy wearing a puppy-tail butt plug, to which Dan had said matter-of-factly, “Now that’s some muscle control, right there,” making Ian nearly choke on his al pastor – they found themselves at a loose end. Evening was fast falling, and Ian supposed he’d probably head back to his little apartment, and Dan to his hotel. But he didn’t really feel like wrapping up the day yet, and clearly neither did Dan.

“Well, clearly this has got to be the place,” Dan said, as they stood outside the End Zone, lifting his hands up towards the banner hanging out front, like it was a fait accompli. DADDY NIGHT! it said, and Ian felt his heart sink, at the same time as his guts started to twist up. It reminded him of being younger, that fear of getting busted doing something you really loved, and didn’t want anyone else to know you loved it as much as you did.

“Yeah, Dad, no, maybe we should…” he said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice, but Dan just waved him off amiably.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he said, slinging his big arm round Ian’s shoulders companionably. “We’ve had fun today, right? And I know you didn’t think we would, you can’t bullshit me, kiddo.”

Ian knew he wasn’t going to win this one, especially when Dan gave him a jocular squeeze.

“Just think of it as another adventure,” he said. “You should always have adventures when you’re new in town.”

His voice dropped a little lower, more confidential, just audible over the street sounds.

“And yes, I know what ‘Daddies’ means, at least here,” he said. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.”

Ian felt himself blushing hot, which was dumb, they were both grown men here, and they’d already seen a lot today. But this one hit a little closer to home than leather dudes and drag queens and little twinks in sparkly shorts and fairy wings.

“‘Sides, maybe I’ll score some free drinks, right?” Dan grinned, giving Ian that cocky, but playful wink that always sealed the deal for him. And there it was again, the idea of other dudes hitting on his Dad. His fucking Dad, for fuck’s sake.

My Dad, he thought, then pushed that one away real quick. Dan was already making for the End Zone’s door, and if there was anything worse than being on the Bad Idea Train sometimes, it was being left behind by it.

* * * * *

“Shit, you really committed to the whole look,” the bouncer said, looking Dan up and down, taking in his polo shirt and cargo shorts and his old Sox ballcap, the New Balance hiking shoes he was wearing. He smirked and gave their IDs a cursory check, particularly Ian’s, then nodded them towards the open door, and the party music pumping out of it. He hadn’t even registered surprise at their shared last name, but then Ian supposed with gay marriage being a thing now, the bouncer probably assumed they were a couple, and that gave him a weird little feeling deep down in his guts that he quickly stamped out.

Ian had been to the End Zone a couple times, and it was an alright kind of place, more on the bar end of the spectrum than the clubs. He didn’t much like the music in the clubs, and the scene there was a little more cruisy than he was comfortable with just yet. You could watch the football game at the End Zone, and the music was quieter, and the crowd tended a little more to the mature side. It felt like a pretty good place to hang out, though now, following his father inside, he wasn’t so sure about that.

He felt himself blushing again, all tense inside, like the first time he’d ever been to a gay bar, back in his sophomore year. He liked the bond he had with his father, the easy camaraderie they had, and Dan’s warm acceptance of his sexuality had been a big deal for Ian. But he’d kind of hoped to keep this whole side of being gay, his actual gay life, separate from that. Still, here they were, Dan navigating confidently ahead of him, getting the lay of the land, seemingly perfectly at home in the space. Ian couldn’t help but notice the occasional head turning to follow his father, and looking at him from behind, broad-shouldered and middle-aged fit, a handsome profile under the rolled brim of his ballcap… yeah, he understood. He understood it real well, alright.

Heads were turning to look at him, too. Ian took after his father for the most part, with decently broad shoulders and a trim waist and strong legs, and he knew he was more than passably good-looking, with quite a lot of Dan’s features. It helped that Dan had stayed fit and set the example for him, stressing the importance of keeping in decent shape and doing your best. He’d inherited plenty of good genes, and now that he was growing into himself as a man, they were really starting to come together in ways he liked. Seeing Dan mature into the handsome, solid specimen he’d become gave Ian plenty to hope for in the coming years, too.

But he was still getting used to being checked out the way other gay guys did, and especially right now. It had been one thing while they were out and about at the festivities today, those guys scoping him out, scoping his Dad out. Made him feel a perverse sense of pride, almost, to have all those guys appreciating his Dad, and him in turn too. Maybe they saw the resemblance, and he wondered about that off and on, what those observing men might make of that.

It felt different in here, though, in the enclosed confines of the End Zone, the guys pressed closer, many of them already shirtless, the air starting to thicken with that mix of uniquely male scents, cologne and beer and sweat and musk. It all felt headier, somehow, more animal. Closer. They were off the streets now, out of the general public’s eye, in a particularly male space, and Ian swore he could feel the testosterone in the air. He swore he could feel his body starting to respond to it, too, deep inside. The gazes falling on him felt firmer, more intent, and the way these other men looked at his father felt just as pointed. Loaded, and the more Ian watched Dan’s broad back and high, round ass shift as he confidently moved through the crowding space, the more loaded his own gaze felt too.

Standing at the bar gave Ian a little bit more of a feeling of control of the situation. It was always like this, the few times he’d come here; suck in your breath, make your way inside, find a spot at the bar to get a drink and anchor yourself, and figure out your next move. He wasn’t sure what the next move would be tonight, with Dan in the mix. Right now, his father was leaning over the bar, having a conversation with the hunky young bartender. The guy was a big young dude, all smooth, solid muscles, gym-honed on an ex-jock base, wearing a pair of Under Armour boxer briefs and a pair of sneakers and nothing else but a pair of sweatbands on his wrists. He was the kind of guy that definitely appealed to the slightly older clientele that tended to come here, and Ian was pretty sure the dude made a fortune in tips. Pretty sure the dude was straight, too, but that was OK, Ian kind of admired his hustle. I was hilarious that his father had brought him into a gay bar, and had managed to find the likely one straight dude here and engage him an animated conversation about college football in the space of about 15 minutes. But that was Dan all over. He was the kind of guy who could make a new friend just about anywhere, and it figured that in a roomful of men, he’d be perfectly at ease. Even if half of them seemed to want to fuck him, by the way they were looking at him.

Dan didn’t seem to notice any of that, but Ian did, sipping steadily on his beer as he looked around the room, one ear half-tuned to his father and the deep-voiced bar jock talking about the Tigers, the other listening to the sounds of the space. The crowd was a decent size, and now that it was getting dark out, more were coming in. A lot of older guys, sometimes in groups, sometimes with the younger dudes who tended to hang around them. Ian wondered if he could be considered one of those younger dudes. He hadn’t yet had the balls to go home with anybody he’d met here, but he’d always been aware of what he might be looking for, the kind of men his gaze tended to linger longest on. It was almost always the guys in their thirties and up, the ones who wore their frames with ease, with a certain relaxed confidence about being a man that Ian had always thought came with having a few years under your belt. A sense of solidity was what it was, he figured – solidity and experience and confidence. None of the guys his own age that he’d been with really had that, and it had always been a little bit disappointing to Ian to find that out afterwards, no matter how good the sex might have been.

There were a lot of those kinds of guys here tonight, older and wiser, and Ian was getting that feeling inside of him, the one he often got when he started to loosen up a little in a place like this. A sense of possibility in the air, for the men here tonight and maybe for him too, with one of them. A building feeling of something inside him. Courage, he knew, and as he worked his way down to the last third of his beer, he wondered if maybe tonight would have been the night. If he would have let one of these handsome, assured, mature guys maybe take him home, and show him that he was right to want what he’d always wanted.

But it wasn’t going to be tonight, because his father was here with him, and as close as they were, and as good and relaxed a time as they’d had together at Pride today, Ian figured that going home with some handsome DILF might be stretching things between him and Dan a bit. His father was only here for a few days, but Ian could come here any time he liked, and just thinking it, he knew he’d be back, soon, on his own and freer to explore.

“Gotta hit the head,” Dan suddenly said close to his ear over the rising noise, startling Ian out of his little reverie. “Order us another round, and I’ll be right back. If I don’t get eaten alive out there, anyways,” Dan said, nodding in the direction of the man-packed floor with an amused smirk, giving Ian’s shoulder a warm squeeze.

Well, so much for one drink and getting the fuck out of here, but what the hell. He signalled the bartender as he watched his father make his way to the bathrooms, watching the men responding to him, heads turning to appraise his form, looking to their friends and nodding at his father, leaning in close to talk about him in his wake. Many of them were guys his age too, and it gave him a weird little extra vibe inside to see that. Ian wondered what they were saying, and fuck that was so wrong. It was even wronger that he had a pretty good idea of what it was. Dan was a good-looking man, tall and strong and healthy, confident and masculine. Ian had grown up in the man’s large shadow, trying his best to make himself into his father’s image. He knew perfectly well what other men would find appealing about him, just like he knew they were probably picturing what Dan’s broad chest and big arms and long legs would look like with his polo shirt and shorts on their bedroom floor.

Ian had the advantage there, because he knew perfectly well what Dan looked like, underneath his clothes. Or most of them, anyways. And he knew how the man looked through a hungry gaze, too. Had since he was 18… well, for quite a while before that, but especially since he was 18, the summer after his graduation from high school, when Dan had rented a place at the Outer Banks for a couple weeks and invited him down. Dan’s girlfriend had been there too, an attractive and ambitious woman in her late twenties who looked spectacular in her swimsuit, and looked at Ian with barely concealed boredom. Dan had dated quite a few women like that since he and Ian’s mother had divorced, never for longer than a few months, and by the time of the beach trip, it looked like Dan and… whatever her name was were reaching the end of their run too.

But Ian and Dan had been having a pretty good time, especially halfway through the trip, when Dan had opened up a bottle of Sailor Jerry one night and made a couple rounds of decently stiff drinks. Ian still remembered it, how smooth the rum had tasted, the feeling of sitting in the hot tub out on the deck overlooking the beach, the stars bright overhead as they talked. Feeling like a man, and being treated like one by the one man he’d always looked to more than anyone else. They talked easily, more than they’d really talked in years, and once Kayla or Taylor or whatever her name was had gotten bored and gone inside, leaving them to it, the conversation had continued. The way his father opened up to him made him see the man through different eyes, and himself too. It was a good feeling that had persisted ever since, even with everything else that had gone on.

“She’s not gonna be happy with you,” he said after a while, feeling good and loose and nicely buzzed from the rum and gingers Dan had fixed them.

“Story of my life, buddy,” Dan said with a rueful shake of his head. “Sucks, because she’s good in… well, you know.”

“Yeah, we don’t have to talk about that,” Ian said, blushing, trying not to picture his well-built father, handsomer than ever in his early forties, in bed with the pretty blonde. Trying, but not succeeding, and the warm bubbles of the hot tub sure weren’t helping. In a matter of seconds he was full-blown hard, his cock flaring up with that sudden quickness that always caught him off guard. He reached under the water to adjust himself without even thinking about it.

“Probably best we don’t,” Dan chuckled. “You too, huh?” he added after a long pause, nodding at Ian’s arm, half-submerged in the water, tugging at the tightness in his board shorts. Ian blushed harder, glad his father couldn’t see it in the dark, but he could see the easy grin on his father’s handsome face, and he didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Dan said, reaching under the water himself, and Ian tried his best not to look at the way the man’s big biceps shifted as he adjusted himself. “Happens to us all. Shit, I’d be worried if it didn’t, strong and healthy young dude like you.”

In spite of himself and the circumstances, Ian felt weirdly pleased by that, and at least it made him feel less weird about being boned up in the hot tub, next to his Dad, who seemed to be in the same kind of fix.

“You should go out and, y’know, do it on the beach before we go,” Dan said. “I mean, at night. I don’t wanna have to bail you out on indecency charges,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, uh… that seems kind of risky,” Ian said uneasily, unable to believe they were having this conversation. Dan just snorted and took another healthy slug of his drink.

“That’s what makes it so fun,” he said, and Ian didn’t need to look to hear the smile in his father’s voice. He wondered if Dan was throbbing as hard in his shorts as he was, and maybe it was the liquor telling him that he was very much his father’s son, especially right now.

“You game, bud?” Dan said after another long pause, and Ian could hear the rum in his voice.

“What? To…” he said, sounding like an idiot, and Dan just nodded, grinning at him.

“Sure, fuck it,” Dan said. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. What, you never jerked it with a bud before?”

Ian just shook his head, dumbfounded. Not exactly telling the truth, either. But his Dad was… kind of calling him his bud, and weird as all this was, that was pretty awesome.

“Bullshit,” Dan said good-naturedly, downing the rest of his drink and standing up. He looked big and sleek and hearty, all deep-chested and strong-waisted, water streaming down his big arms and matting the hair down on his pecs and his solid core. More than that, he was hard in his shorts, the wet fabric clinging to it in ways that made Ian’s mouth water and his insides get all tight and hot-feeling. Even in the low light from the house behind them and the stars overhead, Dan was an impressive man. Ian had always thought so, more and more guiltily the past few years, but it was objectively true, and the truth wouldn’t be denied. The pulse of his own cock, hard and trapped in his shorts, wouldn’t either.

“C’mon,” his father said, stepping out of the hot tub and onto the deck, snagging a towel in one hand and the Sailor Jerry in the other. “You’re off to college and all kinds of adventures. Have one with your old man before you go. Get you started out right.”

And that’s how they’d wound up on the smooth, damp sand of Corolla Beach past midnight, side by side on beach towels, shorts open, jerking off together. It was the craziest fucking thing that had ever happened to Ian in his young life, one of those things that can only happen when everything lines up a certain way. Passing the bottle back and forth had eased the edge off for him, and boosted that special sense of manly camaraderie between them, and after some initial hesitation, Ian was really enjoying himself. Dan seemed in no hurry, and Ian had to agree that it was a pretty fuckin’ magical thing, stroking off with a buzz on, listening to the rush of the Atlantic before them, nothing else around but the stars and the breeze whispering through the sea grass as the two men worked on their cocks, grunting softly, letting go, following that age-old instinct to make yourself feel good, and strive towards release.

Dan looked even better under the moonlight, leaned back on one hand, biceps bulging and flexing as he propped himself up and worked on his cock, his handsome profile a study in smiling, contented concentration as he made himself feel good, eyes closed. Even with the shadow of his big torso falling over it, Ian could see his father was big. He’d never been ashamed of his own piece, and years of covert study of his buddies and teammates had shown him he had plenty to be proud of, especially for his age, but Dan was sporting a man’s cock, solid in length and girth. It wasn’t big like a porn star’s, but then it wasn’t built for show, either. It was built for pleasure, and that sudden half-drunk realization about his own father’s cock hit Ian with a slow heat that simmered through him and his own cock in his hand. It made him close his eyes and focus on the fast-rising pleasure inside himself.

“Fuck yeah, go for it, dude,” Dan growled quietly beside him, and Ian’s eyes flashed back open to see his father casting him a sidelong glance, giving him an approving nod, his smile gleaming in the pale moonlight, working his own dick faster now, and holy fuck, it was all too much, too quick, and he wished this could last all night, but it was too late for that now…

“Ah fuck,” he moaned to himself, but he knew Dan could hear him, and the man grunted as if in agreement, the sound of his spit-slicked cock suddenly loud, making music in the soft night breeze.

“Yeah man,” Dan grunted, and that was it for Ian, his cock pulsing in his grip as it started to shoot, hot streaks of cum that arced through the air and splatted warmly against the muscles of his stomach and chest as he gasped and shook and dug his curling toes into the sand. Dan let out a low, rumbling growl, then a series of gasps, and Ian opened his eyes just in time to see the man shooting now too, grunting huskily as he pasted the already damp hair on his chest and belly with fresh streaks of wetness, over a half-dozen thick shots.

“Mmmmmm,” Dan murmured, chuckling as he sat back on his hands, chest heaving, cock still standing proud from the shadows of his open shorts. His cum gleamed on his torso in the moonlight, and Ian might have been pretty drunk, but he was still together enough to feel all this imprinting in his memory already, and he wasn’t mad about it.

“Guess we both needed that,” his father said, and Ian could just make out the wink he gave him, not to mention the appraising, approving way the man gave him one last look-over. “Told ya it’d be fun.”

“It was pretty, uh, memorable,” Ian said, feeling the blush start to set back in again, along with the start of the doubts, wondering how he was going to get all the cum off him without getting covered in sand, like a sugared donut.

“And that’s what counts,” Dan said. “Believe me, you’ll appreciate that the older you get.”

Dan led a running charge to the water to get cleaned up, and he might have had a skinful of rum, but he still moved like the athlete he’d been, and all of it etched into Ian’s memory. They washed the loads off their bodies and into the Atlantic, then paddled around for a little bit under the moonlight, not really saying anything, just enjoying sharing the moment. It was weird, and it was crazy, and they probably shouldn’t have done it, but it was one of the best things that Ian had ever experienced.

So for all the guys looking at his father tonight in the End Zone, checking him out, mentally undressing him, only Ian really knew how the man looked, and not just out of his clothes but really, fully into himself. It was a strange but hot feeling of privilege, and it brought back that tingle down deep in his insides, the same way thinking about that night at Corolla did. It was all starting to bring back the tightness in his shorts, too, and if he didn’t watch himself, he’d be pitching a tent right here in the middle of the bar. Any other night, that might not be such a bad thing here. Not this Daddy Night, though.

Common sense said to keep things light with another beer, but even as he was thinking that, Ian was asking the bartender for a couple of Seven and Sevens. He remembered Dan drinking them on summer evenings sometimes, and that seemed like a good kind of drink to buy your father on Father’s Day weekend, even if it was in a gay bar. Maybe especially so, he thought with a smirk to himself.

“That’s a shame, I was just about to offer to buy you one,” came a voice from close beside him, and he turned to see a guy standing side-on to him, leaning against the bar with a handsome smile. A nice-looking guy, everyday-handsome features that his smile amplified, wearing a full but close-cropped beard that was more salt than pepper. It matched his hair, silvery-gray with darker threads, cut tight but still showing a little bit of a curl to it. Ian was a little startled, by his closeness and the approach. He still wasn’t really used to that, he guessed. Not yet, at least.

“Uh, thanks, I appreciate it,” Ian said, wondering how much the bar lighting showed the blush in his cheeks.

“Well, the offer’s not closed yet,” the man said with a little bit more of that grin, and damn, on any other night… “I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

“Um, yeah, I’ve been in here a couple times,” Ian said, knowing how young and dumb he must sound. People had always said he had more than a little of his father’s charm, so where the fuck was it right now? “I’m new in town, but seems like a pretty cool place.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” the guy said, and it felt like his gaze had never left Ian’s face, which was both hot and flattering and a little awkward too. “I like that it’s pretty chill, or at least it is when it’s not Pride. Crowd’s a little more mature, you know?”

“Right,” Ian nodded. “I like that too.”

“That’s good to hear,” the guy said, all inviting smile and warm eyes. “A lot of guys your age would be at Encounters, or the Palm.”

“Yeah, I’ve tried that,” Ian said, wrinkling his nose a little. “Not really my scene, I guess.”

“Amen to that,” the guy said with a good-natured chuckle, sticking out his hand. “I’m Troy.”

“Ian,” he said, putting his own hand out reflexively. The guy had a nice grip, strong but not like he was trying to prove it, firm and warm and solid. Troy held it a little longer than most regular guys would, but that was alright by him. They weren’t most regular guys, after all.

“I’m glad to meet you, Ian,” Troy said. “And glad us grown-up guys are more your scene,” he added, nodding his head at the room full of men behind them, his gaze never leaving Ian’s.

“Nothing wrong with that, right?” Ian said with a quiet little chuckle, blushing a little more, feeling real seen right now. He broke the gaze to look at the crowd, all the guys who had at least ten years on him, some quite a lot more, and even in this weird, charged little moment on this unpredictable evening, he knew how right it was. What he felt, and thought about, and was looking for, in his halting, training-wheels kind of way. All these guys with their aura of maturity, and experience, and strength, and how he’d always kind of gravitated to that. Guys like his Dad, and it wasn’t the first or even the hundredth time he’d recognized that, but it still stoked that weird little spark deep down inside him just the same.

Then he spotted the man himself, his father halfway back from the bathrooms, some guy leaning in close to talk to him over the music, Dan’s ballcapped head tilted low to hear him, nothing but his stubbled jaw and his grin visible. It was a weird jolt, being where they were and knowing just what the guy was hoping for in talking to his Dad. His fucking Dad, here in the gay bar with him, getting hit on by some dude. Unfuckinbelievable.

“Not a thing,” Troy said, and Ian returned his attention to him, feeling that yearning sense of possibility again, but already resigned to it not being his night. Not for this. Which sucked, because he really liked what he saw. Troy was nicely built, like most of the guys in here, with a fitted T-shirt that accentuated his shoulders and arms and pecs. Solid more than cut, which had always been Ian’s thing, and even more so the older he got. “We all gotta start out someplace… why not with a guy who’s already been there, right?”

“That’s a great way to put it, man,” Ian said, and just then the hunky bro bartender set the pair of drinks down in front of him for him and Dan. Troy looked at the two glasses, then back to him, and Ian felt immediately bad, like he’d let the guy down.

“So I’m guessing you’re not psychic, and you didn’t order one of those for me…” Troy said, and he was still smiling and his gaze was still warm, but Ian was mature enough to see he was disappointed too, and he felt like five kinds of an asshole.

“Yeah, I wish that was the case,” Ian said ruefully, and just then Dan finally broke through the growing crowd of men to rejoin him.

“Oh nice,” he said, picking up his drink and clapping Ian’s shoulder warmly. “You read my mind, bud.”

Ian saw and felt Troy pull back just a little bit, and he wanted to rush forward with an explanation to fill the space again, but shit, how to explain being in a gay bar with your own father on Pride? And on Daddy Night, no less?

“Well, you make a handsome couple,” Troy said with a rueful smile, and it looked like he was going to step fully away and leave them to it, but Dan laughed and stuck out his hand.

“Well thank you, not so bad yourself,” he said, and Ian knew he was just being all jocular and half-drunk and whatever, but still… fuck. “I’m Dan, and this is my boy Ian.”

Troy looked a little taken aback, but amused too, as he shook Dan’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you both. I was just saying to Ian it’s nice to meet a young guy who appreciates more mature company.”

“You know, I was just thinking how seasoned the crowd is here tonight,” Dan said, relinquishing Troy’s hand and dropping his big arm round Ian’s shoulders. “But I guess that goes with the territory when it’s Daddy Night, am I right?”

Troy laughed, and Ian kind of wanted to die, and this night was probably never going to end.

“S’alright,” Dan went on, giving Ian’s shoulders a warm squeeze. “He’s always been a little more mature than most guys his age anyways. Makes him good company.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Troy said, giving Ian that interested look once again. Another guy disarmed by Dan’s easygoing manly charm, but hell, it still worked on Ian too. God, what a fucked-up time this was, but he’d hopefully be laughing ruefully about it by this time tomorrow.

“So, are you gonna toss your hat in the ring?” Troy asked. “The contest,” he said to Dan’s confused look, nodding at the banner over the DJ booth by the dancefloor. Ian hadn’t really looked at it, beyond the big bold DADDY NIGHT! part, because that on its own had been enough to make him a little anxious about all this. Sure enough, below that it said “Daddy of the Night Competition! Shake What Your Daddy Gave Ya @9PM!!!”

“Oh Christ,” Ian muttered, and Dan laughed out loud, and Troy just grinned at them both.

“What, you think I don’t got what it takes?” Dan asked him, giving his shoulders another squeeze.

“Oh you definitely do,” Troy said, giving Dan an appraising, approving look that made Ian all antsy inside again. He couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad feeling.

“Fuck yeah, go for it, man,” chimed in the hunky bro bartender, who’d reappeared to pick up empties and wipe down the bar beside them. “Grand prize is a hundred bucks and your bar tab, and a T-shirt too.”

“Hell, I’ve done worse for less,” Dan grinned, and Ian just stared at him. “Boys at the gym might get a kick out of the shirt, too.”

“Ah fuck,” Ian muttered, and Dan ruffled his hair with a big troublemaking kind of grin.

“All part of the adventure, right buddy?” he said, and that just made Ian think even more about that night at the beach, and his father’s invitation to have an adventure that led to them getting off together, and now his cock was starting to threaten his shorts again. “Screw it, I’m in. Guess we’d better have another round. And I think shots are in order this time, what do you guys say?”

Ian didn’t have a chance to decline, and a couple minutes later the hunky bartender had lined up four shots of Jamesons, including one for himself and Troy at Dan’s insistence, and now it was too late to say no.

“Here’s to adventure,” Dan said, voice booming cheerfully enough to make heads turn in their direction. “And to a happy Pride, boys!” A little cheer went up from the guys clustered around them, and they all drank to that, even Ian. He still felt deeply conflicted about all this, but underneath that, there was an undeniable happiness to have his father be part of his world like this, and to have him embracing his son and his life as warmly and openly as he always did. That alone was worth celebrating, and it was going a long way to making him more relaxed about everything else too.

Still, he was all full of a weird mix of nerves and embarrassment and awkwardness when the competition started, overlaid with the warm buzz of the drinks, and even more so when Dan’s name was called and his father made his way to the stage. A cheer and a whole lot of wolf-whistles went up as Dan did a slow turn, big arms raised, that charmingly sexy grin of his in full effect beneath the rolled brim of his ballcap as he showed off a little for the crowd. Maybe it was the drinks loosening him up, and maybe it was the distancing effect of being in the back of a crowded gay bar, watching his father display himself for a bunch of thirsty dudes, but Ian found himself taking in the sight of his father like one of them, too. Not just as a son, but as a man, examining his father like he was just another of the hunky older guys in here. In a room where nobody but them knew they were father and son, where everybody was checking everyone else out, he felt truly free to do the same, and the hot, taboo thrill of it just made him want to do it even more.

The DJ cued up “Whatta Man” by Salt-N-Pepa, and Dan started to move his hips playfully to the music. He’d always been a capable enough dancer, with decent natural rhythm and an easy willingness to just go with it and have fun. The crowd sure seemed to approve, whooping and whistling and cheering him on as Dan hammed it up a little, flexing his biceps, playfully undoing the last button of his polo, turning around to shake his handsome ass, and it just seemed to spur him on even more. Ian felt that old familiar secret hunger inside him, building up strong and steadily, watching Dan tease up the bottom of his shirt and run his hand through the fur on his tight, solid stomach, even flirting with the button on his shorts.

That image, Dan’s fingers toying with his shorts button, brought on some serious déjà vu out of nowhere, and Ian felt a wave of heat inside. The second-last night of the trip to Corolla, the two of them on the deck, another bottle of Sailor Jerry on the table between their loungers, three drinks deep under the moonlight again. His father’s girlfriend had already left, claiming she had to get back to work, and Ian was pretty sure he wouldn’t be seeing her again. Seemed like Dan wouldn’t be either, but he didn’t seem too broken up by it, more reflective than anything.

“Glad you and me got to have this time,” Dan said, reaching across to squeeze Ian’s shoulder, and it wasn’t just the liquor that had Ian feeling all warm inside.

“Me too, Dad,” Ian said. “I really enjoyed it. I’m sorry your friend…” he started to say, but Dan just waved him off.

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Dan said. “Sometimes people in your life come and go, that’s all. One of the things you’ll find out, but it’s all good. Part of growing up, y’know?”

Ian nodded at that, and felt something welling up inside of him. Something he’d been wanting to say to his father for a while, to tell him about himself. But now didn’t feel exactly like the right time to come out to him, either.

“You and me, though,” Dan went on. “I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Ian said, feeling his eyes prickle a little bit, but in a good way. This time it was him reaching out to squeeze Dan’s shoulder, and the way his father smiled at him made him feel like a million bucks. “I’m always here for you too, no matter what.”

Dan reached up with his free hand and squeezed Ian’s on his shoulder.

“Even when I do crazy shit, like the other night?” he chuckled, and Ian felt his cock tingle in his shorts at the memory of the beach, the two of them, cocks in hand, stroking off side by side. How hot and ballsy and exciting it was, of course. But how weirdly close it had made him feel to his father, too. In its own strange way, an acknowledgment of the man his father saw him as, now.

“Even then, you perv,” Ian laughed, and Dan laughed with him, nice and loud and genuine. “It was fun, though.”

“Was, wasn’t it?” Dan said, a gleam in his eye as he grinned at his son, and Ian felt that tingle in his loins solidifying. “Sometimes a guy just needs to let off a little steam, y’know?”

They both sipped their drinks, and Ian caught the way Dan’s hand dropped to his lap and squeezed. He couldn’t help the surge in his underwear, or the blush on his face, or what he said next.

“You feelin’ steamy over there again?” he said, blushing even harder at his own boldness. Dan just chuckled quietly.

“Maybe so,” he said after a moment, and Ian’s pulse started to move quicker. “What about you, bud?”

“Uh, you know,” Ian shrugged, nerves rising along with his hardon now. “More often than not.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Dan said. “You take after your old man, after all.”

“Do I?” Ian said, impressed with how casual he sounded, because he sure didn’t feel it. But maybe that was part of being his father’s son, knowing what to say instinctively, and when.

“More than you think, I bet,” Dan grinned, fixing him with a direct, but easygoing look.

“Guess you’re probably gonna go for a midnight stroll on the beach,” Ian said after a minute, shifting one leg to half-hide the growing mound in his shorts.

“I might,” Dan said, and even looking carefully straight ahead, Ian could feel his father’s gaze on him, like he could feel the increasingly loaded air between them. “But I’m pretty comfy right here, too.”

Ian swallowed hard, and nodded, and now he was reaching down to adjust himself too.

“No reason not to be,” he said. “Just us guys, right?”

“Exactly,” Dan said, voice low and deep. “Just us men, son.”

Fuck, his father had to know what he was doing here, and he didn’t seem at all inclined to stop it. Ian didn’t really want him to, either. He’d been thinking about the other night ever since it had happened, and when you laid that over the top of all the deep, secret things he’d been thinking about his good-looking stud of a father these past several years… yeah, it was hard to want to stop him, or what it felt like was about to happen.

Dan stood up slowly from his lounger, and Ian saw the size and shape of the mound in the man’s shorts, big and prominent, from the corner of his eye as his father opened the patio door, leaned in, and flicked off the lights inside the house. Now it was just the light from the stars and the moon overhead, almost full tonight, and the low, soft glow from the hot tub. But enough to see by, as Dan stepped back to his lounger, poured another slug of rum in his glass, and looked at him. A long, slow look, Ian feeling it all through his body as he tried to relax, just be easy, just go with the flow like his father did so well.

“I’m game if you are, bud,” Dan finally said, and Ian made himself look up at the man, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice thick in his throat. “Yeah, I’m game.”

Dan grinned, and squeezed his shoulder again, his hand lingering a moment before he stepped back over to his lounger and set his drink down. Ian half-watched his father’s hand reaching for the button of his cargo shorts, slowly undoing them, and without even thinking about it, Ian was reaching for the drawstring of his gym shorts too.

He couldn’t not think about that now, watching his father up on the dancefloor of the End Zone, flirting with the button of his shorts, wriggling his hips sexily to the groove of the music. A bunch of horny men cheering him on as he worked his polo shirt up his torso, looking powerful and solid and manly as fuck, teasing his audience like a pro.

“Damn, your guy’s fine,” Troy said admiringly beside him, and it gave Ian a weird, hot little thrill not to correct him.

Not my man, my Dad, he thought, feeling his cock growing, as he nodded in agreement. And it was funny, he’d think later, how he didn’t correct Troy then. Funny, but in the moment, it felt right too.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, he really is,” and then they both watched as Dan somehow worked his shirt over his head and off without disturbing his ballcap, his whole muscled, furred torso on display now, and reached teasingly for the button of his shorts.

“Get it, Daddy!” some guy shouted, and Dan just smiled wider. The DJ was clearly thinking quick and reading the room, because he dropped the audio on “Whattaman” and the brassy opening horns of “You Can Leave Your Hat On” kicked in, and the crowd of men sent up an even louder roar, as Dan shot the DJ a shit-eating grin. He was really playing to the crowd now, enjoying himself, and Ian found himself wishing he’d known his father when the man was his age, a big, young adventurous sailor with a wild streak.

Still, the wild streak apparently hadn’t gone anywhere, and Ian sucked in a sharp breath as he watched his father run a hand teasingly over the front of his shorts and the ample package beneath, the other still flirting with the button… and holy fuck, it wasn’t just a trick of the light. His father was starting to throw hard.

“Go Dan!” Troy cheered beside him, pumping his fist, and Ian just swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away as his father undid the button. Just like he’d done on the deck at the beach that night, the night the two of them sprawled out in their loungers, practically naked under the stars, and worked themselves slowly to another big, healthy side-by-side pair of loads.

“Aw fuck,” Ian muttered to himself, and watched as his father rotated his hips like a real stripper, then let his cargo shorts drop slowly down his long, strong, hairy thighs to the floor, the crowd of men roaring their approval.

Ian hadn’t seen his father stripped down like this in a long time, and the man still had it all going on, still big and fit and powerful, threads of grey in his handsome carpet of chest hair just amplifying his hotness. Not just to Ian’s eyes, either – the dudes were going wild for Dan, stripped down to his New Balances and his old ballcap and a simple pair of white Calvin Klein briefs, one big hand covering the bulge in them as he danced, but at the same time accentuating it too. He knew exactly what he was doing, too, that broad, knowing grin on his face said so, and that sent an even bigger surge through Ian. He could feel himself getting hard in earnest now, all caught up in the heat and the moment and the unexpected power of this crazy night, as he watched his own father put his hands up behind his ballcapped head and grind in a slow, showy circle for the watching men.

A little flurry of bills fluttered through the air and landed at Dan’s feet, and the guys roared louder, especially when Dan turned his back to them and made a show of slowly bending over to pick them up, even arching his back a little, the little patch of fur in the small of his back gleaming in the light, the twin boxy, muscular halves of his ass straining the white cotton of his briefs tight. Dan grinned over his shoulder at the audience, the bill of his ballcap covering his eyes but his smile saying it all, sexy and knowing and playful all at once. Ian’s mother had sometimes alluded to Dan’s wild young Navy days back when they’d first met, and if ever he’d doubted that intriguing untold past, Ian sure believed it now. He was suddenly hungry to hear more about that, to pour them a couple of drinks and listen to his father tell him stories from back in his wild young days.

Right now, though, Dan’s wild streak was on full display, in real time, scooping up the scattered bills from the floor and slowly pushing upright again, back still to the audience, grinning over his shoulder at them as he rolled his hips and slowly turned around. He slid one hand down over his chest as the brassy music blared, rubbing the cash over his firm, mature frame, down over the solid tightness of his core, then slid the bills into his underwear where they rode low on his hip. Then Dan looked up, over the heads of the men clustered in front of him, and right at Ian.

Ian grunted to himself, feeling like he’d been socked in the guts. He could see the gleam of Dan’s eyes as they locked on his, and then the subtle way his wide grin quirked up at one side, just for him. It was a look he remembered well, from those nights at the beach when he was 18, and from his memories and fantasies ever since. It was a look that said they weren’t done yet, that there was still more to go, more adventuring to do, if Ian was game. If he was ready. Without even thinking about it, Ian’s hand grazed the pulsing bulge in his shorts, and found himself subtly nodding back at his father, thrilling inside when the man gave him a subtle nod back. They’d always understood each other, but tonight, Ian really felt that connection between them, how alike they both were at their core. Tonight felt like Dan giving him permission to be himself, not to care what anyone else thought, just to live his life and enjoy the possibilities that lay ahead of him as a young man in a new city. To embrace all the adventures that might come his way, and make some for himself too.

Dan looked back at the men before him and ran his hand over the bulge in his briefs, and yeah, he was growing right before their eyes, casting that big, impressive shape in his Calvins that Ian still remembered crystal-clear from the beach. Dan teased his hand back and forth over his cockbulge as the men roared their approval, grinning easily as he did, playful and flirty and sexy as fuck. More bills were tossed at him, but he ignored them this time, looking back up to find Ian’s eyes again, and Ian’s eyes were torn between his father’s direct, intense but somehow warm gaze, and the shift of his big hands as he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, right as the song started to reach its crescendo.

“Oh damn,” Troy laughed beside him, then let out a big cheer, more of them ringing out as Dan shifted his hips and inched the waistband down, exposing the fullness of his bush and the root of his hard cock, stretching across his hip. Dan looked around at the men before him with his sexy grin, working the room like a pro, and then back at Ian again. Ian gasped a little as his father inched his undies down a little bit more, baring more of himself, a good few thick, hard inches of his cock, the audience roaring loud enough to make Ian’s ears ring. Dan held Ian’s gaze the whole time, and it was like the whole room fell away for a second, leaving just the two of them as his father flirted his briefs down to show off his handsome endowment. Ian swallowed hard, and when Dan subtly nodded at him again, he found himself almost numbly nodding back.

Then the spell was broken, as Dan eased his briefs more or less back up in place and grinned around at the crowd of men tossing stray bills and enthusiastic cheers at him, hands out at his sides. He rolled his hips through the final bars of the song and then popped a double bis flex that made Ian grunt with desire, and he faintly heard Troy beside him murmur in agreement as they both watched the powerful bulge of his father’s flexed biceps. The DJ faded the track out and brought up his mic. “Daddies and gentlemen, give it up for Dan the Man!”

Dan took a little bow, then picked up his shorts and stepped into them as the audience clapped and cheered.

“I think it’s safe to say Dan took the cake tonight, fellas,” the DJ said. “And even if he doesn’t win...” – and here a bunch of boos went up from the crowd – “...I’m pretty sure he’ll be taking somebody’s cakes tonight…”

More whistles and a few stray shouts of “Pick me!” went up. Dan just laughed as he hiked his cargo shorts up over his ass, then scooped up the rest of the stray bills on the floor and stuffed a few of them into the empty highball glass sitting on the DJ’s booth.

“I wonder who the lucky fella will be,” Troy said beside him, giving him a meaningful grin, and Ian just blushed and drank his drink and tried not to let his imagination get too vivid. Later, maybe. Probably definitely. But not right now.

It took a while for Dan to get back to them, still shirtless, his polo clutched in one hand, the other holding his shorts up, the top button still undone. There was a lot of white Calvins bulge still on display, framed at the top of his half-done-up zipper, and Ian was sure more than a few hands had reached on in there and kept it nice and full as Dan worked his way back over. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that; a little bit amused, a little bit in disbelief that his own father had done all this tonight, more than a little stirred by the notion of those men brazenly reaching in to fondle his Dad’s big firm cock. And yeah, just a little bit jealous, even. Not of his father, because Dan seemed to be having the time of his life, and Ian loved to see him happy and know he’d helped make him that way. But a little jealous of those men who’d stepped up and gotten themselves a feel of his Dad. It was wrong and fucked-up, but it would be even more wrong not to admit it to himself, and figure out what to do with it.

Ian tried not to look his father up and down, at the fur clinging slightly to his big sweaty pecs, or matted down over the slight curve of his belly, thickening out in a spread that tumbled over the waistband of his CKs. All that, and the swell of white fabric beneath. Troy, on the other hand, enjoyed a good long look, Dan just grinning confidently as he tugged the zipper up and fastened the button, and not hurrying with it either.

“Well that seemed to go alright,” Dan said, plunking the rest of the cash from the floor down on the bar. ��Hunter, my friend, that’s for taking care of us tonight. Let’s talk about another drink.”

Of course he’d found out the bartender’s name, because that was one of the things Dan was good at, and in spite of all the charged-up, conflicting feelings Ian was having, he had to roll his eyes good-naturedly at that.

“Pick something from the top shelf, on the house,” Hunter said, sticking his fist out over the bar, Dan meeting it with his own like they were best buds. “I think you’ve earned it.”

“Well in that case, you got any Sailor Jerry?” Dan said, turning to give Ian a grin that vibed all the way down into his core. “Because I think that sounds like just the right thing right now, don’t you, bud?”

Goddamn, there never had been any doubt, but his Dad sure knew what he was doing, and the longer the evening went on like this, the more Ian was starting to feel like he did too.

“I was gonna say don’t give up your day job,” Ian joked. “But you seemed to have a pretty good handle on things up there.” Dan shot him a big grin, and there was a definite spark in his eye. He dug inside his shorts again and brought out the first wad of cash he’d picked up.

“Are you kidding? I made fuckin’ bank up there,” Dan said proudly, riffing quickly through the bills and getting them straightened out.

“Shit, that’s gotta be a good couple hundred bucks,” Ian said with real surprise. Dan nodded proudly, and took one of Ian’s hands and pressed the folded wad of bills into it. It was warm and slightly damp from the sweat of Dan’s skin, where it had been tucked inside the hip of his briefs while he showed himself off up there, and Ian had to stifle a little grunt at that.

“I told you I wanted to buy you a new couch for your new place,” Dan grinned. “That should get us started nicely, don’t you think?” Ian just laughed and slid the warm fold of cash into his front pocket, and he swore he could still feel Dan’s body heat on it, glowing through the fabric of his underwear, feeling his own flesh responding to it too.

Hunter served up the drinks, and Dan passed them around. Troy looked surprised, but raised his glass with a grin. “I feel like I should be buying you a drink for that performance you just gave,” he said, and the way he looked at Dan, just like he’d looked at him, made Ian’s insides all hot, curious and amused and protective and a little jealous all at once.

“Hell, I’m pretty confident that performance just won me first prize,” Dan said with a proud tilt to his chin, slinging his arm easily round Ian’s neck as he lifted his own glass. “Which means I ain’t paying for these anyway.”

The two men laughed uproariously at that and clinked their glasses together, and then they both looked at Ian, and he was damned if he could see much of a difference in the way his father was looking at him right now, and the openly interested and available way Troy was.

“Looks like I can’t buy either of you a drink, then,” Troy said to him, his gaze warm and level. “That’s a shame.” He sipped on his drink, his eyes on Ian’s the whole time, and Ian felt himself blush.

“You mean to tell me this nice gentleman offered to buy you a drink, and you declined?” Dan said to Ian with a big half-buzzed grin, and the direct aim of his playful charm, along with the dense, familiar musk emanating from his pit and swirling all around Ian’s head like a fog suddenly had his balls aching. “Well that’s not gonna get you very far, is it buddy?”

Ian blushed even harder at that, because the last thing he needed right now was his father trying to pull strings in his love life. But the man knew him better than anyone, and he’d always known Ian benefited from a little nudge from time to time. And yeah, any other night, Ian would have taken that drink, and let Troy show him what kind of adventure awaited. But tonight was not that night, no way in hell.

Troy gave Dan an interested and curious look, then Ian, grinning almost to himself again. “Maybe I’ll get another chance sometime,” he said, and Ian found himself nodding automatically.

“I like your odds,” he said, that bit of Dan’s charm he’d allegedly inherited starting to show its face now, finally. But apparently it did the job, because Troy gave him an even more intent, warm gaze and raised his glass, right as Dan gave him an encouraging squeeze. And at last, between that and the drinks and the sudden crazy way their whole day had shifted with the night, it all finally clicked together the right way for Ian, and he decided to just go with the flow and see where it led them.

To be continued...

#father's day #daddy night #family #dad son

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imaginedxlan · 4 years ago

Text

Champagne & Shackles; Beta Part Two (Fred Weasley)

a/n: i’m SORRY i’m terrible at time management, school is kicking me ass. i had no idea so many of you had the same affinity for the brothers of the beta fraternity as i do, this is for all my frat rats out there i love you most. this is an ode to my very favorite date party theme: champagne and shackles. in which you and you’re chad or brad of a date are candcuffed together until you finish a massive bottle of champagne between the two of you.

weeks after the infamous beta darty, you can’t seem to pull your thoughts or presence away from the ginger boy who made your heart skip a beat. That is, until you’re invited to the beta champagne and shackled date party.

y/f/n: your friend’s name

warnings: cussing, alcohol, mentions of sex, modern!fred, and also very typical frat boy lingo stolen straight from the mouths of frat boy i associate myself with

disclaimer: while they’re semi-drunk in this they’re still coherent and stable enough to know what they’re doing. nothing that happens in this is coercive or decided under an incapacitated mind. king freddie would never take advantage of a girl like that.

part one

consumed.

You have been completely consumed with the the thought of a certain red head for weeks now. Since you kissed him goodbye on your front lawn, the image of Fred Weasley has yet to leave your brain. While you’ve been at the same school for almost two years, you’ve seen him more in the few weeks following the beta darty than you have in the 18 months you’ve spent on campus. Lines in coffee shops, the terrace at the union, the corners of the library you’ve inhabited for years. He’s everywhere. Not that you’re complaining.

The grin that plays across his lips every time you catch his eye sends your heart into overdrive. You’ve spent countless nights awake in y/f/n’s bed analysing every text, every snapchat, every story. You replay the day in the beta backyard at least once a day, yearning for the feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve hardly returned to the brick-faced mansion, however. You’ve of course been invited through Draco and the countless group messages that flood your phone the nights leading up to a beta party, but you want him to invite you. You want him to want you there.

Of course he wants you there. He spends hours in that filthy basement he calls home every weekend searching for you among the dozens of drunk girls, hoping you had decided to turn up this time. But you’re not there.

Y/f/n mentioned date party to you this past weekend. Draco being social chair of the fraternity, he’s been planning the function for weeks. Champagne and Shackles. A fan favorite among every sorority girl throughout the school. Mixing together handcuffs and a massive bottle of champagne would have nearly anyone begging for an invite. You decide not to get your hopes up, constantly reminding yourself that while he is the boy that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world while you were surrounded by hundreds of drunk college boys, he’s still a twenty year old beta boy. It’s hard to stray from the hook up culture that he’s been practically bred into. Nevertheless, there is still a glimmer of hope in you that you’ll be cuffed to him this Saturday night instead of another girl he’s probably found on greek row.

He’s been drafting this text in the notes app of his phone for three days now. He’s changed the wording, the punctuation and the amount of details in his intended invite to you one hundred times now. George and Oliver groan every time he stops their studying or game of Call of Duty to read them the revised text he’s come up with this time.

“My god, Weasley, you’re acting like you’re writing your vows.” Oliver jokes, setting his xbox controller down on the makeshift coffee table in the twins room. “Just send it, you know she’ll say yes.”

But that’s the problem, he doesn’t know that.

“Wood we’ve thrown six times in the past month, she’s come once.” Fred reminds him of the painful fact that it seems like you’re just not that into him. “If I was sure she was gonna say yes I would have done it by now.”

George snatches his twin’s phone from his hands, copying the now final draft of this overly thought out text asking you to his date party. Before Fred can spring up from his bed, George has already got the message pasted into Fred’s text chain with you and hit send, making the color drain from his twin’s face.

“Are you fucking serious, George.” Fred finally reaches his younger brother and tackles him to the ground. “I barely read through it she’s gonna think I’m a fucking weirdo.”

George is able to shake his brother off of him, bursting out laughing with Oliver at Fred’s crazed state. George knew Fred had feelings for you, well practically every who spoke to a drunk him for more that ten minutes knew, but it was still comical to see his twin get so worked up over a girl he hadn’t even slept with yet.

“Fred you’ve been reading the stupid thing for an hour now,” He points out, Oliver nods his head in agreement. “What’s the worst that could happen? Huh? She says no and you ask one of the eight hundred other girls who fawn over you every chance they get. I know you like her Freddie but this isn’t a life or death thing.”

As Fred caught his breath from his outburst, he knew George had a point. He wouldn’t drop dead if you rejected his offer, but it sure help like he would.

hey idk if you’ve heard but our date party is this saturday and i was wondering if you would want to come

Your phone lights up just as you sit down to eat dinner with a couple of your friends. Once you see the name fred weasley next to the notification your heart stops. Taking y/f/n’s hand in yours, you turn the screen so she can read it. Her lips turn up in a grin as she squeezes your hand.

“I told you he would ask you,” She squeals, shaking her shoulders in her little ‘happy dance’ as she likes to put it. “Draco won’t stop talking about how tweaked Weasley’s been over some stupid text. I knew it was about you, I just knew it.”

You laugh at her imitation of her boyfriend, knowing it’s not far off from how he actually sounds. You reread the text probably thirty times, feeling even more giddy over such a simple and honestly not very personal text, but you don’t care. He asked you.

You spend far less time crafting a response than Fred did writing the initial text to you. If what y/f/n said is true and he really mulled over this for days, you may pass out.

i’d love to :)

The love seemed a bit overboard in your opinion, but y/f/n convinced you that it was a perfect response. You didn’t allow yourself to start looking for possible dress options until he really asked you, afraid you might jinx it if you bought a dress prematurely. Now, however, you’re on a time crunch. Someone in the house had to have something you could borrow. That night you try on at least ten dresses, all the girls on your floor flooding your room gushing over the fact that the Fred Weasley is taking you to his date party. He’s someone nearly everyone knows, and if they didn’t they were probably a geed, or lived in sophomore slums.

You finally land on a dark blue, spaghetti strapped sequin dress that clung tight to your curves. While nearly every dress you tried on felt like it might work, this is champagne and shackles after all, you have to dress to impress. Y/f/n won’t stop talking about what Fred will do the minute he sees you in the dress, praying she gets to watch his jaw drop. The two of you stay up late into the night again mushing over the thought of the two of you being swept off your feet by beta boys, the same boys you could hardly think about a month ago without becoming nauseous.

pregames at the house, malfoy and i will come by yours to grab you and y/f/n at 6:30

The text comes in Friday night. You can hardly contain the bubbling feeling in your stomach. As much as you feel like you’re sixteen years old again, you don’t care. You’ve finally joined the ninety percent of girls on greek row in one category, you’re crushing on Fred Weasley.

As the day finally rolls around, Fred is surprisingly back to his calm and collected demeanor. As much as the boys, and to be honest he himself, expected him to be bouncing off the walls over a slew of what if’s regarding the night ahead of him, he was rather calm about it all. He’s one half of the coveted Weasley Twins after all, he has a reputation to uphold.

The same cannot be said for you. As you curl your hair and apply your makeup to perfection, you can’t stop your knee from bouncing under the vanity counter you’re sat in front of. What if he secretly thinks you look bad in your dress? That you look like you tried to hard? As much as y/f/n tried to remind you of the fact that he was the one nervous about asking you, nothing seems to ease your growing anxiety. The hours tick closer to six-thirty and you sit patiently on your bed, completely ready and aimlessly scrolling through your socials to keep your mind off of the fact that in only twenty minutes Fred and Draco would be at your door to take you back to beta. The actual date party would be at one of the satellite houses, the penthouse of a nearby apartment paid for by betas massive budget.

Y/f/n takes your hand and forces you to look at her.

“Y/n,” She begins, now holding both of your hands between hers. “You are the hottest bitch this campus has ever seen. No one, not even Fred Weasley, deserves to be blessed with the absolute vision you are right now, but I guess he’ll have to do.”

You laugh at her attempt to hype you up in ten hopes that the knots in your stomach fade away. They partially do, but part of you is still in shambles over the thought of seeing him. He probably looks like even more of a greek god in a suit. Y/f/n’s phone buzzes with an ever so poetic ‘here’ text from her boyfriend and she gives your hands one more squeeze before dragging you down the staircase of your house. The boys are waiting just beyond the lawn, the same one you kissed Fred on weeks ago. The two of them have their hands in their pockets, looking like they’re deep in conversation, not even noticing that you and y/f/n are standing walking toward them.

He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a white button down with the top three buttons undone. His hair is perfectly messy. You didn’t even think it was possible for him to get any hotter, but here he is.

The boys turn their heads and immediately stop their conversation. The blonde’s face turns up in a smirk as his eyes trail over y/f/n’s body, but Fred is standing perfectly still with his mouth slightly agape as he watches you come closer to him. His cool and collected affect quickly runs out of his body as he watches your dress glitter under the street light.

“Told you.” Y/f/n whispers in your ear before she drops your hand to meet her boyfriend.

Draco greets y/f/n with a kiss and Fred pulls you into a hug. You melt at his touch. Even in the heels you borrowed from y/f/n, he still towers over you, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You look...” Fred trails off, trying to find the words to describe the sight in front of him. Heavenly, goddess like, like he might just skip the date party and get down on one knee. “...incredible.”

You muster up whatever confidence you have in the midst of your imposing anxiety to give him a somewhat composed reply. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Weasley.”

That heart-melting, mind-scrambling smile returns to his lips before the four of you begin walking what to the beta house. Fred keeps his hand on the small of your back the entire walk, desperately trying to keep you close to him.

The ungodly amount of alcohol you consume at the pregame seems to overtake any remaining worries in your body. Fred never leaves your side, as if you’re already cuffed together before you even arrive at the function itself. You talk with George and Oliver again, and meet some of Fred’s other fraternity brothers like Lee Jordan and Theo Nott. They all seem to know who you are before you can even introduce yourself. It would be difficult to not know your face after watching fred gawk over your every instagram post. Any sort of reservations you once held about the beta boys melt away. They may be wildly intimidating to a stranger that passed them on the street, but watching the boys sing along to whatever song is blasting through the speaker while dancing like they’ve just learned to walk shows you that they’re like every other boy you’ve met.

The walk to the penthouse is short, but it seems to take forever to reign everyone in everyone once in a while. Fred is continuously checking up on you, grasping your hand or your waist, making sure you aren’t cold in your dress. The second you make it to the penthouse you’re immediately cuffed to the red haired boy and handed a comically large bottle of champagne and told the rules.

No unshackling until you’ve finished the bottle.

The party is far more cramped than the one in their backyard. You can’t bring yourself to care about the occasionally bumps from someone in the crowd or the growing smell of alcohol around you. You’re completely consumed by the angelic giant dancing with you. Even with the handcuffs, Fred’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as his other hand is holding you close to his body, roaming from your waist to your back and over your ass. Anytime you go to open the bottle you’d been given at the door to continue on feeding the buzzed state you’ve been in since you arrived at the beta house, Fred stops you. He still grabs you drinks from the makeshift bar and pulls you into the ‘shot room’ to send copious amounts of burning liquor down your throat, but the bottle stays off limits.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about you this month, y/n.” Fred hiccups his way through his confession as his lips are pressed close to your ear to make sure you hear every word he says over the loud music. “You do something to me.”

You know whatever you try to say will come out slurred, so you do the next best thing you can think of to tell him that you’re feeling the same way. You wrap your free hand behind his neck to press your lips to his. He immediately pulls you closer into him like he was a dying man grasping onto his only source of oxygen. Again, with your lips tangled in his, you’re suddenly the only two in the room. This moment is one you know will occupy your thoughts until the end of time. Held by the boy you’re completely enamored with as the world seems to stop around you. In every sense of the word, it is perfect.

When you pull away from each other to gasp for air, you move your lips to his ear.

“Why can’t I open the champagne?”

He leans back to look you in the eyes. The colored led lights changing on his face make him somehow even more breathtaking. That same smile appears on his lips before he leans down toward you again.

“I don’t want to finish it,” He yells over the bass of the speaker. “I want you to be stuck with me for as long as possible.”

Without a second thought, you pull your hands together to take the bottle from Fred’s free hand to pop the cork off the top before he can stop you. You bring the freshly opened champagne to your lips and take a swig before offering it over to him. His brows furrow in confusion, wondering if maybe you do want to be unchained from him.

“Freddie, if you think it’s going to take an empty bottle to get rid of me you’re wrong,” You try to shout, even in all the noise he hears you and his chest tightens. “Cuffed or not, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He doesn’t reply, he simply takes the bottle from your hand and begins to chugs the fizzy drink, spilling over his face slightly. Watching him fumble over the liquid you know isn’t easy to take in large amounts, you can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you. The words of Kid Cudi’s Pursuit of Happiness flood yours ears and you pull yourself right back against Fred’s body. He pulls the bottle from his mouth and hands it back to you before bringing his hand to your cheek to meet your lips once again. You’re sure you’re perfectly done hair and makeup is a wreck by now but your mind is continuously pulled back to the impossible reality that you’re kissing Fred Weasley. Of all the girls in the party, on this campus that flock to his side any chance they get, you’re the one that Fred Weasley suddenly became nervous around. The one he spent days wracking his brain to craft the perfect image of himself to.

His hand entangles in your more than likely sweaty hair, keeping you held exactly in place against his body as his hips sway against yours. His lips move from yours to your jaw, placing quick and light kisses across the skin. Something that would under any circumstance feel sexually driven feels lighthearted, pulling numerous giggles from your lips. His hand wanders down to your side and in a swift motion begins to tickle you through you dress. You laugh only become louder as you try to keep from doubling over.

“Fred!” You squeal through the stream of giggles. “Freddie stop!”

When you begin to snort, Fred loses it. He can no longer contain his stoic face he had on when he began to tease you. You’re eventually pulled from the party, Freds hand clasping yours as he discards the empty bottle in some corner of the penthouse and brings you to be unchained from him by the pledges standing by the entrance. Even with the cuffs off your wrists, you’re still chained to him as if you’re forced to be.

Before you can leave the apartment, Fred’s jacket is shrugged from his shoulders and placed around yours. You pull yours arms through the sleeves that are obviously too long for you. “What a gentleman.”

“Can’t have you catching a cold,” He replies, holding you by your waist as you walk back to the beta house. You’ve never seen it so empty or quiet, no one around with the exception of a few boys studying in their lounge. You return to the bedroom you were in only hours ago, it’s a mess from the pregame but you’re able to make out Fred’s bed from his brothers. Massive movie posters and stolen items from various sororities hanging on the walls around his bed, the Good Will Hunting poster above the bed with the blue comforter being a dead giveaway that it belonged to Fred. He told you it was his favorite one night.

“You don’t have to, but you’re welcome to crash here,” He asks, beginning unbutton his now stained dress shirt, revealing his toned abdomen. It’s a sight you don’t think you’ll ever quite get used to. You stop yourself from nearly drooling and shake yourself back to reality. “You can borrow some clothes, probably be pretty big on you but they’d be better than that dress.”

He already has a tee shirt and boxers held out for you. He’s secretly hoping you’re too tired to walk back to your own house so he can spend a little while longer with you. Taking the clothing from his hands, you begin to slip the straps of your dress down, signalling Fred to immediately turn around to give you some privacy. You mouth a quick oh my god to yourself before continuing the change into the boy’s clothing.

“You can turn around,” You tell him and his eyes meet yours once again. He gives you a quick once over before his lips break out in a smile. “What? What are you so smiley over?”

“I like you in my clothes.”

Immediately your heart begins to hammer in your chest as your cheeks begin to heat up. Exhaustion washes over you, the lack of sleep you got in the past week due to your constant overthinking finally catch up to you. After switching off the lights, he pulls back him dark comforter to let you slip into the warmth of his bed. As soon as your settled you turn on your side to face him. You’re both quiet, wordlessly taking in the sight of each other.

“I like you, y/n. A lot,” He finally breaks the silence. You can’t help but wonder if he’s drunker than he’s let on. He’s not, he knows exactly what he’s saying and means every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”

You reach over to trace your finger up his defined cheek bones before resting your palm on the side of his face. His arm is lazily slung over your waist, absentmindedly keeping you close to him. You lean in further, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I like you, Freddie, more than you know,” You confess. Your heart has never felt more full, you’re sure this whole month has been a dream and every second you’re terrified to wake up without even knowing Fred Weasley like you do now. “Thank you for taking me tonight.”

He softly chuckles, his hand moving up your body to stroke through your hair. Even in the dark you can see his bright smile, you’re new favorite sight. “I should be the one thanking you,” He tells you. “You have no idea how nervous I was that you wouldn’t come.”

You continue to shift closer to him, trying to expel the practically nonexistent space between the two of you. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, finding his steady pulse quite calming. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie.”

“I like it when you call me Freddie.”

You hum a response, suddenly becoming too tired to even speak. The warmth of his body radiating against yours mixed with the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you further into a deep sleep. His arms return to being wrapped around your waist, drinking in this moment and silently praying in would last forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “Goodnight, y/n.”

Hours later George, Lee and Oliver stumble into the room, all with slices of pizza from the late night shop down the street and are met with the sight of you and Fred tangled in the sheets, light snores coming from the red haired boy. They wish they could find something about the moment that they would tease him about later, but they come up short. The image laid out in front of them looks like it was taken straight from a movie.

Needless to say your constant thoughts of the beta boy are soon replaced by his presence anywhere and everywhere you go. You aren’t sure of many things in life, but you’re certain that he was made for you and you for him.

tags:

@justmesadgirl @greyspilot @sunflowerdarlingx

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #frat boy fred weasley #fred weasley modern #fred weasley x reader #weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter #weasley twins

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jamespotterthefirst · 5 years ago

Text

Lovely (Ethan x F!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2,100+ Warning: Adult language Premise: Adding her on social media was a dangerous mistake. Particularly when she posts a picture looking like that. Tags: @openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @noboundariesplease | @silverlitskies |

___________________________

“Post, post, post!” her roommates chanted with alcohol fueled enthusiasm.

Lilac, the least drunk of the group, though not by a lot, peered at her friends quizzically. They were sprawled on different parts of their living room, gazing at her with glazed eyes and sloppy smiles. In her own drunken state, she wondered how the night turned from board games and drinks to Lilac spilling her guts about Ethan following her on social media. Of course, she had left out his name and so her roommates only surmised it was some new flame she was interested in.

God, she wanted him with such desperation that it physically hurt sometimes. If she hadn't had several drinks, she'd feel miserable and somewhat pathetic.

“You guys don't even know who this guy is,” Lilac returned and she realized immediately that was not entirely true. As the words left her mouth, Sienna and Elijah shared a massive, knowing grin. Lilac's face flushed at the memory of running into them while trying to sneak Ethan out all those months ago.

Luckily, Aurora and Jackie were too drunk to notice the exchange.

“It's that Lahela guy, isn't it?” Aurora offered.

“Not likely,” returned Jackie at once. “Lilac said this guy was good-looking and smart.” She instantly wrinkled her nose, looking far more dejected than was warranted. “It's a lot more fun when he's here to hear me insult him.”

“That one was weak,” Elijah commented with a laugh, elongating the last word. “If he was here, he would've destroyed you with a comeback.”

Before Jackie could reply, Sienna leaped up from her place on the rug and plopped down next to Lilac on the couch. “I know what picture you should post,” she exclaimed excitedly, brandishing her phone in front of Lilac's face. A blur of green was all she could see as Sienna waved the phone. “Remember that green dress you bought for your cousin's wedding before they called it off?”

“Let's talk about that for a second,” Aurora said with renewed interest.

Sienna didn't seem to hear this because she went on, “The one with the neckline and the slit?”

Lilac remembered. She also remembered the picture she had sent Sienna to show it off. Lilac standing in front of a body-length mirror clad in the forest green number, phone strategically positioned to cover her face so the emphasis would be on the plunging neckline and on the shapely leg escaping from the slit.

“That dress could kill a man,” Sienna said approvingly as they both inspected the picture on her screen. “It's equal parts classy and also—”

“Slutty?” Lilac offered. It was how she described her style on most days and she was far from ashamed of it.

“If he wasn't in such great shape, you'd give the poor man a heart attack. I'm sure Eth—” she started but abruptly stopped when she remembered the others. One nervous glance around told Lilac they were not listening anyway. They were busy filling Aurora in on the drama of the canceled wedding. Sienna lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I'm sure your mystery guy will love it. He was all over you when you wore that navy blue dress in Miami.”

Perhaps it was the memory of that night and his kisses on the balcony, or the alcohol coursing through her, or maybe the way her heart pined for him every time their eyes met, wishing desperately they could do more, that made Lilac say, “Fine, I'll post a—”

“Thirst trap,” Elijah chimed in with a cheer.

They all laughed out loud, even Lilac. Another indicative that they should really stop drinking for the night. The semi rational part of her brain reminded her that she should've stopped drinking when posting a provocative picture with the most basic pose imaginable in hopes of entrapping a man that might not even be watching seemed like a good idea.

With a burst of courage and recklessness, Lilac found the picture, wrote a ridiculous caption that would make her hungover self tomorrow morning cringe, and pressed "post" before they could spend another twenty minutes discussing her predicament and before the chanting resumed.

_________________________________________________

The account was supposed to be strictly for a one-time use. Ethan had planned to delete the damned thing as soon as Gwyneth's case had been solved and treated. Wasn't that part of the reason why he had allowed Lilac to use that ridiculous picture of him at the beach? It was meant to be a gag, something that would never see the light of day.

Yet, he had found himself gravitating towards the tab left open on his laptop every time he used it. His subconscious had equated the inane website with learning more about Lilac. And despite his many attempts to convince himself that he shouldn’t care, he did. She was the only person he had ever wanted to learn more about, with such a desperate conviction that would be alarming to her if he ever confessed.

He cared so deeply that the word “care” did not properly describe the unbridled longing in his chest. One did not flee to the Amazon for two months to escape “care.”

Ethan pushed that dangerous thought away.

“Thirty minutes, Ethan,” Reggie said from the doorway to the bar. It was his usual way to inform him how long it’d take him to clean-up and thus the amount of time Ethan had left to enjoy his drink in blissful solitude.

He was alone, typically how he enjoyed drinking, yet he found no peace. Memories of the last time he was at that very beer garden with her accosted his thoughts. The way her bright green eyes looked startling in the golden lights floating all around and the feel of her soft lips on his.

Before he could stop himself, he pulled out his phone and opened the app. His weakness was such that he had figured out how to download the damn app on his phone. It was almost comical that now he could look at her whenever and however long he wanted on a screen, as if she wasn't inhabiting his mind at every hour.

Ethan was determined to find his favorite post, a picture of her at that very bar, taken a few months ago by her friend, Dr. Trinh. Before he could, however, his eye caught a notification from the app itself.

“Pictagram: dr.allende just shared a new post.”

It was time stamped one hour ago. Ethan briefly commended himself on going a whole hour without staring at her face like the pitiful stalker he was becoming. Before he could feel ashamed and pathetic, he opened her new post and almost choked on his drink.

“Fuck,” he murmured into the quiet night, setting his glass down on a side table nearby. Without realizing it, he sat much straighter on the outdoor sofa.

His eyes desperately roamed every inch of the image, unsure where to settle. There was the expanse of her exposed leg, or the dangerously plunging neckline of her dress, the casual sway of her hip. His hands had clutched on to those hips, fingers digging slightly into her skin as they both lost themselves to unmitigated pleasure.

It was downright criminal how good she looked in the picture, exposing enough to drive a man insane but not enough to be crass. Apparently, he was not the only one to think so. In the mere hour the picture had been up, it had already accrued 220 of those "likes" Lilac had explained.

Ethan continued to stare at the picture like a starved man. It took everything in his power not to call her and somehow convince her to take him back, his morals and conviction be damned. That was the power Dr. Lilac Allende and her green dress wielded over him.

The distant clanging of bottles startled him out his thoughts so abruptly that Ethan almost dropped his phone. He caught it quite unceremoniously and as he turned the screen back to him, he noticed a red heart animation appearing and disappearing in the middle of her picture.

"Shit," he muttered when he realized he, too, like the 220 others had "liked" the picture. Upon further inspection, he realized he had even accidentally commented the single letter "I".

A bit frantic, he tapped at his phone to figure out a way to get rid of the damn thing. He could not bear Lilac learning he leered at her picture at 1 AM and was so affected he could barely type a coherent sentence. Even if that was a hundred percent true. Ethan was getting nowhere, except to an early grave, when a text message notification came in.

“Like what you see?”

It was Lilac.

Goddammit, she had seen.

Ethan considered not replying. Yet, even as he entertained the thought, he knew he couldn't resist.

“Along with 220 others,” he replied before he could stop himself. He realized belatedly that the real count was 220 others plus Bryce Lahela (scalpellahela).

“Those 220 others can look all they want but they can't touch,” was her immediate response.

His breath caught a little. The power she had over him was astounding.

“But you can,” she added when he did not respond.

God almighty. She was determined to kill him.

A few minutes ticked by and his phone buzzed with an incoming call. When he started the call, he was greeted by what sounded like distant wolf whistles, followed by the sound of a door closing.

“You okay over there?” she asked by form of greeting. Her voice was teasing in a way that was absolutely maddening.

“Fine,” Ethan replied in what he hoped was a convincing, leveled voice.

“Where are you anyway?” She spoke in a sultry sort of drawl that did nothing to placate his traitorous body's reaction to her photo.

“Donahue's. Finishing up my drink,” he replied, eyeing his forgotten scotch on the table where he had set it. “Anyway, sorry if I awoke you. I accidentally liked and commented.”

“Accidentally,” she repeated in a tone that suggested she did not believe him. “So you don't like my dress and you're not at a loss for words?”

“I never said that,” he returned at once. “You look…”

What was a professional way of saying “fucking irresistible” or “like I want to peel that dress off with my teeth”?

“Good,” he said lamely, though his strangled voice suggested far more. She picked up on that, of course.

“And what are you going to do about that?” she asked in a deliberately innocent whisper.

“Lilac,” he warned, as he always did when their conversation veered towards volatile territory.

“There's nothing wrong with just telling me, Ethan,” she offered and he could have sworn she sounded almost pleading.

He did not argue, as he usually did. Mostly because another intellectual argument with her, in addition to the photo and the way she all but purred in his ear, would allow his desire for her to win. He'd be on his way to her bed in moments.

“Tell me,” she prompted again.

With a sigh, he gave in.

“That dress is...”

“Yes?”

“Sinful.”

There was a small pause at the other end of the line.

“Should I wear it out?”

“Absolutely,” he returned, completely enraptured by the direction this was all heading. He could feel his inhibitions vanish.

“Where to?”

“My bed.”

She did not miss a beat.

“Ideally, I'd be out of the dress for that, then,” she returned in that sexy drawl of hers. Ethan was astounded he was not in the car, speeding to her apartment at that very moment.

“Fuck, Lilac,” he murmured.

“So you can do that, yes,” she responded in a whisper so low that he almost didn’t catch it.

He said nothing, fearing he would sound like an incomprehensible imbecile if he did.

A long silence, and then, “Ethan?”

“Yes?”

He heard her suck in a breath, almost as if mustering up courage. “I miss you.”

There was an unbearable tugging at his chest. He never had her courage, but now that she had laid it out for him, he couldn’t resist admitting the same. “You know I do too.”

Another small silence.

“Come over,” she said at last and he could hear the tones of humor in her voice. Almost as if she knew what he was going to say. Perhaps she did know. The brief illusion in which they saw each other as lovers and not colleagues, had inevitably come to an end. As it always did.

He laughed good-naturedly. “Go to sleep.”

“With you?”

Despite himself, he grinned. He knew at the other end, she would be too.

“Good night, Lilac.”

“Good night, Ethan.”

___________________________________

Click Here for Part 2

___________________________________

A/N: Ah, these two will have to sleep together sooner than later.

THANK YOU so much if you read this silly, pointless thing!

Masterlist

P.S. I made that Instagram post Ethan loves of MC at Donahue’s but didn’t put it in the story. LOL, I love the idea of him stalking her posts. That man is so in love.

Anyway, here it is, just for fun:

#Ethan Ramsey #Open Heart #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing #choices you play #oph #OH #OH2 #OHSY #ethan ramsey fanfiction #Ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter Five: The Something In His Eyes

Table Of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,963

MASTERLIST

Over the next few days, you fell into a rhythm. You’d work on schoolwork remotely from your room. It was pretty easy to keep up with all the free time you had.

So, obviously, the remaining time off was spent getting to know the enigma of a man

that was Spencer Reid. You formed a rather strange acquaintanceship with him, not quite friends but more than a protector and protectee. The real question was who was protecting who?

You discovered many things about him, some quite apparent, others not. For example, you assumed he was very into technology as most nerdy types were. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He despised all things electronic, from e-books to computers themselves.

“Do you even own a cell phone?”

“Yes!” he insisted, driving you to work for the third day in a row. “Sure, it’s not a fancy smartphone, but I can dial numbers so much easier, anyway.” He handed you his old-school flip-phone.

“How do you text people on this thing?”

He laughed politely.

“I don’t.”

You took the time to interrogate him on the nuances of text language, something he lovingly referred to as ‘dreadfully impractical’.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

Being constantly watched wasn’t as disconcerting as you’d expected. Well, being watched by Spencer wasn’t. You pretended you didn’t notice the dark blue honda with the tinted windows following you all the way to work and parking nearby. Strange that the FBI seems to need lessons in being covert.

Fortunately, rude customers and the smell of books managed to take your mind off your current situation.

What didn’t help was having to constantly stop Spencer from rearranging all the books in the shop.

“They’re categorized by the Dewey Decimal System,” he said, disgust in his tone making you stifle a giggle. “What? Everyone knows that the Library of Congress Classification System is far superior.”

“Maybe, but my workers have memorized the Dewey Decimal System. It’s easier.”

“But it’s too vague! When you’re categorizing books you need to work from all sorts of classifications. For example . . .”

It was amazing to see how passionate he was about sorting books. You’d never met a man that didn’t just throw a novel (or, more realistically, a comic book) back anywhere on the shelf when he’d finished it. Spencer treated each book like a separate piece of artwork, carefully placing them back in the correct spot without fail. He’d run his hands over the leather bound covers, caressing them as delicately as possible. You couldn’t help but notice the swiftness and gracefulness at which his hands moved.

“You okay?” you snapped out of your stupor and found him standing much closer, a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You took a step back and cleared your throat.

“Yes, ahem, sorry. I need to get back to work.”

Quickly, you walked back over to the front desk, starting to update the book index.

Maybe I should have requested Emily as my protector, you thought to yourself, dusting off a returned copy of Fahrenheit 451. Spencer was super nice and a huge dork. Maybe that was the problem. It was easy to start to think of him as a friend rather than someone just doing his job. Maybe if you’d met under different circumstances you might have been . . . friends.

But that wasn’t the case. Spencer was there to protect you. Any teasing or joking around was just a formality. But why did he have to be so damn enticing?

Around nine o’clock, customers started to peter out. Soon, the only people left in the shop were you, Caleb, your co-worker, and Spencer, who’d been sitting on the window sill reading book after book.

“Hey, I’m gonna clock out,” Caleb said, stripping out of his work shirt. God, that man took any excuse to take his shirt off. You didn’t blame him all that much. D.C, even in the dead of winter, was hot as hell. And when you had a chest like that, one couldn’t be blamed for showing it off.

“Okay, be in tomorrow at ten. I don’t trust Claire to come in on time.”

“No prob,” he waltzed out the front door into the illuminated street, the bell tinkling lightly.

You stood and stretched, glancing over to the windowsill Spencer had been sitting in.

Shocked, you saw Spencer exactly where he’d been about an hour ago, slumped up on the windowsill, fast asleep, using a book as a pillow.

Strange, though it was, that this man was an FBI agent, you couldn’t help giggling at the sight of him sacked out like a toddler.

“Spencer?” you hated to disturb him but you knew that he’d want you to wake him up. “Spencer, wake up.”

He moaned uncomfortably and stretched, jumper lifting up slightly to expose his lean stomach. It took all the self control you had not to stare.

“Whasitgonon?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

“You fell asleep,” you walked over to the loveseat in the center of the store and plopped down, sighing.

“Oh god. Sorry,” he stood, shaking himself awake and walking over to you, staring at the pile of books he’d devoured. “I guess I over-exerted myself.”

You scoffed.

“Oh, come on. I thought you were a genius,” you teased, tossing a pillow at him.

With a little fumble, he caught it and sat down next to you, smiling.

“Yeah, but after a night of restlessness, anyone’s an idiot.”

He said it with a sad smile, looking straight ahead. You decided not to ask about the restlessness.

“‘Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, and where care lodges—“

“—sleep will never lie,’” Spencer finished the quote for you. “Shakespeare.”

Without thinking, you looked at him, shocked to find he was already looking at you. There was something behind his eyes that made you freeze. Something curious.

And suddenly, in that moment, that split second, something shifted. You knew it and Spencer did too. You could tell by the sudden dilation of his eyes and the sharp intake of breath he let slip.

He recognized his mistake and broke eye contact, glancing away and clearing his throat.

“What, uh, what time is it?” he said, looking for a clock while nonchalantly moving farther away on the loveseat.

“Nearly eleven,” you said, glancing at the grandfather clock, smiling at the fact he didn’t wear a watch. Why is that so endearing? “We can leave now if you like?” You grabbed your purse and started locking up.

“Isn’t it closing time?”

“Well, usually customers stop coming in at around ten, but we close officially at eleven.”

“Then why stay? Why not just leave at ten?”

“I guess I like to think that if someone has a book emergency, it’s comforting to know that I’m here.”

You blushed. You’d never really told anyone that. Claire and Caleb probably had no idea that you stayed as late as you did. What was it that made you tell Spencer?

He hadn’t said anything so you looked at him.

The darkness of the shop made it so you could only see his silhouette. A tall figure against the light of the street lamps, he was poised and solid, staring out into the empty street.

“Spencer?”

“Get behind me,” his tone scared you. He spoke with urgency and you could see his hand on his hip where he’d concealed his gun.

Without hesitation, you stepped behind a bookshelf, slightly peeking around it so you could see what he was doing.

He moved like a shadow, slipping out of the shop and moving onto the street, towards the dark blue honda down the road.

Why is he sneaking up on the undercover car?

There was a screech and the car zoomed off and Spencer leaped into a sprint, running after it.

It finally clicked in your brain and you scolded yourself for not realizing it earlier.

That wasn’t an FBI car.

Becoming quickly aware of the danger you were in, you moved from behind the bookshelf to behind the loveseat, crouching as low as you could and trying to slow your breathing.

Your breath froze in your lungs as the soft sound of the bell by the door tinkled, alerting you that someone had entered the store. You snapped your hand over your mouth.

Praying it was Spencer but not actively believing it was, you stayed silent, waiting for the person to make themselves known.

“Y/N, it’s me. Are you here?”

It was Spencer.

You stood up from behind the sofa and ran to him, throwing your arms around him, hugging him tight and finally letting the tears fall from your eyes.

Feeling Spencer tense against you wasn’t the best feeling, but it was worth it for the way he melted into you after a moment, sliding his hands around your waist.

Breathing in deeply against his chest, you started to relax. His chest was harder than you’d thought. There were definitely some muscles he was keeping hidden.

Before you could enjoy the embrace too much, Spencer pulled back and looked at you.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes when you separated, but it was gone before you could analyze it, turning back to his professional demeanor.

“M-nine-L-D-G-seven,” he said robotically.

“What?” you said, removing your arms from around his neck and wiped the tears from your eyes, worrying that your brain had just short circuited.

“I got the plate but i’m sure he’ll replace it. It’s unlikely he’ll use that car again but I still need to report it.”

“I should have said something,” you murmured to yourself.

“What do you mean?” he said, whipping out his phone and typing rapidly.

“I saw the car following us earlier today. I assumed it was the protective detail.” Then, upon seeing the shocked look on his face: “I’m sorry, Spencer, I should have—“

His phone started to buzz and he answered it.

“Hotch? . . . Yeah just now. . . . Okay, I'll bring her in. . . . Yep, see you soon.”

He hung up and looked at you, a guilty expression on his face.

“I have to take you back to Quantico — uh — headquarters.”

“Okay.”

You stayed quiet the whole car ride. Spencer kept looking over at you, trying to be casual. Nothing felt casual. The way he held you in the bookstore wasn’t casual. The way he ran after a speeding car to protect you wasn’t casual. The way he’d stared into your eyes not long ago was . . . well, something, but not casual. You weren’t quite ready to explore that something yet.

The ride up in the elevator to the BAU was dead silent. Another instance where elevator music would come in handy.

Your reflection in the elevator doors was strange. Alien. It wasn’t you. It was as though a ghost was in your body, keeping you upright as you watched from behind your eyes, unable to do anything. It was terrifying.

Then, warmth flooded your hand, Spencer’s fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing gently.

Without turning your head, you glanced at his reflection. He was staring straight ahead, no expression, but his thumb was drawing soft circles on the back of your hand.

Before the doors opened and Spencer’s hand slipped out of yours, you caught a glimpse of yourself again in the reflection, only for a split second. It was still not a you that you’d ever seen before, but for an entirely different reason. There wasn’t fear or worry in your eyes, but something more. The same something you’d seen earlier in the bookstore in Spencer’s.

Stepping out of the elevator and into the bullpen, you found yourself wondering when this would all be over with.

And definitely, totally, not wishing it might never end.

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13 @yourmisosoup

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds

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doomonfilm · 4 years ago

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Ranking : Christopher Nolan (1970 - present)

From the moment he kicked the door down on the scene with the breathtaking Memento, the name Christopher Nolan has rung synonymous with high thinking, high level and high entertainment film. He always finds fresh and unique ways to tell stories, be it visually, narratively, or some combination of the two, and many of his conceptual deep dives have opened real conversations in regards to different aspects of space and time. For an artist, the impact the Christopher Nolan has had on the populous as a whole is impressive, which is why after recently seeing Tenet, I felt it necessary to take a look back at all of his films and determine where they stood in relation to one another (in my eyes).

11. Insomnia (2002) As stated with every instance of ranking the work of a director, there’s always one film that’s got to take the bottom of the list hit, and for Nolan, it was Insomnia. The film in itself is not a bad one, and it does offer some strong visuals in regards to the unrelenting amount of sunlight that one experiences in Alaska, but it does suffer not only from being a remake, but a remake that pales in comparison to the original. For my money’s worth, Nolan works best with original ideas, with one specific trilogy standing as an exception to that notion.

10. Memento (2000) While not his debut film, this was the film that put Nolan on the map. The story is unique and intriguing, and the manner in which it is told really makes it work, as a standard A to Z telling of the film would eliminate much of the dramatic tension felt. That being said, this film suffers from a similar fate to that of films like The Sixth Sense : it’s cool the first time you see it, it really wows you the second time you see it, and then further viewings find diminishing returns in regards to the experience of the “gimmick” (for lack of a better word). Definitely worth seeing if you’ve never seen it, or are looking for a gateway into the work of Nolan, but underwhelming when held up against his future work.

9. Batman Begins (2005) As previously stated, Nolan (in my opinion) works best as a writer/director of original ideas, so like many, I was slightly surprised when he was tapped to handle the Christian Bale edition of the Batman movie canon. There wasn’t so much doubt about his ability to pull things off visually, but with such a beloved franchise and character in his hands, there were thoughts about whether or not his style would translate in a way that an already dedicated fanbase would appreciate. Batman Begins was an effective table-setter for his Dark Knight trilogy, but due to the necessity of having to address an already familiar backstory, many of Nolan’s best ideas would have to wait until the sequel.

8. The Dark Knight Rises (2012) This film found itself the unfortunate victim of an all too familiar national tragedy in the form of a mass shooting during an early screening, forever putting a sort of black cloud over the film as a result. That being said, the film was a stellar entry in the Dark Knight trilogy, anchored by an instantly iconic Tom Hardy performance. If this film was attributed to any other director, it would possibly stand as one of their top works, but Christopher Nolan is a man of such depth and style that The Dark Knight Rises merely stands as above average output from a creator who is pulling back a bit to fit the Hollywood ideal (or his version, anyway) of a comic book film.

7. Following (1998) Quite possibly the most personal of all Nolan films, which makes sense, considering it was his first. It was the buzz that this film generated during the 1997 festival season, along with an already completed script for Memento, that turned Nolan from an aspiring director to a household name. Following gives us a bit of insight into Nolan’s creative process, presenting us with a highly stylized version of an observational writer, forever receptive to the stimulus around him. The look of the film displays Nolan’s eye for location and cinematography, and the non-linear nature of the story served as a sneak preview to a format of storytelling he would soon master and manipulate beyond our ability to initially understand. Though a bit on the short side for a feature film, it is certainly a fun ride with much indication of where its creator was headed.

6. Interstellar (2014) Throughout the 2010s, it seemed that Nolan was hell-bent on warping our brains through the entertainment medium, and after the warning blast that Inception was, Interstellar served as a sort of thematic and spiritual double-tap for our psyche. Nolan took the basic structure for a story of familial, unconditional love and skewed it by thrusting our protagonist into the uncharted depths of space, skewing his perception of time so radically that the people he loved became old while he did not age, which in itself is enough of a heartbreaking concept to build a film off of. Add to this the fact that we are presented with (to the best of our knowledge, anyways) the most photo-realistic depictions of a Black Hole and a tesseract, and the end result is a powerful genre-blending journey that stands in rare company, with films like Tarkovsy’s Solaris and Kubrick’s 2001 : A Space Odyssey serving as the closest points of comparison.

5. Tenet (2020) When you have a track record like that of a Christopher Nolan, it is inevitable that people are waiting on your downfall, and with 2020 changing the way we take in films, many tried to seize this opportunity and label Tenet as this moment in time. To me, this is an absurd stance to take... not only is Tenet one of the most intriguing films I’ve seen in years, but its efficiency in storytelling trims away so much fat that we are left with archetypical characters with subtle amounts of depth shepherding us through a narrative line that folds in and overlaps on itself numerous times. With this premise set and our characters deeply devoted to their functionality (though not at the expense of performance), we are left with the spectacle of some amazing choreography and in-camera special effects work that makes you really and truly have to stop at times just so you can try and process what it is you are seeing. Hopefully, in repeat viewings, the “gimmick” won’t take precedence over the film itself, as I believe there is enough going on outside of the visual trickery to keep one interested time and again.

4. Dunkirk (2017) It’s no secret that Christopher Nolan has the talent to build vast, textured and deeply imaginative worlds with his films, but up until the point of Dunkirk, Nolan had not attempted a “period piece”. Luckily for us film lovers, Nolan decided to try his hand at that style in the form of a war movie, and the result was the extremely moving and powerful experience of Allied troops in World War II caught in a situation where death seemed inevitable. Despite the vastness of the beach and sea we are shown, the feeling of being trapped permeates through and through, and it is enhanced by stellar cinematography and practical effects. Even with a cast full of familiar names and faces, the experience of hopelessness created soon eliminates the familiarity that comes with star power, and we are left with nothing but our investment in the story.

3. The Dark Knight (2008) Simply put, The Dark Knight really has no business being as good as it is. You’d think that its placement between the two trilogy bookends would give it a transitional nature, potentially only existing to move the story forward to its conclusion. What we are given, however, is one of the most nuanced looks at heroes, villains, anti-heroes, and just how much those roles can alternate based on the perspective of those applying the title. For all of the horror that the Scarecrow character brought, or the pure intimidation of Bane, The Dark Knight gives us a complex agent of chaos in the form of Heath Ledger’s instantly iconic (and tragically final) performance as the Joker. All of the pacing issues that weigh down the other two films are completely absent in this middle offering, and the movie hangs around in your mind well after the final credits roll. To many viewers, this film set the artistic benchmark for what a so-called “comic-book” movie had the potential to be.

2. Inception (2010) For many, Inception marks the culminative peak of all that Christopher Nolan brings to the table as a director and storyteller. His ability to coherently weave together a narrative that deals with the perception of time as one goes deeper and deeper into the psyche is impressive in its own right, but the amount of breathtaking nuance, visual effects and mental gymnastics used to tell the story would bring a lesser director to their knees. If The Revenant and 2015 served as the culmination of Leonardo DiCaprio finally receiving much-deserved recognition as an actor via an Academy Award, then Inception feels like the starting point for that final leg of his journey. Everyone brought their A-game to this table on both sides of the camera, leaving us with a true visual and storytelling spectacle for the ages.

1. The Prestige (2006) Irony is a funny thing... I bring that up because Christopher Nolan has literally taken on (and, in some ways, conquered) space, time and perception in his films, all of which would be incredibly lofty concepts to illustrate and visualize, let alone make entertaining. With all of that in mind, it’s ironic that his best film would be one that does not rely on all of the aforementioned lofty aspects and visual tricks. The Prestige, at a base level, is a story about jealousy and how it can drive you mad, but it’s the way that this story is told that makes it possibly the best film in the Nolan canon. Christian Bale’s performance (or performances, at the risk of spoilers) is enough to put this film in a class of its own, but the balance that Hugh Jackman’s performance brings to the overall equation keeps you guessing on whom we are supposed to root for right up until the final frame. The triangle of love triangles in this film further serve to build up the eventual scale of damage that is presented when everything falls completely apart on both sides of the narrative coin. Most importantly, like any good magic trick, the film sets you up with expectations, only to wow you in the end. If you had to pick one Nolan film to watch, this would be the one that I recommend, hands down and without question.

Who knows where Christopher Nolan plans to take us next. I, for one, would not consider myself clued-in enough to hazard a guess on this, but I would almost certainly put money on the fact that wherever he chooses to take us, he will entertain us and amaze us, if not both at the same time, as he always does.

#ChiefDoomsday #DOOMonFILM #ChristopherNolan #Insomnia #Memento #BatmanBegins #TheDarkKnightRises #Following #Interstellar #Tenet #Dunkirk #TheDarkKnight #Inception #ThePrestige

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rhubarbbaby · 5 years ago

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Strawberries and Art 1

Jihoon x Y/N

Genre: College AU, Fluff Word Count: 2k Summary: Like every passionate art student, you spend most of your time immersed in your drawings and paintings. The day you meet Jihoon, your everyday life suddenly gets a lot more exciting…

All chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Chapter 1

Changing the song that was currently playing on your phone, while at the same time trying very hard not to reduce your walking speed was definitely (much) harder than you thought. Twenty minutes ago you had still been asleep in your comfy bed while dreaming about... dreaming about what?

The memories of your dream had slipped away the second your alarm went off. The excessively shrill, piercing tone you had set for your alarm used to get you into a lot of fights with your brother when you were still living at home, because “What the fuck is that sound? Can´t you just use that weird guitar riff like any other fucking normal person?” Although you did always feel a tiny bit of pity for your brother and knew that he had a point (you would of course never admit that), you never changed the sound. You surely were not fond of it yourself but you needed something to pull you out of your sleep.

Even before you started attending university you were used to staying up late. Undeniably, staying up late was and will never be a healthy way to treat your body, you are very much aware of that. Your body wanting to sleep for seven maybe even eight hours was something you have always considered the cruelest inconvenience, the most ridiculous joke, the crudest rule the universe has set for you. Late at night was the time it was the easiest for you to pour all your thoughts, all the inspirations you had collected during the day into your drawings. How were you supposed to bend all your whirls of ideas into drawings if your body was basically screaming at you to finally go to bed? How presumptuous of your body to expect you to fulfill his basic needs.

But no matter how tired you were you nearly never managed to fall asleep before one in the morning which made you resort to the drastic measure of changing your alarm sound to said very shrill tone. After sometimes only four hours of sleep, your body was not willing to let you jump out of bed as simple as that. One could say the fatigue almost holds you captive every morning until around nine am when you normally start to free yourself from the clutches of your own tired body.

Yesterday you unintentionally set the aforementioned alarm an hour too late which had led to you now having to rush to the lecture hall. Your art history class would be starting in three minutes and you needed at least another five to even get to the entrance door. Despite having had to open the music app on your phone just to select a completely different album until you could finally pick your desired song, you were sure you didn´t lose more than a few seconds. Now accompanied by an uplifting song (not too uplifting though because it was still only eight in the morning which was definitively too early for upbeat music) and the tapping of your shoes on the asphalt you were practically running to your destination.

The moment you finally reached the entrance door a wave of relieve swept over you. Your lecture had only started two minutes ago, which wasn´t too bad. You hurried down the hallway and slipped quickly through the door. Your eyes darted to the front to see if the professor had already started the class. Luckily for you she was still setting up the projector for her visual presentation. While you tried to breathe calmly, which turned out to be quite a challenge after you had just crossed the entire campus in record time; you were looking for a free seat in the back. But this was an art history class. At eight in the morning. Nothing like an art history class before ten guarantees such an absurdly small amount of participating students. It was not difficult for you to find a free seat. (To be precise: you caught sight of more than twenty free seats.)

Seeing how many of your fellow students had deemed this class as “not worthy waking up for” you suddenly felt a bit insecure and ridiculous. You hated to miss class, even if it was art history. You knew that by simply listening to the professor you would already internalize some of the information. That meant you wouldn´t have to study as much at home anymore which meant you had more time for your drawings. Simple equation. Nevertheless you were feeling like the biggest nerd sitting in a half empty lecture hall with five other students.

Shaking your head slightly as if to get those unnecessary thoughts out of your brain you decided that it wouldn´t do you any good to continue thinking about your situation, so you simply took out your notebook and a pen to prepare yourself for the lecture. Four minutes after the professor had started speaking, your thoughts were already drifting off and your notebook got slowly filled with small doodles instead of the notes you were supposed to be taking.

Putting your things back into your bag you looked at your phone to check the time. It was 10 am. The professor´s voice long condemned to a pleasant background noise, you had spent the last two hours dozing and scribbling in your notebook. You hadn´t had breakfast and you were not hungry but you knew that giving your body some fuel in form of food would be the right thing to do right now. It was Friday and you knew your friend Jo did have morning classes just like you, so you decided to shoot her a message.

You: Hey wanna get breakfast?

You already felt your phone buzz after you left the lecture hall.

Jo: Sure! I´ll wait at the cafeteria.

Happy that you wouldn´t have to eat alone you grinned at your phone and started walking towards your friend. Entering the cafeteria you saw Jo waving while sitting at one of those big tables on the side. You shot her a smile and made your way over. With an overdramatic sigh you slumped down in the chair opposite of her.

“Was art history that bad?” she chuckled. “Honestly? I was just too tired to pay attention. I will never understand why classes that early even exist... It´s inhuman.” you retorted while shaking your head to emphasize your point. “Pretty sure some really sick sadistic psychopath invented morning classes.” She laughed but you knew she hated to get up early just as much as you. “Does Hansol not have class this morning?”

Hansol had been Jo´s boyfriend for a few months now. It´s definitely not that you are one of those girls who are obsessed with finding a boyfriend, haunted by the mission to find a pretty boy to post pretty Instagram pictures with, but Jo and Hansol´s relationship was kind of perfect, or so it seemed to the public eye and even though you (most certainly) were not one those girls, you couldn´t help but feel a bit jealous. Jo was one of your best friends and you were aware that their relationship wasn´t always ideal. They had smaller and sometimes bigger fights, like any other couple but they both were as happy as you had ever seen them and they supported each other unconditionally. When they got together you were scared you´d feel excluded when the three of you would hang out but Hansol turned out to be a total sweetheart (there really was no other way to describe him) who made sure you never felt left out.

“He does. He just was too lazy to get up today.” She shrugged. “You want pancakes? I´ll go get the food.” “Sure!” Fifteen minutes later both of you were not hungry anymore. “I didn´t even realize how hungry I was.” “I only ever realize how hungry I am when I start eating.” you agreed. “I totally forgot to ask you but did you already start drawing that portrait assignment?” “Don´t even remind me. I still have no idea who I´m going to draw. I don´t just want to draw some random celebrity. Everyone is going to do that and I really want it to be good.” “Yeah…but not everyone will be doing it as good as you. But like, have you thought about asking someone to model for you?” “Jo, are you indicating you want to be my muse?” you laughed with her tuning in right away. The mental image of her posing for you was more than just ridiculous. Just as she was about to answer, a boy interrupted the two of you. “You´re Hansol´s girlfriend right?” he asked her.

You had seen him passing you on the hallway before but until now he had never caught your eye. One look was enough for you to realize how pretty he actually was. Just like a mathematician who recognizes numbers everywhere with which they can explain mundane processes, just like a linguist who notices every subtlety of every single word and could distinguish the hidden delicate messages between each syllable, just like that you saw lines, strokes, patterns in the most varied and vivid colors that joined together in your imagination to form drawings and paintings in every place. You could be looking at any flower and the way the petals bent, the way the leaves curled around the stem would just make sense to you. That´s how you were looking at that boy´s face right now. His face seemed to consist out of tender drawn lines that intervened at the perfect spots. His eyes, his nose, his mouth that was slightly twisted upwards into a smile, everything just fit so wonderfully together you inevitably had to think about how amazing it would be to draw him.

“Yup, that´s me.” Jo´s voice had yanked you back out of your thoughts. “Me and Hansol have a class together. I forgot I still had one of his books and I think he needs it to study for that exam next week. Can I just leave it with you?” He was holding out a book to her. “Sure! That´s really sweet of you, looking out for him like that.” With a comically exaggerated gesture he bowed before us. “The pleasure was all mine,” He grinned. “I´m Jihoon by the way.” “I´m Jo and this is Y/N.” Only now he turned his upper body and finally looked at you. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Maybe it was just your imagination, caused by the desire to be noticed by this undoubtedly (really fucking) attractive boy, but his gaze seemed to have remained on you for a tiny second too long for it to be considered normal.

“Delighted to meet you guys.” he stated with a childlike smile on his face which made his eyes disappear. “There´s this party tomorrow. Hansol said he´s coming. You two should come as well.” “We´ll think about it! Sounds like fun though.” Jo answered for the both of you. “Perfect! I should get going. I have class in a bit.” His gaze was turned back onto you. “You´re still going to eat that?” “Wha…What?” “That strawberry. You´re not going to eat that?” Only then you realized you had left a single strawberry on your plate. “No..you can have it.” You stuttered your reply, your eyes wide from embarrassment because you hadn´t immediately figured what he had meant. He picked up the strawberry and took a bite. “Thanks!” he grinned. And then he winked at you. Just like that. Without warning. Promptly you could feel your cheeks turn slightly red and you wanted nothing more than to hide your face in your hands but at the same time you could still not stop staring at his face. In that moment you would´ve sworn that wink was the cutest (but somehow also hottest) thing you had ever seen in your life. “See you at the party!” with that he turned away from you and made his way over to the exit.

Only now your cheeks slowly lost color and your breath seemed to slow down again. You looked at Jo. She looked at you. You didn´t have to say anything , she had already deciphered you. “So you think he´s hot?” she beamed. “So fucking hot.”

What you couldn´t have seen, of course, was the smile with which Jihoon had left the room. What else was he supposed to do when you were that damn cute?

Hi! It´s me, Jo. I´d like to thank you for reading my stuff! I really hope you enjoyed it. If you have any feedback, comments, requests, questions please let me know!

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen ff #seventeen fluff #jihoon fluff #woozi fluff #kpop ff #seventeen #rhubarbbabywrites

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shhhhhskars · 4 years ago

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Dating Phase Goodness.

Soft Alex. Dating Phase. Snoh Allegra. The City. Words: 2,041. Dating phase goodness.......I have so many feels for it. As always, I hope you enjoy♡ (The ask: Do u listen to snoh aalegra? I keep imagining them in the dating phase but they’ve gone to her gig with their own friends and meet up unexpectedly and end up having a romantic night of just swaying to her music at the low lit club and exchanging soft words 😭 thank you for sending this in and ruining me)

There’s something so wonderfully enigmatic about summer-time in New York City. The tarmac is glistening from the heat, the day-time sun is hot, enough to keep the entire city pulsating and breathing through the night. There’s something in the air- this thrilling, wild energy, this feeling that anything can happen. Friends gather unexpectedly, running into each other in the streets, small taverns revive their outdoor terraces for the season. The parks and beaches stay open later, and they’re usually bustling throughout the evenings. People are happier than usual, neighbors greet each other for the first time in months.

The August days are long, but the sun had finally set, and she stripped down, eager to get out of the damp clothing. A cool shower can change anyone’s mood, revive the most exhausted. She stepped out refreshed, smelling like rose water and sandalwood, a nice change from the stale deodorant and sweat that clung to her before. She slipped into her tiny, short black dress that cinched snuggly at her waist, and hugged graciously on her curves. The familiar chime rang out as she dusted a earthy blush on the apples of her cheeks, signaling a stream of texts from the heinous group chat that she’d been tempted to put on mute for the last hour.

Snoh Allegra found her way to the city and is playing at The Highline Ballroom tonight, the turn out is delicious. The entire place just feels sexier, from her aura alone. Voice so strong, but soothing, like tea sweetened with milk but just enough honey, to make it yummy to drink. Drinks are flowing, weed smoke floats through the air, and everyone is laughing. Everyone in her friend group is...oddly, getting along, for once, and there’s not much that could make this moment better. Except......maybe Alexander being here?

Oh fuck- who the hell was she turning into? This is why she was hesitant to begin this…thing, in the first place. Alexander was hard to keep out of the brain as of late. Ever since their chance meeting in the East Village, he kept her phone warm, unashamed to make his presence known. She was grateful that he wasn’t the slightest bit clingy, but could instantly sense that he valued consistency, and taking up space. He frequently checked in on her, sending dumb little shit to her phone throughout the day, memes or whatever the fuck he saw that amused him, or just straight up goofy shit he saw around the city. The whole damn thing was all still exceptionally new, this idea of seeing each other. Most of the time it was just enjoying each other’s company, nothing too crazy, and was lovely this way. Experimental and new.

A familiar arm circled around her waist, pulling on her frame. She could tell by the smell alone who it was. A manicured hand lifted against the rigid chest. “Jim, you’re about one drink away from me cutting you off, again.” It was a joke, mostly. Naturally there would be that one friend who had one too many, too friggin’ early, and tonight it was Jimi’s turn. Completely harmless, but utterly annoying, and touchy-feely when he drank, he ignored her comment, staggering lightly. “Let me buy you another drink, fam. We’re came here to see Snoh, and your ass is sober?” And of course, the other motherfuckers that surrounded had to affirm his slurred words, urging her, ‘get another one; it’s on his dime.’ She huffed at the dramatics of her friends, she was certainly not sober, but she snatched his credit card out of his hand anyway and he winked at her. This earned brief eye-roll and she was off, away from her toxic little group of friends.

The bar on the opposite side of the room glowed like a beacon of hope as she made her way there, shuffling through pockets of people focused on the opening acts. She ignored a few stares to push her way to the counter, determined to get her drink before Snoh came on. She snickered when they asked if she wanted to open a tab, and obliged- Jimi’s karma for earlier. She waited for her drink, elbows propped on the counter, and she stared around the club, which to no surprise was getting packed out as the lady of the hour was about to come on soon.

It was the feeling of a warm hand gripping on her upper shoulder, close to the nape of her neck, that made her jump, and she turned, face already fixed and ready to give whoever the fuck it was touching her a good dose of her mind. Expecting to see one of her boys- she felt her heart lurch down into her pit of her tummy, realizing who the firm grip belonged to.

Alexander grinned at her, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. He looked good, as per usual, sporting a white linen shirt, and crisp dark denim. He leaned himself nimbly on the bar, his body flush next to hers, pressing comfortably. He smelt like whiskey, and tobacco and she inhaled his familiar scent unintentionally, which only gave her more butterflies in the very low part of her stomach. Even leaning, he still loomed over her, nearly casting a shadow, from being so giant. “What are the odds?” he asked with a simple, mischievous smile. She got a hint of the freshness that masked his breath, like he was sucking on a mint just before approaching her.

Muscles stiffened, moisture seeping through her pores, she could gag at her luck right now. She wanted to clutch her pearls and scream, but the liquor running through her calmed her nerves, a bit. The bartender slid the jack and coke her way, right on time, and Alexander’s face was turned away from the counter, focused in on completely her. She nodded a thanks for the beverage, buying herself a few seconds, before turning her head towards the Swede, pressing back comfortably against his side. They were shoulder to shoulder, or, body to body, in a sense, because she was too short to be perfectly aligned with his shoulders. “Are you following me, now, Skarsgard?” she said trying to mask the happiness she felt creeping all over her face, eyes slightly glazed over as she gazed back at him. He laughed, his cheeks covered in blush from smiling so hard. “Nahh,” he said in a casual tone, then he added a goofy little, “..Maybe,” tilting his head with a little shrug, jokingly. The close proximity of his face next to hers made the club feel so much smaller, and it was already quite intimate on it’s own.

For a brief moment she wondered if this was even real, or if someone had dropped something in her drink earlier, because it was so wildly random. “Are you really here, right now?” she questioned, narrowing her eyes and bringing the tip of her finger to to the bridge of his nose. She lightly glided her small finger down, wiping away the moisture that had accumulated, a smile creeping over her lips that traveled all the way up to her eyes, the same thing mirroring in his his. He chuckled, but went quiet at her touch, the blush in his cheeks burning brighter now. “I didn’t know you were into Snoh.” she said, her chest tight and heaving lightly. There was a hell of a lot more things that she didn’t know about the man, so it was a comical thing to say, but he just nodded, that small smile still playing on his lips. “She’s good,” he admitted earnestly, “And I’m here with people. My best friend Dada, he’s here. And a few others.” He paused briefly, his eyes traveling down her face, falling on her lips before going back up to her eyes. She took a long sip from her straw, her nerves shot under his gaze, heat crawling all over her skin from it. “Are...you here...with people..?” he started, wetting his lips. His voice was gentle, anxious, a little softer. She touched his arm instantly, a slightly alarmed look taking over he face as she nodded, a little too eager to reassure him that she was not here on a date of any kind, His eyes instantly softened, eyebrows that were knitted together, finally relaxing. Truth was...lately, that was reserved for him.

Gaze casted down and fingers intertwined so they wouldn’t lose each other, he led her back to his section at the very top level of the club. He was stealing her away from her friends, but she felt eager to be whisked away. She always had butterflies around him, but this scene was different, the dimly lit, crowded club, the music that was swallowing up the room, the buzz of it all. Alexander introduced her to everyone, and he was unable to hide his delight as he did so. Dada wrapped her into a huge, bear hug, and she fluffed his golden locks. “Heard a few things about you from this one,” he said with a goofy little wink, beckoning towards Alex. Before she could question him any further, Alexander was pulling her away and wrapping her up in his arms, groaning at his friend. “Snoh’s on.” he muttered in her ear, and she shivered from his breath on her neck. The lights turned a delicious hazy, rosy color, dimmed a few notches, and the goddess herself was on the stage, belting out the most gorgeous melodies. She sounded even more magical live, which was so satisfying. Ugh. Those feels again, right, Snoh?

‘It's not that I don't want you here. It's somethin' 'bout the way you stare into my eyes.’

Snoh pulled everyone in, but she felt captivated by her steady, smooth voice, and her statuesque frame, and of course- her beauty. She was in a bit of a trace from her, sort of stuck, and jumped a little when Alexander wrapped his arms around her small waist. His large frame came flush with her body from behind, rigid chest pressed sturdily against her back, and she instantly settled into the cozy embrace. She felt her tension fading, from being against him, but nerves still beamed in the depths of her tummy. She just fit in his arms, and he cradled her waist with precision and care, she could swear she felt a territorial vibe from the way he held onto her, shielding her from the rest of the group. He tucked his head near her ear, coming real close. “You good?” His voice was a low murmur in her ear, and she felt her intimacy twitch, but she just nodded, affirming that his touch was absolutely perfect.

She would genuinely be upset if he let go, and she raised her drink to his lips, and he took a small sip from behind her. They swayed gently to the soft songs, finding their rhythm, adjusting every now and again, and it didn’t take long for her nerves to melt away entirely. It was natural and seamless being with him, and the moment was to be enjoyed without restraint. “She’s perfect,” she murmured to him, convinced the woman on the stage was some form of angel. Alexander chuckled lightly and nodded, but it was brief. “This is perfect.” he challenged into her ear, nuzzling into her hair. “Being here with you. This is going to be hard to beat.” She had to pause, to mull over the fact that she was completely fucked, charmed under whatever...Swedish magic he sprinkled on her. And, he told no lies, the moment would be hard to beat, the soft light, the ambiance, the way Snoh was serenading them with her sweet, melodies. She turned her head towards his face, leaving a soft, lingering open mouthed kiss on his lips, squeezing tightly on his hands wrapped around her waist. He breathed her in, hungry for her, tightening that grip on her waist. She had to stop herself from squeezing her legs shut completely when she felt his soft tongue touch hers, and she felt herself getting flustered, blushing all over. This was bliss- pure, serendipitous, bliss.

‘Come through, I think I need you here.’

#alexander skarsgard imagine #alexander tings #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard fan fic #alexander skarsgard drabbles #askarsgard imagine #askarsgard drabble #askarsgard x reader #skarsgard fan fic

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reddie-4-more · 4 years ago

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One shot idea; the losers are teenagers and eddie is having a bad day at school that leads to an intense meltdown and Richie does his best to help and gives him cuddles n stuff afterwards . i like hurt/comfort fluff lol

Hi, sorry that it took me so long, I couldn’t find the energy to write it between my chapters, but here it is!

So, for context, this little snippet is based on my fanfic Listen to me, more precisely on the first installment Broken, which is basically about autistic Eddie Kaspbrak dealing with his mother’s abuse and befriending the Losers, his first real friends, especially Richie.

Here are the things you’ll need to know to understand everything:

- Eddie is part of his school’s chess club with Stanley. They’re not going to every session, they’re using it as a cover so that Eddie can hang out with his friends after school.

- Eddie doesn’t know that he’s autistic and his mother refuses to acknowledge it. She’s still abusing him like in canon, but is forcing him to repress his autistic traits and making him feel bad whenever he can’t help it.

- Richie and Eddie are in the same class, but not the rest of the Losers.

I think that’s it c:. Good reading !

He tried his best not to make a fuss over it, not wanting to anger his mom or made her think that his bad mood might be due to some health problem that would lead her to lock him home for the rest of the week.

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

There were some days that made Eddie wonder if it was even worth it to get up from his bed. Today was one of these days. He should have known it immediately, as soon as he started to eat his breakfast and spilled his milk glass over his favorite t-shirt, meaning that he had to change it.

But Eddie was still pissed off when his mother drove him to school and it didn’t get better from here, on the contrary. First, he had to endure his mother shouting to the whole school how much she loved her “Eddie bear”, simply because he forgot to kiss her good bye when he left the car.

Cheeks red from embarrassment, he had then walked to the building, followed by his peers’ mockeries. They teased him mercilessly, calling him all sorts of nicknames, but particularly the ones his mother never hesitated to use whenever they were in public, even though he was fifteen. Of course, when Eddie retorted with a furious “Fuck!”, it had to be in one of his teachers’ earshot.

The man didn’t care at all that Eddie was merely trying to defend himself, to be left alone. He only heard him swear out loud and that couldn’t be accepted in such a respectable school as Derry High School, right?

It wasn’t like there were bullies roaming around, always ready to shove their classmates into their locker, punch them for fun or steal their stuff. No, obviously, the teenager who yelled “Fuck!” was the biggest problem this school ever encountered…

And that’s how Eddie ended up with one hour of detention, as soon as school would be over. It was the first time he ever had been punished that way. He did get scolded at some point or earned himself more homework than the others, but a detention…

His mom was going to be furious. And maybe she’ll took some of his comic books from him or… or even worse, she could forbid him to go to the Chess Club and he wouldn’t have an excuse anymore to hang out with his friends.

He’d have to spend the rest of his day at home and Richie and the others would forget all about him and they’d stop hanging with him and…

Eddie took a deep breath, trying to relax. It was only the beginning of the day. He couldn’t start to break down already. He needed to be strong. At least until recess. Then, he’ll be able to run to the bathroom and cry his heart out, hidden from everyone else. Stay strong, Eddie. Stay strong.

He smiled clumsily to his friends once he joined them, listening to their discussion more than participating. He didn’t have much energy left, he needed to keep it for the rest of the day. For class. If he had to go into detention, he could at least do his best to work well and make up for it later. His mom would be so happy if he managed to get the best grade. But that would mean that he needed to do better than Richie and that… that was pretty much impossible.

He grimaced at the thought and Richie, who was walking next to him while they were joining their classroom, asked him thoughtfully:

“Hey, you’re okay, Eds?”

Eddie shrugged. He wasn’t good at lying, but he didn’t really want to tell the truth either. If Richie knew that he was moody because he spilled milk on himself and got a detention, he would certainly mock him and call him a crybaby. Eddie knew that Richie never treat him that way, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he might.

Even though they were now friends, Eddie was still somehow convinced that it could be taken away from him in an instant and that Richie and the rest of the Losers might secretly think that he was pathetic and annoying. They just didn’t dare to tell him because they were too nice for that.

Eddie’s day kept on being the worst. As soon as he walked into their classroom, he noticed the flashing neon ceiling light above his head and groaned. It wasn’t just about the flicker, although it was annoying in itself and made him feel dizzy.

No, there was also this fucking sound. This buzz that he seemed to be the only one to care about, since none of his classmates seemed to be bothered by it… Apart from Richie, whose attention kept drifting towards the flashing light, easily distracted by the simplest things. But it didn’t seem to hurt him, just like it hurt Eddie.

Okay… Okay, he could hold on. He wasn’t going to be able to focus on his lesson, but if he kept his head down and focused on his breathing, he would get through it.

Not ideal, since he really wanted to work and listen to the teacher so that he could earn a good grade later, but Eddie didn’t have much of a choice. He gritted his teeth, jumping a little when Richie poked him gently with his pen, trying to get his attention:

“Dude, you’re alright? Your face is all red. You look like one of the M&M guys.”

“I’m fine.”

“Not the yellow one, though. Or the orange. Or the bl...”

“I fucking got it, Richie!”

Eddie just shouted, unable to control the volume of his voice. His classmates all looked at him and Eddie let out a frustrated noise, burying his head in his crossed arms. It was a bad day. A very bad day. He just wanted to go home. Why was it still so early in the morning? He would even accept to watch his mom’s stupid talk shows for 24 hours straight, if it might get him out of here…

But of course, it couldn’t just stop there. No, everything that already happened, plus what he had to handle right now, it wasn’t enough. God had made Eddie Kaspbrak his little plaything and enjoyed his misery, Eddie was sure of that. Because as soon as their teacher entered the room, he announced, his voice laced with sadism, that they’ll have to take a pop quiz.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. While the rest of the class was sighing and expressing their displeasure in many ways, Eddie scratched the palm of his hand furiously, his heart beating too fast, his thoughts starting to swirl out of control. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t studied at all, he barely read some of his previous lessons and… and…

The light was still flickering. Eddie blinked a few times, quickly, trying to focus on the questions that he was supposed to answer to. His grip on his pen felt all wrong, as if he didn’t quite remember how to use his hand.

Right next to him, he could see Richie writing frantically on his paper, putting it slightly to the side so that Eddie could copy if he needed, but he couldn’t even concentrate enough to be able to read Richie’s answers. Everything seemed blurry, out of focus, and Eddie kept rubbing his eyes, hoping it could help in some way. It wasn’t helping. At all.

Eddie managed to write his name on the copy, but his usually neat handwriting was all scrambled and messy, as if he barely learned how to use a pen. Eddie plunged his fingernails in his palm at the sight, trying to contain the tears that wanted to spill out and roll down his cheeks. He wasn’t a crybaby. It was just a test. A simple pop quiz. He could handle it.

For the rest of the hour, Eddie tried desperately to jog his memory, but to no avail. His brain felt sluggish, his mind focusing despite himself on the flickering neon light and the faint buzzing sound he kept hearing.

He had absolutely no idea if the answers he was crossing down were even close to right or if it was one of those tests where you could pick multiple answers or… or fuck, he didn’t know what he was doing or reading at all.

A high-pitched, loud sound, coming from a metal ruler that one of his classmates inadvertently pushed from his desk, suddenly echoed in the classroom and Eddie yelped, dropping his pen on the floor, clutching his hands over his ears in a reflex. His reaction made some of his classmates snicker at him, while Richie raised his head from his copy, looking at him with concern.

His teacher asked Eddie to take back his pen, but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to do so. It was dirty, the floor was disgusting, it was surely covered with germs, but it was the pen that Eddie was always using whenever he was taking a test and without it, he…

Richie bent down and grabbed the pen, pulling a tissue from his pocket and cleaning it thoroughly, giving it back to Eddie with a gentle smile. Eddie smiled back, his expression closer to a grimace than anything else.

The pen wasn’t totally clean, there were probably germs that the tissue couldn’t wipe off, but Eddie appreciated the effort. He did his best to finish his test, trying to ignore the way some of his classmates had started to mock him after what he did.

Eddie was exhausted when the teacher told them that it was time for them to turn back their copies. As much as he tried to, he still had a few questions he didn’t answer to and it frustrated him to no end. When he gave back his paper to his teacher, Eddie felt tears starting to roll down his cheeks, unable to stop himself from sniffling. He was so tired. He wanted to go home. He couldn’t…

When it was time for them to go to recess, Eddie used his last strength to run away, trying to avoid Richie who followed him, calling out his name. He was so pathetic. It was only a test, just a single detention, milk spilled over his favorite t-shirt… It wasn’t… There was nothing to…

And then, Eddie lost control. Belch was the one who managed to make him go into a full breakdown, burping into his ear while he was finally reaching out the bathroom. The gross, loud noise made him gag audibly, his shaky legs no longer able to support his weight. He fell on his knees on the bathroom floor, his hands touching the ground as well. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.

Belch was already long gone when Eddie started to slap his forehead, again and again, wheezing awfully. He knew that he was only spreading the germs even more while doing so, but he couldn’t stop himself. It hurt and he needed it to hurt because there was so much pain on the inside and he couldn’t find a way to let it out and he couldn’t even breathe properly and…

Eddie suddenly found himself wrapped in a warm, tight embrace. He attempted to struggle, wheezing so much that he couldn’t get any oxygen in his lungs, when a hand managed to grab his inhaler from his fanny pack and pressed it against his lips. Eddie wrapped them around the object in a reflex and the button was pressed a few times, releasing the relief Eddie needed so much.

He never really understood how his medicine, especially his inhaler, worked, but whenever he was using it, he managed to relax, to get his pressure down, finding the comfort he needed. Eddie went limp in Richie’s arms, who supported his body against him, shushing him gently.

“Let’s find a better place to rest for a bit, okay?”

Eddie nodded distractedly, trying to get some strength back in his legs. Supported by Richie, he managed to walk to the school library, the librarian letting them on without any questions asked. She was always so nice and understanding, Eddie suspected that she might know that he and his friends were bullied and that it was her way to apologize for not being able to do much more for them…

Richie sat him on a couch, sitting next to him. He rummaged through Eddie’s fanny pack, pulling out a few hand wipes, cleaning Eddie’s fingers with it. When it was done, Eddie started to hug himself in a vain attempt to find some comfort in the gesture. But Richie was the one who knew how to tighten his arms around him in the proper way, the best way, giving him the deep pressure Eddie craved so much. Eddie let out a soft sigh, Richie caressing his hair in a gentle way that he had learned to appreciate quite a lot.

“Deep breaths, Eddie. It’s okay. Take your time. If you can talk, maybe you can tell me what upset you so much.”

Richie cheekily grinned, supplying with an amused voice:

“Tell Daddy everything.”

Eddie audibly groaned, causing Richie to chuckle. But he managed to smile and started to talk, having trouble to pull the words out of his throat:

“I… I got detention… And… uh… I f… I failed the test… I’m stu...”

Richie shushed him immediately, putting his index finger on his lips:

“You’re not stupid, Eddie Spaghetti. You’re not.”

Eddie bit his bottom lip. He was. He clearly was. None of his classmates was disturbed by the flickering lights like he was and they weren’t screaming because of some high-pitched noise and they didn’t want to cry over spilled milk. He… He…

Eddie started to sob openly and Richie hugged him tighter, whispering soft words to his ears, providing him the reassurance Eddie so desperately needed. But it was now time to go back to class. Richie helped him up, guiding him out of the library, winking at the librarian who rolled her eyes at the sight, but offered them a gentle smile.

For the rest of the day, Richie had been nothing but highly supportive, taking notes dutifully for Eddie, since he couldn’t focus enough to do so himself, checking on him regularly, trying to distract him from what was bothering him. At some point, he even threw his bag across the classroom as loudly and evidently as possible, grinning proudly when the teacher gave him a detention.

Eddie couldn’t believe it. He tried to protest, not wanting Richie to get into trouble on his behalf, but Richie shrugged, still smiling openly:

“Anything for my Eddie Spaghetti.”

And Eddie could see that Richie truly didn’t care, as long as he could be there with him. As long as they could stay together...

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

And that’s the end of it! I hope you liked it c:. If you have other stuff you’d like me to write, don’t hesitate to tell me! It might take some time, but I’ll get to it at some point :D.

Eddie’s meltdown is highly inspired by some of my own meltdowns. I’m easily triggered by flickering lights, they’re the worst.

Take care! See you soon!

#Reddie #Eddie Kaspbrak #Richie Tozier #autistic Eddie Kaspbrak #it movies #it stephen king #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #autistic headcanon #metldown #fanfiction #self-harm #Anonymous

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phantoms-lair · 4 years ago

Text

Serious Freakzoid thing (Freaking Out) Part 3

It was a familiar chiptune that woke Dexter up, one he had set to play when his custom GUI loaded. He forced his eyes open and realized he was one the floor. What was he doing there?

Seeing the side of his computer opened jogged his memory of the Pinnacle Chip going nuts. Or did it? The computer was functioning perfectly now, humming quietly along with the screen. He looked at the hand where he'd grabbed the chip and saw no sign of the massive electrical burn that would have had to be there.

An electrical burn is a burn that results from electricity passing through the body causing rapid injury. Approximately 1,000 deaths per year due to electrical injuries are reported in the United States, with a mortality rate of 3-5%.[1] Electrical burns differ from thermal or chemical burns in that they cause much more subdermal damage.[2] They can exclusively cause surface damage, but more often tissues deeper underneath the skin have been severely damaged. As a result, electrical burns are difficult to accurately diagnose, and many people underestimate the severity of their burn. In extreme cases, electricity can cause shock to the brain, strain to the heart, and injury to other organs.[3]

What....? Dexter shook his head, trying to figure out where that had come from.

He shook his head and Mr. Chubbikins meowed and rubbed against him. Dexter reached to pet him when a strange feeling shot through his head.

Pheomelamine is the pigment responsible for the ginger color in cats.

A huge 80% of all ginger cats are male

♪ Cat *wink* I’m a kitty cat. And I dance dance dance. And I dance dance dance ♪

Words and images flooded his head and all of a sudden it was hard to think, to focus. He saw Mr. Chubbikins and for a moment didn’t recognize him as his beloved pet, but simply a cute cat.

“Kitty Kitty Kitty,” he cooed in a tone that wasn’t like him at all. It was certainly enough to scare off Mr. Chubbykins, who nyoomed under the bed. The disappointment of the moment was enough to bring him to his senses.

He turned on his heels and ran to the bathroom. He examined himself in the mirror, trying to see if there was something wrong with his head or eyes. He ran through the Stroke checklist, but passed the standard tests. “Am I just going insane?” he muttered to himself. “Next I’ll be seeing little blue men.”

As he said this he felt a gentle buzzing on his skin. Looking down he saw a wave of electricity passing him over, leaving his skin blue in its wake. He whimpered, his mind trying to wrap around what he was seeing, What on Earth could turn his skin blue?

Cyanosis refers to a bluish cast to the skin and mucous membranes. Peripheral cyanosis is when there is a bluish discoloration to your hands or feet. It's usually caused by low oxygen levels in the red blood cells or problems getting oxygenated blood to your body.

No, this wasn’t cyanosis. Even he knew enough to know humans didn’t turn that particular shade. And why the heck did these...data pieces keep forcing their way into his brain?

His thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door. “Hey Dorkster, open up. The rest of us need to use the bathroom too!”

It was all Dexter could do to keep from hyperventilating. He couldn’t let his family see him like this! They already thought he was weird! What could he do? Disguise himself?

He felt the lightning tingle again, around his eyes and the top of his head. A glance in the mirror revealed his hair had become black and spikey, while a domino mask appeared about his eyes. As his panic rose, he felt a strange bubbling feeling in his mind. His thoughts broke apart and drifted away, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to them. Why was he trying to hold on to them anyway?

“Come on, freakazoid, open the door!”

Oh right, Duncan. Huh, Duncan had always been upset Dexter wasn’t like him, big and strong. If everything was changing, maybe he could change that?

He grinned as he became taller and gained a physique not seen outside comics. Duncan would be so happy! He opened the door with his grin growing ever wider. “Let’s Wrassle!”

Roddy took a deep breath as he stopped the car, ignoring the ache in his ribs it caused. There was no ambulance or people screaming, so hopefully no one had been seriously injured. It was a small comfort, but it was there. He grabbed his old Apex employee card and the cane he hated but needed to be mobile right now.

He made his way to the front door carefully, avoiding icy patches on the walk and steps (oh how he’d come to loathe steps) and rang the bell.

He heard some movement inside and the door opened to reveal a middle aged woman with a smile that seemed almost grafted on.. “Can I help you?” “My name is Roddy McStewart, I work for Apex International, creators of the Pinnacle Chip.” He handed the man both his Work ID stating he was an employee and his driver’s license. “We received a signal from a newly installed Pinnacle Chip of a malfunction and I’m here to take a look at it.”

“On Christmas Day?” she asked, surprised.

“We all do what we can to make a living.” He gave her a sad smile.

“Well, okay then. Dexter’s room is upstairs, second door on the right.” Roddy blinked. Just like that? Still he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if it involved stairs.

He was nearly bowled over by a teenage boy running past him, yelling about something blue. Roddy looked to the woman who’d opened the door, but she'd just called up to ‘Dexter’ that he had a guest.

Odd Family he thought, as he made his way up the stairs.

This was some quality family bonding he thought as he sat on Duncan’s back locking up one of his brother’s legs. That’s what it was, right? That’s why it was okay for Duncan to get physical with him.

“I give! I give!” Duncan called out.

But he knew this game. It wasn’t over because the other person gave up. You had to make them say something. “Sing ‘I’m a tugboat, Call me Mel’.”

“I’m a tugboat...call me Mel...I can’t, I don’t know the words?”

“That’s a tough one since I just made it up.” He admitted, but let Duncan up since he had tried.

Duncan tore out of the room, so he knew he’d done a good job, until he heard his mother’s voice coming from downstairs. “Dexter, you have a guest.”

Dexter. That’s right, he was Dexter. And with that realization the floating feeling he had vanished as his thoughts coalesced and his body condensed into the body he’d always had. He fled back into his room and huddled on his bed, too freaked out to try and do much more.

There was a knock on the door and a red-haired man entered. He glanced around seemingly surprised at the computer, still humming along. “Are you Dexter?”

“Yeah, who are you?”

“Roddy McStewart. I’m here about a malfunction with your Pinnacle Chip, but everything seems to be-”

“That was real?” Dexter blurted out. “Ever since that happened...I think I’m going insane.” he clutched his head.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Roddy asked. The room wasn’t a mess of shrapnel as he feared, but it was obvious something had happened.

“After I installed it the cat jumped on the keyboard and it started going nuts. I tried you yank the chip out to save the computer-”

“Are ye daft boy! You could have electrocuted yourself!”

“I know, I wasn’t thinking!” Dexter snapped back. “I grabbed it and I thought I got shocked and blacked out, but my hand was fine when I woke up. And...thoughts keep popping in my head.”

“What kind of thoughts?” Anything besides a broken computer was well out of his wheelhouse, but Roddy couldn’t just leave the kid when he was so upset. Especially given the concern he now had with the lad’s mother sending him up to see her teenage son without any supervision.

“I dunno, random facts? It’s like articles and videos are just pulling themselves up in my mind. And then everything goes fuzzy.” Dexter didn’t mention what had happened in the bathroom. There was no way that was anything other than a hallucination.

There was the beginning of an idea forming in Roddy’s head, but he wasn’t ready to admit it was possible yet. That the reason Dexter’s computer had been spared was the Pinnacle chip had found a better storage solution for its mass internet download.

Before he could even think of how to check or even explain the door burst open and a taser fired directly at his chest. Roddy’s world exploded in pain, both from the electricity and his ribs from the body spasms, and everything went black.

~~~~

I’m trying to do more of a buildup to Freakazoid’s development and not him just being created fully formed by the accident. In the first episode Dance of Doom Freakazoid states that he and Dexter are two aspects of the same person so I wanted to show how he comes from Dexter.

#Freakazoid #Freaking Out #Ghost Writing

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jeidafei · 5 years ago

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D.Gray-Man Chapter 234 Translation Notes

I haven’t posted a note for many chapters, but this chapter dropped so many reveal-bombs I just can’t i just can’t aaaaaaaargh gurglegurgle

/regain composure /why am I listening to “Send In The Clowns” on loop while posting this?

Ahem. So, in short, this chapter is super LIT, but also a headache to translate. As with all reveal-heavy chapters, there is no knowing how disastrous the ramifications of one tiny misinterpretation can be on future reveals. Whoops!

So let’s peruse the story page-by-page, word-by-word, unraveling the story plus a little ramble on the Japanese language.

Warning: this post is incredibly long

(You can skip to 5 for my wild theory on The Pillar)

1. Gawd, I’ve always hated these opening captions T T

Because they always give me this feeling of I think I kinda understand what this means but I don’t know how to translate this so it makes sense!

紐解かれるかつての別離（わかれ）

I think I spent time on this one sentence even more than the rest of the chapter. Despite it being the first thing on the first page, this is honestly the last thing I translated this chapter.

Word-by-word, 紐解かれる (himo-tokareru) is the passive form of the verb 紐解く (himo-toku), which by definition means:

1) Unbinding and opening a new book 2) Unraveling (i.e. memories, history, the truth, etc.) 3) A flower blooming

紐 (himo) and 解く(toku) are also actually two separate words used normally in daily life. The first one means “rope” and the second means “to solve, to untie, to unravel etc.”

So, in essence, this word refers to something hidden, a secret being revealed. No surprises here, since we’re talking about D.Gray-Man.

かつての (katsute no) means “Once”, “Used to be” whereas 別離 (betsuri) means “parting, separation” but the furigana indicates must be read as わかれ (wakare) for some reason, and means farewell or separation as well.

I take it that as Mana and Nea were once separated by death, but now Nea has returned to Mana as he vowed to, the “farewell” is no more; it just used to be a farewell.

So now that we have all the pieces...

HOW ON EARTH DO I TRANSLATE THIS !!!???

You saw how it turned out above. To be frank, I’m still not satisfied with it, but as my period cramps are killing me and I’m literally typing this to distract my mind from it because I can’t sleep yet with this pain, and my brain is out of ideas, as always...

I’ll leave it to you guys to interpret freely!

2. Nea’s last words

Just when I thought I’d skip that troubling caption and start on the dialogue right away, manga-kun messes with me again! Who was Nea talking to? In the background, Nea is reaching up to Mana while decaying away. However, on the next page, turns out it is Cross recalling those words.

So I walked over to my bookshelf and picked up DGM volume 17 and 22.

In volume 17, in their last meeting before Cross disappeared, Cross told Allen that Nea promised him that he’d return to Mana if Cross kept watch over Mana.

In volume 22, however, Road reveals to Allen that “Don’t stop, keep walking.” were Nea’s parting words to Mana.

Um...so...which is it, exactly?

So if context doesn’t help, then should we turn back to the literal word? If it were some other language I might’ve said great idea! But this is Japanese; a douchebag of a language that assumes all parties must be native speakers and privy to the conversation beforehand. And thus omits subject, verbs, and objects whenever it pleases to screw foreign learners and outsiders alike.

Why, Nea’s sentence has no subject and object!

まってろ。必ずマナの元に行く。「アレン」が目印だ。それまでは立ち止まるな。

Literally this says “Keep waiting/Just you wait. (I will) definitely go to where Mana is. ‘Allen’ is the sign. Until then, don’t stand still.”

While Nea using Mana’s name might imply that Nea’s not talking to Mana, but to someone else, otherwise he would’ve used “you/your”. But in Japanese, usually people will refer to their convo partner by name as well, i.e. Lenalee and Allen refer to everyone by name instead of “you”. This is considered neutral and politer than the textbook pronoun “anata” (which is kinda condescending actually...so why do they still keep it in the textbooks!?).

In case you’re not that close with the person you’re talking to, and not sure which pronoun you should use, using their name is the safest bet to avoid offending them. (Don’t go calling your client omae, of course lol!)

So, back to Nea, going by this rule, he also could’ve been talking to Mana himself as well. See? Curse you, nihongo!!!

Anyway, Nea didn’t talk to Mana/Earl that way when they met in recent(? I dunno, my sense of time is already warped from too many hiatuses and hopeless waiting) chapters; Nea refers to Mana using the pronoun “anta” which is the shorter, more casual form of “anata”. And judging from his overall language, he’s not that polite or soft-spoken either, so the possibility is lower.

Also it’s kinda weird to tell someone who’s sitting right in front of you that you’ll “go to” where he is.

So, using my spidey sense plus all things considered, I finally concluded that since it’s Cross’ flashback, Nea was talking to Cross this time.

Looking back on this, I don’t know if I’d be able to translate DGM even with 50% accuracy had I not read the series from the start and have the volumes stacked on a bookshelf nearby just in case. Screw you, NIHONGO!

3. Pierrot, Clown, Auguste, Whiteface, Harlequin; What’s the difference?

In Lost Fragment of Snow, Mana is described as a Pierrot whereas Cosimo is a Clown. As I’m not well-versed in clown traditions, I did some Googling and Wikipedia, and learned the art is even more interesting and richer than I once thought:

In this informative blog , it’s explained that while in appearance, the Pierrot and the Clown are almost the same, there is one rule that sets them apart:

The Pierrot has tear marks under his eyes, whereas the Clown does not.

The Pierrot’s tear marks:

(I just noticed Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker also has tear marks)

The blog is long and detailed and very interesting, but in short, though both the Pierrot and the Clown are supposed to make people laugh by doing foolish things, while the Clown intentionally acts foolish to be laughed at, and can also joke back at and laugh at the audience as well, the Pierrot will always have to be laughed at and made fun of by the audience.

Deep down, though the Pierrot is hurt and sad, he must act as if he’s not, to conceal it from the audience. Thus the tear marks indicates a deep, profound sadness.

(*pause to sob for Allen and Joker*)

Back to Mana, we can clearly see he has a tear mark on his right eye. But Cosimo has what looks to be a tear mark and a star under his eyes as well.

So...aren’t they both Pierrots? Grrrrrrr! DAMMIT HOSHINO!!

Anyways, moving on. I think we remember that back in Allen’s epic showdown with the Earl in Edo, this scene happened:

The Earl compares Allen to the White Clown/Clown Blanc and himself to Auguste. In classic tradition, Blanc and Auguste are often paired together, and it is said that this originates from the pairing of the Pierrot and Harlequin.

No no no obviously I’m not talking about this one lol

Ahem, back to serious-ass clown lore:

Both Blanc & Auguste and Pierrot & Harlequin are similar in that the former (Blanc and Pierrot) is more sophisticated, stern, serious and melancholic, whereas the latter (Auguste and Harlequin) is the happy, clumsy, grotesque, sometimes rude fool that does the former’s bidding, to comical results.

In Lost Fragment of Snow, Mana is said to always be smiling and extraordinarily kind, and that he is an enchantingly elegant, beautiful clown, but when he smiles, he always looks as if he is actually crying, dying inside.

I mean, pretty much everyone has had that moment in their lives, no?

Okay, back to seriousness, again; Yes, Mana is the ultimate Pierrot, the Whiteface, the Blanc. The sad fool who must always be laughed at by the world.

And now Allen, who has taken on Mana’s personality, became the melancholic laughingstock of the world himself, constantly being pushed down and trodden on and used, but having no choice but to push on with a smile, hiding his pain deep underneath the white greasepaint.

Cue the music!

I started a joke, which started the whole world crying But I didn't see that the joke was on me. I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.

(Bee Gees - I Started A Joke)

4. Great, Cosimo had a hard life too. One more confirmed-dead character I have to cry for!

I hated Cosimo. Still do. Heck, EVERYONE HATES COSIMO. I mean, until now, the guy totally has no redeeming qualities and no justifying reason behind his relentless cruelty.

But in the recent chapters, there are reveals not mentioned in LFS:

Cosimo was bought and forced to work as an errand boy, like Red, before he somehow crawled his way out and became the circus’s top performer. While drunk, Cosimo would also complain about how he was actually born a noble (this last one is also mentioned in LFS).

Imagine that. Your parents abandoned you for whatever reason (maybe he’s a bastard child?) and you ended up sold to slavery in a circus. After years of being worked to the bone and abused, you struck it big and thought you had it all, then new guy waltzes in with his stupid dog and takes your spotlight.

Heck, you don’t even have to live such a rotten life to feel bitter. In Toy Story, even brave and fair Sheriff Woody was reduced to a jealous wreck in the face of Buzz Lightyear stealing Andy’s attention from him, wasn’t he? And I think we can all relate to that. Most of us have been jealous of someone before.

Cosimo’s unforgivable actions towards Mana and Allen the Dog may have been fueled by insecurity, trauma and fear as much as jealousy. His abuse towards Red is a result of long years of being abused himself; his own way to cope.

While Red/Allen blames himself for his pain and not inflict it back upon others, Cosimo did the opposite, because everyone reacts and adapts differently. However, to be clear, both of these traits are not healthy.

There’s also the fact that Red was saved by the kindness of Allen the Dog and Mana while he is fortunately still young enough to regain faith; whereas Cosimo suffered alone all through his life, surrounded by selfish, two-faced scumbags like that guy handing out leaflets. Had things been different, who’s to say Red might not turn out the same as Cosimo?

In a nutshell, Cosimo is simply a product of his harsh environment. While I still despise him, I can’t help feeling some pity for him and understanding where all that evil had come from. I don’t believe he is inherently bad. Nobody is. Had he been raised with love, I’m sure he would have been a very different person.

5. The Pillar

I know, this is what y’all are actually here for. I mean who cares about Cosimo’s tragic life or the difference between a Pierrot and a Clown when there’s an honest-to-gods HOLY LIGHT SPLITTING THE SKY APART AND OBLITERATING THIS WHOLE WORLD FULL OF SINNERS!? And it’s even teased, like, waaaaay back in Timothy’s Arc (gawd how old was I back then?) !!

First, a recap of this chapter:

7,000 years ago, The Pillar destroyed the world (which seems pretty modern). The Noah survived and held a grudge against The Pillar for forever destroying their world, leaving them with nowhere to return to. Once they found the reborn Millennium Earl, they pretended to be his family, but instead are using him to exact revenge on The Pillar, because it is predicted the Earl will one day become The Pillar and destroy the world again. Cross however took pity on the Earl and chided Road for believing in that prophecy and causing the Earl so much misery.

Some IRL tidbits:

Hoshino-sensei revealed she traveled to Ground Zero of WTC for inspiration, now we finally get to know which scene that inspiration is for. And IMO, the instant obliteration coming out of nowhere on one fine day, the Pillar etching a line from sky to ground amidst the pile of rubble, reminds me of the A-bomb’s mushroom cloud over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And we all know which country Hoshino-sensei comes from, right? Could there be a link?

Now, my personal analysis (or rather, pointless rant with no answers coming out whatsoever):

This chapter both confirms, clarifies and also debunks important things we have believed from our time with the Order, listening to the Order’s side of the story.

1) In the very beginning, Komui tells Allen about the previous end of the world 7,000 years ago. The Bible calls it “The Great Flood”. The Cube calls it “The Three Days of Darkness.” However, we now learn it is neither rainy nor dark. Nope, one day all of a sudden, a blindingly bright shaft of light struck down from the sky, and The Capitol suddenly became The Scorch. How did it achieve that? No clue!

2) Komui tells Allen that the end of the world was caused by a war between the wielders of Innocence and the Earl + the Noah Family, and the ensuing flood that destroyed the world scattered the Innocence around the world.

However, in this chapter, we learned there was no war. There was no flood. Just the Pillar that appeared suddenly one day. And surprise, the Noah Family hated The Pillar for destroying their beloved world, their only home (wait, aren’t they supposed to hate the Innocence?).

Yet now the Noah are working with the Earl, who wants to destroy the new world and would someday become the Pillar and destroy the new world too? Yet Cross says they’re just using him for all this time?

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?

My super duper wild theory is that since 1) The Earl is the Pillar-in-Making, 2) The Noah show hatred for The Pillar as much as they do for the Innocence, 3) The Pillar, like Innocence, could trigger their Noah Memory to threaten to swallow them, then it’s kinda implied that;

Mana = The Millennium Earl = The Pillar = The Heart of Innocence

And the Noah, knowing this all along and wanting to prevent the end of the world from happening again, tricked the Millennium Earl into thinking they’re helping him fulfill his raison d'être of Harbinger of the End of The F***ing World (sorry, another reference, heh), not telling him that he’s actually the Heart of Innocence itself, watch him go after Exorcists he suspects are the Heart, and gleefully accept his orders to kill those Exorcists looking for the Heart, in order to prevent the Black Order from ever getting the Earl aka the Heart on their side.

They also let the Earl create legions of Akuma to fight the Exorcists and destroy all the Innocence shards, literally using the Earl to destroy himself, keeping him away from his true allies, chipping away at his lifeline one shard at a time, like Harry crushing Voldemort’s horcruxes one by one, not knowing he’s a Horcrux himself. Until finally, when there is nothing left but the greatly weakened Heart with no army to protect it, then will the Noah have the chance to defeat it once and for all.

And of course while they keep the Earl busy searching for the Heart, old man will never pause and think hmmm, maybe I am the Heart?

Perhaps this is why Wisely said that all humans who have awoken into Noah will accept their duty once they learned of Noah’s mission. Since Noah’s mission now seems to be preventing the end of the world at the hands of Innocence, which I take as God’s power, and God’s weapon for “cleansing” the world whenever he deems it too sinful.

After all, we have seen the horrors Innocence can do, the lengths Innocence will go to punish people it judged to have sinned. Innocence is said to be a crystallization of God, and like God, it has been foreshadowed numerous times to have that ruthless, merciless, unforgiving streak within it that could alienate even Allen himself.

Anyway, I typed this one without checking the earlier volumes that much. I expect there will be several loopholes, so be sure to point out any inaccuracies and also please, please do let me know what you guys think of these reveals as well! I’d love to hear differing theories!

Other tidbits

The Garvey Troupe, not Garbeigh. Sorry, everyone. Phonetically, Japanese does not have the “v” sound. Nowadays, you can write it out by adding the mark on the ウ (u) letter like this: ヴ, but most words would still transliterate it to the “b” sound, and most Japanese people will still have trouble pronouncing the “v” sound properly anyway. For example, “Violin” could be written both as (v)ヴァイオリン or (b)バイオリン, and most people would pronounce it like the latter.

Do you think Road’s memories of the End of the World has anything to do with Lenalee and Allen’s shared dream of the End of the World as well? Though Lenalee’s nightmare features the Black Order in ruins and not the modern skyscrapers of Road’s.

So Cross knew Nea and Mana from childhood!? I’ve always thought he met Nea by chance when they are grownups and he was forced to do Nea’s bidding. Interesting!!

So, that’s it for this chapter! Phew! That was uber long. Thank you so much for bearing with me this far. Hit me up in comments!

#dgm #d gray #d gray man #d gray man 234

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bugaboowritings · 4 years ago

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Date My Best Friend, You Dumb Cat - Superhero Accidental Reveal Fic

Alya Found Out Adrien's Secret and is MAd that He Isn't Doing His Homework

So... I had this piece in my head since I saw that old Instagram post about Alya and Adrien being partners for a school project and that comic about Adrien and Alya having an accidental Reveal when their glamour dropped.

May make this a series.. Also have this same thing but with Chloe - Check them out! ( 1 ) and ( 2 )

And then with Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien - ( 1 )

Two months, one week, three days, and seven hours since the new semester started.

Two months, one week, and twelve hours since Miss Bustier assigned the first group project.

Two months, one week, eleven hours, and forty minutes since Alya Césaire and Adrien Agreste were randomly selected to be partners.

Four minutes after that, Alya teased her best friend mercilessly if she wanted to trade partners.

Two years, six months, two weeks and twenty-three hours since Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared in Paris.

Two years, six months, and three weeks since Alya met her best friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng on the first day of school in a new town.

Two seconds since she discovered Chat Noir’s identity.

Two years, six months, and two weeks since Marinette confessed to Alya about her crush on a certain blond she thought Marinette strongly disliked.

Seven seconds since she found out about Chat’s secret identity.

Two years and five months since Alya decided to investigate the real-life superheroes patrolling the city.

Eleven seconds since the mask and the magical spandex fully disintegrated off her skin.

What happened only moments ago played as if someone clicked freeze-frame on this point of Alya Césaire’s life as her miraculous glamour dropped.

Leaving Alya Césaire in the cold alley as Rena Rouge vanished into thin air. Ending the superhero illusion when her suit reached its five-minute limit.

The dazzled Lady-blogger watched the little coy Fox God of Illusion twist their expression in amusement. The corners of their mouth turned up in a sharp smile, playfully flicking their tongue at their user.

“Oh, this is going to be fun explaining to the Leader Lady.”

“You’re-! ADrienN!” Alya choked.

“How- OH MY GOD! You’re- Oh my god!!” She stuttered, barely grasping what was going on as she tripped over her words while the fatal conclusion hit her gut. Her stomach felt hot and twirled in knots. Her cold, clammy hands traveled to her curls, locking her fingers in her hair as she pulled strands away from her face. Not believing what she just witnessed.

Alya swore on this day that she went brain dead before her eyes widened and readjusted to the dark atmosphere. Without her mask, Alya was left without her magical night vision, forced to focus on the scene organically while her glasses slowly dipped off the bridge of her nose.

The gears clicked and ground in Alya Césaire’s observant mind, jumping faster to conclusions than a gun could fire a bullet into a clear sunny day. Pinning ideas and theories then shuffling around clues that could make this sound believable to herself. Even as she sat there, sitting in the middle of the alley-way trash bin, watching the aftermath of the Miraculous unfold.

GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, she JUST HAD to make the grave mistake on dropping into the same alley that Chat Noir did.

AND OF COURSE!!-, she did it without thinking it through! Not while the adrenaline levels spiked up in the blood in her veins, giving her this deadly sense of invincibility. The same feeling that made her fearless when she leaped over buildings and dropped from heights that could kill her and her courage.

However, in the heat of the moment, there’s no time left to worry when her necklace gave an urgent beep. Alya remembered thinking that she had more time to spare, yet the second she blinked -her orange suit was already peeling off her body. Causing her to lose her footing in mid-air which led to one of the most ungracefully landings she has ever made. Drawing blood as she scraped her hands hitting the brick wall and almost breaking her neck if she hadn’t landed in the stuffed dumpster or pushed her feet under her weight to cushion her fall. Her sweatshirt returned back on her body and her hair was no longer crimson red, but tree bark brown with fading colored tips.

Then with a loud THUMP, BOOM, and CRASH, a commotion that surely woke up the surrounding neighborhood and scared off any stray cats in the area, the two heroes fell out of the sky and landed into their civilian selves.

Of course, Alya didn’t realize she wasn’t the only one that crash-landed in the alley until it was a second too late to do anything about it.

Untangling herself from the garbage-bins tagged with graffiti and unsettling stains, Alya puffed and huffed, holding her breath to trap the last bit of fresh air she had stored in her lungs. Only to gasp for air, not because of the grime and disgusting odors around her but she noticed the glow and gleam of green and black across from her.

Alya swore that she covered her eyes, for her sake and his- but she recognized that voice as it groaned. Along with those familiar orange shoes that kicked up and around, same with the sweats with a familiar logo stitched on the side.

The Gabriel Brand.

Gabriel Agreste.

THE Gabriel Agreste.

One of the top lines in fashion.

Practical clothing but at expensive prices.

A-And that! What he was wearing was part of a new street-wear! One only rumored to exist and if so- it wasn’t hitting the stores for a figure of a few months!! (Thank you, Marinette for your vast knowledge of fashion and launches and your endless rambles about them.)

Yet, how could-!? How could this sly cat have access to the brand or rumored collection!? How could this leather-wearing flirt have the cash to have anything with the Agreste brand on it?

Was he some sort of business partner? A loyal customer with benefits? Heir to a company that has ties with the Agreste? New money or old?!

No- that can’t be right. Gabriel wouldn’t just hand off his secret collection unless…Unless it was someone worth giving to.

It wasn’t until the infamous cat raised his head up in a moan that Alya Césaire, local Lady-blogger, saw his face, Chat Noir’s face, without the mask.

As ungracious this whole situation was, this seemed like the only right way to figure out the kitty’s identity.

All thanks to a series of unfortunate events and some bad luck.

Something totally on-brand for him.

The blond brushed his hair with the tips of his fingers before lightly rubbing the sore spot over his neck. Rocking his head back and forth and around to alleviate the stinging. His forehead wrinkled as he groaned once more, knitting his eyebrows together. All before opening his acid green eyes wide at the reporter when she released the breath she held in.

Adrien Agreste being this cocky superhero that swirled and twirled about the city- the same one that wore a bell and slick black leather- explained so little and left so many questions unanswered.

It did, however, explain the little details that she looked over when it came to Adrien Agreste. How he jumped into action when he heard the Akuma Alert, how he didn’t run for his life but quickly claim that he needed to go to the bathroom when a giant semi-monster or Akuma loomed over the city, how he seemed to be a true Ladybug Stan since the beginning it all- even when Paris was barely getting used with their new super-reality, how he checked with Alya after almost every blog post if she uploaded something during school hours, the quick comments and awkward praise given about his alter-ego when the Miraculous Duo came to be the topic again in the lunch table.

The Lady-blogger knew that Chat Noir playing offense when Darkblade came to claim Paris could be a clue, how Chat Noir knew where to take the students when evacuating the school after a nasty Akuma attack when he ‘supposedly’ never been there, and then how Chat Noir called everyone by their name when it was the first time her classmates even had the chance to see him in person and not on a news-recap.

Why Adrien had to miss the grand installment of the Miraculous Duo Statue in the park, but he never really missed it because he was THERE! Chat Noir was in her classroom and she didn’t even-!!

Alya gasped.

“Our project is due before 12!” Cupping her mouth before throwing her hands out to the blond. Yanking him out of the trash by the collar of his jacket.

“Why are you here and not finishing the first draft?!”

Adrien Agreste, still pressed up against the alley wall with his back supported by day-old trash, digested Alya’s words before rolling his eyes. A snarky reply slipped his mouth as he shifted his body into a more comfortable spot after getting squashed in the tight alleyway.

“An evil super villain possessed a child, Alya. I have priorities.”

“And our grade isn’t!”

Adrien tucked his legs under himself as a cat kwami popped out of his light blue jacket. Struggling to get on his feet from the buzz sensation in his legs after his fall, resting his hands on the dirty concrete before showing more of his superhero persona.

“Again priorities, Alya!” He uttered, ruffling his hair as he took their current situation in.

Stretching his arms as he stood up to his full height. His hair, messy and tangled, suede one side to the other as Adrien shook his head.

“I can’t leave my Lady alone when a crazed toddler is on the loose.”

----

Who would have guessed?

That the Cat with the dangerously charming grin was the same boy that can’t go out with his friends if work intervened or when his dad flatly said no to his face through a tablet held by his black-suited assistants. The guy that would merciless flirt with the red heroine (he still drinks respect women juice tho) was outside of the world of superheroes and villains, a guy that never went out on a proper date with anyone before.

God, this would surely make a great article.

Alya Césaire had uncovered one of the biggest secrets in Paris, all in a matter of some lucky seconds. Not because of her totally-awesome journalist skills, but all because of dumb luck.

Wait-.

She just lost her secret identity too.

--Ladybug is going to kill her.

Alya got sick and pale when she thought this situation over, not with her Lady Blogger brain, but with her superhero ego. Forgetting how her project was late or the fact if she didn’t return home quickly her family would worry if they didn’t find her in bed at this hour.

Ladybug is going to kill them.

No-... she gonna take away their miraculous FIRST so they then don’t have a chance to fight back and THEN kill them. Most likely after her speech about breaking the most important rule of being a superhero.

“Keeping your secret identity a secret.”

Alya groaned into her hands as the memory of Ladybug’s lectures and advanced fighting skills played in her head.

She is so dead.

Letting that fact sink in before taking in a big deep breath.

“It’s fine,” she can work with this. She can bounce back. She can just explain this to Ladybug without losing her chance at being a Miraculous Holder. It’s gonna be fine-

Parting her hands from her face to see Ch-Adrien pull out a little container of cheese for the black kwami nagging and floating by the blond’s head. The tiny god grinned as it nibbled (inhaled) on that snack as it hovered over his Chosen’s shoulder.

Alya screamed in her palms once more, making her peace on earth.

---

Alya thanked Adrien for the slice of cheese. Handing it to Trixx to get him ready for another transformation. The duo decided that it was better to wait it out for their Kwamis rather than try to walk home in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night.

Once Alya came over the shock of finding out Chat Noir’s identity, she bit her tongue before asking any questions. Taking in what was behind the mask, a good observation was key for a reporter since that can tell more than questions itself could.

His hair was different, it wasn’t the right length (when thinking of his magical alter-ego). Nor did it curl by his ears, but it still had that ‘swish’ and ‘fluff’ texture. His eyes were still that acid green color but seemed more on the light shade and looked more ‘natural’ and ‘safe’ compared to the huge, glowing cat eyes he had before. The same eyes that scared criminals in pit black or lit up a night sky. His face’s silhouette matched the pictures of the hero’s. His jaw was the perfect shape and his height was exactly the same, give or take the added milometers from his boots. Yet, it seemed so weird to see this.

There, Chat Noir peeled away left Adrien Agreste. Laying against the tagged-up walls and using the crunchy trash bags to break his fall and now as bean-bag chairs as he laughed at something his Kwami whispered.

“You’re Chat Noir.”

It was the first sentence she said without coughing or yelping. Scaring Adrien to just hear Alya speak in her stern tone, ruining the silence he thought they (unspokenly) agreed to keep. Nevertheless, Adrien should have known that the quiet could only last for a while before Alya recovered and spit questions with a blink of an eye.

It was too good to be true if he thought they could just forget about this and walk away.

The golden boy bit his bottom lip in what seems to be a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and a dash of amusement. Giving Alya a shy smile before shrugging his shoulders.

“Guess the cat is out of the bag,” Adrien, no, Chat Noir grinned.

The Lady-blogger had to stop the burning need to deck him so hard.

A thin, yet toothy smile appeared before losing it when Cha- Adrien’s kwami, a tiny grumpy cat-god with two white-ivory fangs that stood out in contrast with his deep purple fur, asked for more cheese before showing the rest of his sharp teeth in an attempt for a wide innocent smile.

It was terrifying.

“GOD!” Alya cried, rolling her eyes as her fox kwami fled to talk to Chat Noir, wait no, Adrien’s kwami. Still not over that her classmate was part of the Miraculous Duo. The reporter gasped for air even harder as she reached another conclusion.

“I knew it was you! AH! Ha! I knew it in the beginning!” Alya uttered, switching from frustrating sounds to a laugh that made Adrien question the report’s ability to handle and process all this before Alya pumped her fist up before cursing the universe out loud. Her painted nails rubbed circles on her temples while she munched on this memory in her own flashback.

“I-urgh! I knew! I knew you looked too much like Chat Noir, too much to call it ‘chance’. But no!- Marinette brushed me off. Telling me ‘That’s too good to be true!’- and now!” Tossing her hands out to the blond and his kwami.

The undeniable evidence that landed on her plate.

“Here you are! Both Chat Noir and Adri-“

A cold hand cupped on Alya’s mouth. Stopping her from shouting even louder or even finishing her sentence. Pushing her back to the old brick wall.

The Lady-blogger instinctively fought back, her hands reaching for the fingers over her mouth, but she stopped herself before she scratched the blond or bit his hand (or worse, spit in it).

“Alya,” Adrien hushed. “I know that you know this- but you can’t tell anyone about this. Living or dead- Not a soul, not in any journal entry, not on your blog or to Nino, ever. Not even to Marinette.”

Alya nodded at the sudden serious tone.

“Bad enough that Hawk Moth is still out there with his eye out for our heads. If you or I get akumatized it’s gonna be game over for Ladybug and Paris. You understand that, right?”

Alya shoved his hand away.

“First off, your hand smells like Camembert. Gross.”

“Second,” she sighed. Letting her fingers press against the creases of her forehead before sliding down to her cheek.

“. . .Does Ladybug know?”

Adrien’s fingers tugged on his hoodie string as he nibbled on his lips. His nose crinkled in dissatisfaction.

“We planned to reveal ourselves when Hawk Moth’s gone and defeated . . . “

“How noble.” Alya snorted.

Before Alya could ask anything else, Adrien beat her to the punch. His voice filled the air as cars in the background beeped at each other at the late ride home or to work.

“My turn with this interrogation.” Moving his face a little closer, Adrien Unaware-of-Boundaries-Because-He-Was-Locked-In-A-House-His-Whole-Life Agreste frowned.

“What do you mean by ‘I knew it” and how does Marinette think- wait, does she know that you’re Rena? Alya did you-”

Alya pushed Adrien a step off before rolling her eyes.

“Of course not!” She scoffed.

“I tell Mari everything, but - But Ladybug trusted me with the miraculous and I kept my secret and promise to her.” Twisting her leg in anxiousness before quickly commenting, “ Well it was a secret before THIS happened.”

----

~Study Session at the Library. Be here by 2

~Same table as always

Adrien clicked on the message, typing out a quick response and a time change. Sweeping his hair back, happy with what he wrote after rewriting twice and finally pressing send.

-2:15, but I’m still in the locker room. I’m there by 2:30, tops.

Alya hummed as she saw the little dots on Nino’s phone before disappearing again and then reappearing with a new message. Huffing through her nose before typing a response back.

~It’s due this week and we are out by 3:45.

Adrien pulled his clothes from his locker before hearing the soft buzz of his phone in his gym bag. Groaning in defeat before typing out a dull reply.

-K.

---

Peeling another sticky note to add to the right corner of the book, not before uncapping her thin felt-tipped marker as Marinette scribbled a slanted question. Looping her y’s and not paying attention to the clicks towards the table since it could just be Rose asking for another pen from Alya. However, a chair scraped across the wooden floor and a gym bag thumped on the ground which sent vibrations up the table. Making her jump, pulling back her hand before she accidentally drew a huge line down the page of her textbook.

“Thanks for organizing this session, Alya. I’m glad that we managed to meet up even with my schedule.”

Marinette continued to scribble in her sticky notes. Her handwriting got sloppier as she wrote faster. Her anxiousness escaped from her in her blush and in her quick penmanship. Exhaling sharply, catching Nino’s attention only to lose it as his dirt-colored eyes noticed his best friend. Tugging his headphones off his ears.

“Dude, nice to see you finally make it to one of our ‘nerd meetings’.”

“Hard with my Father and all my tutors back home. Are you gonna finally let me play Mega Strike on your phone or wait until your phone is at 5 percent like last time?”

“Adrien, it was one time!”

“SHH!” the librarian hushed. Quieting the boys and they slowly mellowed in their chairs. The librarian broke his stare and returned back to the paperwork on his desk. The boys broke their silence and the tension in the table as they couldn’t help the chuckles that came up their lips when they looked at each other. Bring back that light environment when the boys nudged each other playfully. Chuckling under their breath as Adrien set his pens and books out from his school bag.

Marinette tried her best to keep her eyes on her paper. She can’t be blushing and rambling like she always did. But God, this was gonna be so hard to do since old habits die hard. As hard as she gripped her pen while she carved the words on her notebook page. The music in her earbuds crashed with her emotions. The lofi beats weren’t calming her; it just made her feel like she was on the wrong station. Debating to switch her playlist to something quicker and louder to make her concentrate on her work and not on something more captivating. . .

WAIT,,, NO!!!! BAD MARINETTE! Don’t think that- he is just a friend!!

Pushing her earbuds in her ear deeper in hopes to drown out his laughter. Her finger swiped across stations and then deciding on to Jagged Stone’s new single. Killing the urge to stare at the model or steal looks at him, but surely looking at him couldn’t hurt-

GOD! WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS!?

They’re just friends. And “just friends” doesn’t mean that you should stare at each other’s eyes. “Just Friends” means just friends especially when one of the friends looks like a certain blond and is potentially dating someone else-

A pink pen rolled over her notebook.

Is that- a Ladybug pen?

Marinette tugged on the wires of her earbuds, letting them fall off her ears and pausing the first verse of Jagged’s song.

“Ah-could you guys pass me my supplies?”

Marinette’s blue eyes finally did the thing she prayed she wouldn’t do.

She looked up.

There, Adrien rushed to pick up his pens, pencils, markers, and highlighters as they rolled off the table. Nino was already crouching down, grabbing the ones that fell under his chair’s legs while Alya picked up the ones that came her way.

“I didn’t know they sold ladybug stationery?” The lady-blogger grinned, twirling the pen between her painted nails. Wiggling her eyebrows at the flustered blond who try to brush off her looks with an eye roll. Hoping that if he ignores the blush that came up his face, they won’t comment on it.

“It was in a pack, Alya.” Adrien bit his lip, reaching over to snatching the pen back from Alya. Only to miss her hand completely as she pulled back her arm in the last second. Teasing Adrien with the pen, holding it out of his grasp. Tossing it to Nino when his fingers reached a little too close to the pen. The boys rough-house a minute before earning themselves another scorning from the librarian.

Over the last two years of going to public school compared to the first day he tried to sneak through the front gates, Adrien Agreste would have died on the spot if he got scorned by an authority figure other than his caregiver, well ‘care’-givers, at Françoise Dupont High School - but with time, Adrien Agreste mellowed into the new role of Adrien, the student.

Just the student.

A different persona from the one that lived at home and bloom when entering school grounds. Adrien would say that he’s more care-free and open than before as he learned how to sneak out and what buttons to press when joking with his closest friends. Like how Nino always fell for the “What’s that?” trick- no matter what or how Kagami liked puns even if she frowned or how Marinette would shot a sarcastic remark if given the chance (so Adrien tried his best to set the joke to hear Mari’s slick comments which often ending with an innocent smile before walking away).

So it wasn’t unusual for Adrien to act like this, like a teenager and not some super famous model. Just a student who was currently blushing in embarrassment due to his Ladybug stationary.

“They’re nice.”

The study group turned to the peep in the corner. Marinette swiped her thumb over the magical ladybug clip on the pen.

It felt heavy and good in her hand, it had nice weigh to it. All with a slick design that didn’t seem cheesy or cheap. It’s hard to make polka-dots work nicely, but who would know right?

“I’m more of Chat Noir fan though.” A small smile slipped out as she spun the pen in her hand one last time. Her face softens as she thought about her partner and how cute it would be to have his cartoon face on sticky notes if it didn’t add to his ego. Marinette finally passed the pen to Adrien who unconsciously held out his hand when her hand went out to him.

“Cool,” Adrien answered. Not knowing what to say without giving himself away or boasting about the Miraculous Duo without sounding stiff or awkward.

That little moment was gone as a voice cleared the air.

“So you’re a cat stan now?”

-------

“I didn’t know you dig that type of leather, Mari?” Alya purred as she grinned a little too hard as her joke, causing her cheeks to squish the edge of her amber-colored iris. Narrowing her four eyes at her clueless friend.

“I’m not- why are you making it sound so weird?!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes. Yes, you are.” Marinette rolled her eyes before shaking her head. Quickly stepping down the stairs with the reporter on her heels. Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, reminding herself to trim them when she gets home or when she’s free by this weekend.

“And-stop looking at me like that, Alya!”

“I wasn-”

“I can feel your laser vision from here.”

“Okay, fine! I give, Mari. I can’t lie to you no more.” Throwing her arms around the designer’s neck and tugging her near. Marinette pulled her legs under her before she choked herself with Alya’s hold.

“The truth is- I’m setting you up with a superhero, but can’t unless I absolutely know that you’re into them.”

“. . . .what?”

-------

#alya cesaire #adrien agreste #rena rouge #chat noir #miraculous ladybug #ml Fic #my writings #My writing #my Fic #reveal #marinette dupain cheng #fluff #miraculous the tales of ladybug and chat noir #ml fics #superhero Reveal

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cutmyhairabovemyjaw · 5 years ago

Text

Heaven and Hell Bound - Tommy Shelby ~ Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Hi Guys. Thank you so much for the love and comments, they truly brighten my day. During this part I decided to include some reference pictures of how I envision the clothing during certain scenes in this chapter. Let me know how you feel about these and if you’d like to see more or less of them.

After this part there will be one more chapter set during the war before we move into Birmingham which will loosely follow Season 1 of the show. I’ve been thinking of trying out requests for one-shots with different characters from the show and others. Let me know if you’d be interested in that :) Hope you enjoy reading part 5 and again, any feedback is most welcome. <3 <3.

Tags:

@namelesslosers

Part 5 - The Dance

Y/N’s POV

It had been a month since Tommy was brought to the hospital, a month since I heard his screams, a month since I felt his kiss. And there had not been a single night in which my head was not stormed by thoughts of him. I craved his touch, his smile, his caress. I had written him quickly, just as he had asked. We talked of the mundane, of the gruesome, of the merry. My diary was now filled with sketches he’d drawn and photos he’d sent. Most recently, however, he had requested that I send through one of my nurses ribbons. I was puzzled as to why he would wish for something as plain and simple as this.

“My dearest Y/N,

Please forgive my selfishness as, yet again, I ask for a piece of you. Whilst your photo sits forever in my pocket, I must find some rare time to pause and peacefully admire it. I noticed on my last hospital visit that all the nurses wear white ribbons somewhere on their person. I have had the pleasure of seeing you wear it in your hair and around your delicate wrist. I ask because many soldiers whose lovers volunteer as nurses, tie this ribbon in with the shoelaces on their boots. The idea is that as we soldiers look down at our feet and into the hell we may soon occupy, an angel stops us on our way. Perhaps you are not my lover yet but you are my angel. The Christmas Ball ever approaches. I believe the invitations shall arrive within the next week. I look forward to seeing you there. If you get invited that is. Perhaps the goblin matron of yours wants you all to herself.

Sincerely,

Your Tommy.”

His angel. That’s what he called me. I still believe that my eyes were deceiving me as I read and continued to re-read those words. I sent one away at once. If I could supply any hope or relief in his darkest times, I would gladly do so. Anything to see that stupid perfect smile of his. He was right about the invitations. In fact they arrived the following morning. And when they did, we all got very excited, perhaps Rosaline a little too much.

We sat upon our hill, the freshly delivered mail buzzing in our hands. The air seemed sweeter and the sun brighter as everyone in the hospital radiated excitement as the beautiful red envelopes graced the grey and brown hospital. It seems this year the higher ups have decided to use the annual Christmas ceasefire to up morale. It was nice to see some smiles around here. “You ready?” Ro asks me, her smile wider than before, if that were even possible. I look to her and nod, my eyes wide and ready. Ro tears into the envelope, erratically pulling and tearing, turning the once solid paper into confetti shreds. I laugh before carefully peeling the seal back, trying to preserve the item as best I can, knowing I will want it in it’s best condition for my diary. We simultaneously pull out the letter and read the message.

“Dear service Men and Women,

It is with great pleasure that we invite you to the 1916 Allied Christmas Ball. As a reward for bravely fighting for your king you will enjoy a night of dancing, singing and drinking followed by the second day of the two-day cease fire. Provisions have been provided by the Crown and the public. Formal uniform is expected.

God Save The King.”

I jump as from beside me I hear Ro let out a loud holler of joy and enthusiasm. I laugh and join her as we cheer into the sky. “You know what this means Y/N?” She leans forward, eyes wild. “Oh boy” I say in preparation for her explosion of joy, knowing what is to come next. “Dress up time!” We hoot and holler once more, taking full advantage of this moment. We burst into laughter. Whilst I had grown up on rural farm land with little time for glitz and glam, Rosaline was born into a family which lay on the wealthier side of things. Whilst she rebelled against many aspects of it, she was infatuated with fashion and beauty. One of our many post-war dreams was to attend the most extravagant regal event and cause havoc whilst donning dazzlingly expensive gowns. Whilst this wasn’t exactly that, Ro would make it work. “I’m going to give Tommy the most beautiful date of them all!” She declares, like a Queen to her kingdom. I laugh, the alien feeling of my cheeks hurting from smiling returning for the first time since the war began. She pulls me to my feet and begins to twirl me around, a horrible version of ballroom dancing does ensue. “You two will dance into the night, twirling, giggling, and drinking the whole way through. Before he finally seals the night with true-love's kiss” She puckers her lips out comically. I smash by hand against her mouth and she slobbers on my palm. “ Oh Jesus Ro gross.” I wipe my spit covered hand against my apron. “And then,” she continues, my anxieties growing, fearing what words may following next, “He fucks you well into the night as you howl his name down-” This time I firmly plant my hand over her lips, silencing her ridiculous statement. “Shut the fuck up Ro” I shout-whisper to her, my eyes wide and a blush rampant on my cheeks. I remove my hand, letting out the wild laughter Rosaline had produced. I sigh, shaking my head in shame trying to ignore all of the horrified looks the other nurses were giving us. I let out a small chuckle. “You’re ridiculous you know. Completely and utterly ridiculous.” I say, every word I utter is followed by a small jab to her stomach with my finger, using her ticklish nature to my advantage. “Ok! Ok! I’m sorry,” she surrenders to my actions, “It’s true though”. I simply shake my head once more. Of course I’d had my fair share of intimate thoughts of Tommy, but it was nothing more than a fantasy. Perhaps he shared these thoughts. Perhaps he wished to enact them. Fuck what am I thinking. He might not even dance with me… I hope he does. “Well come on Y/N. We’ve only got a week to prepare so let’s go!” She pulls me out of my train of thought both with her words and her hand which now drags me towards the hospital tent. I still have not decided upon how I feel about the Christmas Ball. Part of me dreads it with my whole existence whilst the other has never been more excited about anything.

The first day of the cease fire had dawned. The peace was unfamiliar, almost unsettling as opposed to the normalised violence of every other day. And with it, the cease fire brought the dreaded Christmas Ball. The nurses gossiped amongst themselves, sharing around what little makeup and products they had managed to keep. Practically every second word that were freed from Rosaline’s brain had something to do with the ball or the dressing up. I was happy for her. She deserved to be happy and play fashion, not to encounter death and sadness on the daily.

Rosaline had already gotten herself ready. She radiated perfect beauty as her red lipstick and black mascara accentuated her doe-eyed complexion. Her ginger hair flowing by her waist as opposed to the tight bun it normally found itself in. As we stood in front of her small mirror, the juxtaposition of complete beauty and myself was accentuated. I wallowed in my gloomy insecurity, looking down to avoid the striking gaze of the mirror. How was I supposed to compare to someone like Ro. How was I supposed to impress someone like Tommy. I felt two small warm hands guide me out of the depths of my brain as Rosaline now held my face. “Y/N listen to me hey? Just listen. When you guys first saw each other you stood still, blown away by each others beauty. And guess what you both looked like? You were in your uniform, you were sweaty and covered in all kinds of gross shit like vomit and blood. And Tommy? He’d just dragged John out of a tunnel so he was covered in bloody dirt and muck and was the most dishevelled we’ll probably ever see him. You guys fell in love while kinda looking like shit.” We laugh, I begin to understand what she’s saying. She continues on, smiling proud, knowing she’d won me over, “He’s going to think you’re absolutely beautiful, ok? Hell everyone’s going to think that. We’ll walk into that ball, arms locked together and stun them into silence. Perhaps a few may even cry,” she proclaims rather melodramatically. I smile, rolling my eyes at her antics. I turn to hug her, grateful for her love. She sits me down in a nearby chair. “Now come on, we’ll miss the bloody thing if we take much longer.” Perhaps he will find me beautiful.

Tommy’s POV

I stand in front of the dirty, sorry excuse we have for a mirror, fiddling with my tie and the buckles on my sleeves. I try, to no avail, to slick my hair back, push it to the side, I try everything to make it decent. Frustration fills me as I wipe my hands down my face. “Fucking fuck it” I exhale. What is she gonna think of the bloody mess that I am. I slam my hat down onto my head, sitting on my bunk to begin to tie my boots. That’s when I see it once more. Y/N’s ribbon. I take it gently between my fingers, closing my eyes and remembering her. I shall not ruin a night that could be filled with her smile, her touch, her eyes, with my silly insecurities. I hear the tent flap bustling as it is pushed open. I look up to see Arthur and John, dressed in the same garb as myself. “Tommy, they are uh, they’ve given the order to start heading off” he says kindly, holding his cap, fidgeting with his fingers. I blink slowly, nodding whilst looking to the ground. I wave one hand, gesturing to them that I’ll catch up. They look to each other, reading the worry written on my face. John moves to sit next to me putting his hand on my shoulder. “Tommy,” he says, the toothpick bouncing between his teeth and lips, “look mate, everything’s gonna be fine. You look fucking ugly as normal.” He laughs, I shoved his shoulder. “Come on now John Boy, tell him the truth” Arthur smiles at his younger brothers. “You look great Tom and she’s gonna look beautiful. So if you don’t get your sorry ass out there, every other fucking guy’s gonna dance with her. And we can’t have that now can we now Arthur”, “No John, course we can’t have that. Plus,” Arthur continues, a smugness tugging at his tongue, “What use would we have for this otherwise?” He pulls out a flask, whiskey no doubt dancing in the bottle. “Now come on, drink up, the Shelby brothers have got some work to do” he proclaims. I stand and laugh. I’d spent the last week dreaming of how this night will go. How’d she look. How’d we dance, drink and smoke. Perhaps even get close. Oh Y/N, what are you doing to me.

Y/N’s POV

An hour later we stand in front of the mirror once more, this time, surprisingly happy thoughts made their way through my mind. Our formal attire projected elegance as our normal uniform paled in comparison. It was clean, shapely, and flattering. Whilst the veil was slightly uncomfortable I had a plan for that. Once everyone had gotten drunk of booze and dancing, no one would pay any mind to a missing veil or two. Rosaline had given me very similar makeup to hers, carving stark black lines around my eyes, and a scarlet scenery to the hills and crests of my lips. If the notion of the fighting starting up again in two days was not present, perhaps truly good fun could be had, and true happiness could be felt. I stop myself from dwelling on this, everyday could be our last, and if my last involves dancing and Tommy that’s fine by me. “Ladies start filling through to the tent please!” Rosaline and I turn to the source of the noise, a high ranking soldier gives the order. A wave of cheering pours out from the nurses. A smile breaks onto my face. “Well come on then slow poke!” Ro runs forward, dragging me by my hand. “Wait wait wait! I have something for Tommy.” I run back, reaching into my diary, pulling out the small origami horse I had made for him. Quickly, I place it in my pocket before Rosaline’s beady eyes could ask any questions. “Ok. Let’s do this”. We loop our arms together. Our heads high. Stepping in time. We will take on the world, or at least the dance floor.

(Y/N’s POV on left, Tommy’s bumped to the right)

I finally catch a glimpse of the massive white tent which would soon house many a drunkard soldier and stumbling nurse. It seems they collected every light source from every bunk as the scene was set alight with beautiful bulbs and strings. It reminded me of one of those fancy christmas trees I would ogle at in shop windows. The music filled my ears, as did the tapping of shoes, and harmonized singing. A makeshift bar had been set up, tables and chairs too. My heart swells with excitement as Ro and I beam with joy. I hadn’t spotted Tommy yet, and it may yet be a task to do so as more and more people crowd in.

“Oi Oi!” Arthur yells as we enter the large tent. “It’s a fucking riot in here ain’t it” John speaks, before spitting on the floor. I watch as the dancing erupts onto the floor, amused by the singing antics of the already drunk. “Look at some of the birds in here mate. You’d have to pay a pretty penny to get with one of them back in Small Heath.” Arthur drools over the women, the party letting out the beast in some of them. “Well boys,” I begin, lighting my cigarette, “Go get drunk, get into as many fights as you can and go for any woman you like. Just not mine.” John whoops and claps, “Thatta Boy Tommy. Now John Boy, we’ve got some work to do.” They walk off, leaving me to myself.

“This is amazing Y/N! Have you seen some of the blokes in here?” Rosaline exclaims to me. Turns out her lover Edward hadn’t died, rather he’d being fucking their resident nurse over there. Nothing motivates Rosaline quite like revenge with a side of free drink. “Go have fun Ro. You deserve it.” I spur her on, knowing she ached for some fun and freedom. “You sure you’ll be ok?” I nod in response. “Now go you bloody minx, go!” I push her towards the group of dancing soldiers. I laugh and make my way to the bar. Besides I had a mission of my own.

Find Tommy.

Find Y/N. That’s what I had to do. I walk through the dance floor, noticing her friend Rosaline tearing up a storm. Yet my Y/N was not with her. Come on Y/N. I kept walking making my way to the rudimentary bar. Please be there.

I sat at the bar, not yet finding Thomas. Perhaps he’d been dancing. I smile at the thought. The night had only begun, I mustn't worry now. I begin to make my way over to the dancing circle. Come on Tommy, where are you?

3rd Person POV

Little did they know at this point that they had both been looking for each other.

Little did they know they were headed straight for one another.

In a parting of the crowds filled with dancing drunks, they saw each other.

Their eyes meeting, just as they had that fateful first day.

He looked unbelievably handsome.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

They swam in each other’s eyes.

Silence filled their ears.

They peered each other up and down, taking in their elegant costume.

Neither of their feet moved.

For all one knows their hearts were beating too fast, or perhaps not beating at all.

Instead she waved.

A small flick of the fingers and a smile.

He laughs and returns the gesture.

As they walk to each other, the same thought plagues their minds.

Maybe tonight I’ll tell him.

Maybe tonight I’ll tell her.

Y/N’s POV.

We now stand face to face, awe spread across my cheeks. He looks at me with the biggest smile I’ve seen painting his profile. “Hello Sergeant Major Thomas Shelby”, I courtesy, deciding to play into this royal fantasy that our outfits created. “Why, you look ravishing Sister Y/N L/N”, he bows, taking one of my hands and places a gentle kiss on it. “Fuck off Tom”, we both laugh, he extends his arm for me to take hold of. I gladly do so. We wander together this time to the bar, taking a seat on the crates that had been scrounged together. “Two Whiskeys please” Tommy orders, leaning his elbow on the table. “So, I see that Rosaline is quite the dancer.” We look out, watching her as she flows from soldier to soldier, her skirt twirling and her hair flowing. “Oh yeah. I feel bad for any other girl that even attempts to get on that dance floor.” I respond, proud of my best friend and she wraps all those boys around her finger. “And what about you Y/N, do you dance?” he asks, grabbing his glass of now delivered whiskey as I do the same. I leaned forward and new wave of air taking over me, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirks, playfully scoffing. “Well then,” He downs his whole glass, slamming it on the table before standing up, offering a hand to me. I following his actions, chugging my drink before hammering my glass down, taking his hand. “Let’s put you to the test then hey?”

We danced and danced and danced. We danced wildly, we danced passionately, we danced carefully. My head was now rested upon his shoulder as we swayed in each other’s arms. Our eyes rest closed, not a care in the world. I feel the vibrations in his chest as he hums along to the music. The party had well and truly died down. People had either gone back to their bunks, had collapsed on the floor or were savouring the last dance. Over the course of the night I had met Arthur and John, they were bruised and bleeding after just getting out of a fight of course, I’d drank way too much and blisters covered my feet from dancing. But I didn’t care. It was a perfect evening with Tommy. He called me beautiful, he’d kissed my cheek. I wonder if my face was now stained red, a blush had become a regular to cross my face. I looked up to admire him, his eyes still calm and closed. I had utterly and completely fallen for Thomas Shelby. But this thought brought more sadness with it than I anticipated. Tommy was a soldier, everyday could be his last. If he makes it home we live in different towns. We had completely foreign lives back in England. I worry that the intensity of the war had amplified our feelings, meaning outside of the fighting, there would be none. I fear I care for him more than he cares for me. I squeeze him tight, not ever wanting to let go. He opens his eyes and squeezes back, looking down to me worried. “You ok pretty girl?” He asks letting go of my hand and waist and instead, places his hands on my cheeks. I meet his blue-sky eyes and sigh into his touch, resting my hand on top of his. “I’m ok, just worrying about silly future stuff.” He laughs, “Silly future stuff hey? Don’t worry about that hey, just enjoy right now. That’s what they teach you down in the tunnels. Think about living now, in this very minute, the soldier’s minute. Just you and me hey?” I nodded timidly, his beauty still making me shy. We dance for a few moments more, savouring every touch and every look.

“Y/N?” I hear Rosaline call from behind me, a slight slur to her words. I turn to see her and a soldier practically holding each other up. “Me and this Noah here are heading back to our bunk. So uh...you might wanna find somewhere else to sleep…” They giggle amongst themselves. I roll my eyes, both happy she’s having fun, but not so happy about sleeping someplace else. “Play nice Rosaline. Now go on, have fun,” they cheer and smile to each other before turning around and stumbling out. “And no fun on my bunk!” I add. “No promises!” She yells back. “Cheeky fucker” I whisper to Tom. He laughs in response. “So where will you go now?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “Well I suppose one of the hospital bunks will probably be free…” I kick my feet against the ground, realising how uncomfortable it will be. “I uh, I might have a solution,” he begins, scratching the back of his head, “John and Arthur have both gone back to their girl’s rooms, therefore...Why not stay with me?” My eyes fly up to meet his, “Really!” He laughs at my excitement. “I-i mean if that’s ok with you. I don’t want to intrude”, I stammer on, embarrassed by my reaction. He leans his forehead on to mine, “Y/N?” I hum in response, “Shut up” he jests. I laugh trying to brush away awkwardness. “Now come on, before any other drunk offers you their bunk.”

We walk hand in hand, enjoying the silence all the way back to his bunk. As I enter the space I take in my surroundings. I notice the 3 small bunks, one for each brother. I watch Tommy sit on the furthest bunk and begin to take his boots off. I walk over to join him, analysing what trinkets lay on his table. I try to remember everything. A diary, papers, cigarettes and matches, a knife and photographs, many many photographs. I flick through them, observing a younger Tommy surrounded by his family. I attempt to match the names Thomas had given me to the faces in the photos. Ada, Polly, Finn. They looked happy... I hope my present would fit perfectly within the decor of his table. “Tommy,” I begin, turning towards him, my hands clasped behind me to try and hide my nervousness. He was now wearing only his sleep shirt, and his trousers. He meets my eyes but I can’t help but look him up and down. He steps towards me, nodding for me to continue. “I have a Christmas present for you.” His eyes widen, a confused smile tugs on his lips. “A Christmas present?” I nod, now excited. “Sit down and close your eyes” I order, pulling him back to the bed. I sit next to him, waiting for him to do the same. “Now stop looking at me and close your eyes.” He leans forward, still experiencing the waves of alcohol “You’re so pretty tho” he drags out the last syllable. “Tommy close your eyes and put your hands out” He still leans towards me, “Now”. He huffs and finally does so. I gently pull out the origami horse from my pocket, laying it in his hands. I watch his fingers jolt slightly at the feeling. “Ok, now you can open.” His eyes open, yet he sits silently, taking the horse in his fingers, examining it closer.

I can’t read the expression on his face and I begin to worry. “I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid I shouldn’t have-” He cuts me off. But not with his words. With his lips. My eyes stare wide, shocked at the action before I melt into the kiss. It’s perfect. It’s everything Rosaline describes from her romance book. It’s everything my dreams had wished for. After what feels like hours, we pull apart. “Thank you Y/N. I-i I don’t even know what to say.” Thomas speaks quietly, a loving softness to his voice. “You’re welcome Tommy. It’s a thank you for all that you’ve done for me.” He places it upon his desk, admiring it for the moment. “Would you mind if we lay down...together” He asks, his eyes pleading for a yes. I can’t seem to form words at this point. Instead I simply nod. We get comfortable, I removed my shoes and veil before laying beside him. He wraps his arms around me as my head rests upon his chest. “Y/N? Can you promise me something?” I lift my head, noticing the vulnerability wobbling his words. “Anything Tommy”. “Promise me that even after this fighting is done, we will stay together and that we will always find each other. Even if we are separated by a world and a half?” I raise my hand, extending my pinky. “Pinky promise” I say, “Pinky promise”, he returns. Our fingers lock and my heart rests. “Now, come here”, he whispers, tilting my lips to his.

That night would never leave me. For how could one forget something as beautiful as that. We continued late into the night before finally falling asleep, bare in each others arms.

Just before the tidal wave of sleep took over us, one last thing was said.

“I think I’m in love with you Y/N.”

“I think I love you too Tommy.”

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reddieorrnot · 5 years ago

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18? — pasteleddiekaspbrak

i know this trails off a bit, but i hope it’s still good!

number 18 from this list

“I think this would look so cute on you!”

Eddie’s head snapped up from the pants he was previously looking at, and saw Beverly holding up a baby pink t-shirt, with a butterfly embroidered on the chest.

He knew that bringing Beverly along to his shopping trip at the mall would be a good idea, she always had such a good eye for fashion. Originally, Richie was supposed to tag along. But he had an appointment to get new glasses.

The foolish boy had broken his old ones in half while skating home from school the day before. Eddie had been with him, and watching Richie take the trip and fall made his heart ache. But the second Richie made a joke about how much Eddie cared, Eddie pretended to walk away from the scene. Richie’s begging for Eddie’s medical assistance brought him right back, though.

“It’s really pretty, Bev,” Eddie grinned and walked over to her, touching the fabric. It was incredibly soft, and Eddie had no doubts about making this purchase.

“Try it on!” Beverly urged him, pushing him lightly toward the fitting rooms. With a light laugh, Eddie accepted and went to try on the shirt. He made his way, and entered one of the rooms. Slipping off his shirt, Eddie stared at himself in the mirror for a second, taking in his attributes. As a younger teen, Eddie had always been so skinny, convincing himself he was weak. Out of the desire to change how he viewed his strength, Eddie had started working out more. He offered to spend some days with Mike, helping him at the farm. Mike always made sure to give Eddie the cleaner jobs but ones that still produced more muscle definition over time. And over a few months, the chores had done their job. That’s why Eddie smiled at his reflection, feeling satisfied with how he looked. He also hadn’t minded it whenever the group of friends went to the quarry, and he’d catch Richie gaping at his shirtless image. While Eddie didn’t like to think about what it meant, he sure liked thinking about Richie’s shocked expression.

Slipping on the clothing, Eddie already knew he loved the article. It fit him incredibly well, and made him feel like he looked adorable. He ran his fingers along the butterfly a few times, then pulled back the fitting room’s curtain to show Beverly, who had been patiently waiting outside.

“Oh, Eddie!” She squealed, jumping up onto her feet from the chair she had been in. “It looks amazing! I bet Richie would agree,” She gave him a sly wink. Eddie hoped how hot his cheeks got wasn’t visible, and simply replied to Beverly with an eye roll as he pulled the curtain shut.

After taking the t-shirt off and checking out, he and Beverly made their way to a nearby frozen yogurt stand. They planned on just grabbing cups to go and heading home. Eddie stuck with more simple flavors, such as vanilla, strawberry, and occasionally chocolate. But he knew that was bad for your skin, it all was, but especially chocolate. Beverly, on the other hand, got nearly every flavor. Eddie’s face scrunched up in disgust as he watched Beverly pull the lever on “Blueberry blast”.

“You know that’s like, all artificial, right?” He told his friend as they walked up to the cashier.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” She giggled, taking his cup, signaling she was covering for both of them. Usually, Eddie wouldn’t allow it, but he had just bought something and wasn’t feeling up to spending any more money. He gave her a kind smile, one that indicated thankfulness.

As they walked out of the mall, frozen yogurt cups in their hands, Eddie felt his phone buzz in his back pocket.

“Can you grab my phone?” He asked Beverly, his hands being full. She complied with a nod, then got his phone for him. She took the bag from his hand, exchanging it with his phone. It was lit up, and on the screen was a text from Richie.

“ditch bev, come hang out at my place w me :(((“

Without thinking, Eddie grinned at his phone. This meant that Richie was back from getting new glasses. Richie wanting to be with him made his heart flutter in ways he knew it shouldn’t. But he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help a lot of things he did or thought about when it came to Richie.

Beverly noticed the look on Eddie’s face, recognizing it as something she’d seen many times before.

As they got in the car, Beverly driving, Eddie texted a reply to Richie.

“No need to ditch, just finished shopping. Can I ask her to drop me off at your place?”

Quicker than expected, Eddie’s phone buzzed again.

“yes PLEASE”

Eddie giggled, which made Beverly speak up.

“I know you’re texting Richie,” She told him, not looking away from the road. Eddie looked at her, embarrassed. Then shook his head.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Sure, sure I don’t,” She smirked, “So… am I dropping you off at your house?”

Her tone suggested that she knew she didn’t need to ask that, and that she knew Eddie’s reply even before he answered. Which he did so with an annoyed huff.

“No, Richie’s,” He mumbled merely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

“Richie’s, you heard me now?” He groaned.

“Loud and clear, no need to be cranky!”

Beverly’s playful tone made it hard not to be amused, but Eddie still managed. She carried the conversation on, talking about how excited she was for later plans with Ben, and how they were going out to go see a movie. It all sounded so sweet, and Eddie loved seeing the smile that appeared on her face whenever she spoke of their friend. It went like that the whole drive to Richie’s, Eddie mainly listening. It was okay, anything was better than Beverly teasing him. Once he had finished his frozen yogurt, Beverly had offered to just throw the cup away for him when she got home, he thanked her. As they pulled up to the Tozier house, she said nothing, just shooting Eddie a wink as he waved goodbye to her from outside of the car. Eddie acted like he hadn’t seen it.

Walking up to the front door, Eddie thought about how much he truly loved Richie’s family and his home. Maggie Tozier always treated him so kindly, and behaved as if he had always been apart of the family. Went was the same, always making jokes with Eddie, and picking on Richie alongside. Richie liked to comment on how he didn’t know whether Eddie was his best friend or his parents. He knew Richie was just kidding around, but the idea of him even making that joke made Eddie feel so welcomed and safe. It had always felt like some sort of sacred haven of peace when Eddie was a kid, where there was no Sonia Kaspbrak to yell at him because his shoes had gotten dirty. If his shoes had indeed ever gotten dirt on them, he always walked with Richie to his house first, where Richie’s mother would offer to clean them off. Then afterward, he would go home, looking as clean as he had before he had left the house. This convinced his mother that he wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything she wouldn’t approve of. He absolutely adored coming over.

He adored it even more when Maggie’s familiar face opened up the door greeting him enthusiastically.

“Eddie!” She pulled him in for a hug, causing the plastic bag in his hand to make a noise. Pulling away from the hug, Maggie joked, “Bought something for me? Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

Eddie laughed, feeling the smallest amount of guilt, even if he knew she was just fooling around, “Next time, Mrs. Tozier. Just came back from the mall with Beverly.”

“I miss her so much! She doesn’t come around here enough, tell her she’s still as welcome as always!”

Eddie beamed, and made a mental note to let Beverly know what Maggie had said.

“Richie’s in his room, I believe. Just head on up there.”

With a nod, Eddie went up to the staircase and in the direction of Richie’s room.

Eddie had always been so fascinated with Richie’s room. He had never seen something so alike to the inhabitant's personality. There were posters essentially all over the walls, along with photographs and magazine cut-outs. Not the types of magazines where all the woman wore bikinis, but the ones with his favorite bands or singers. While it wasn’t necessarily messy, it wasn’t organized to anyone but Richie himself. Eddie, personally, wouldn’t be able to find a thing in Richie’s room without help. But Richie? You could ask him for a pin and he’d know exactly where to look. It was impressive, Eddie had thought.

Eddie knocked on Richie’s room door and heard the familiar voice.

“Has my Eds arrived?”

Opening the door, Eddie replied, “No, but Eddie’s here.”

Richie was sitting on his bed, a comic book in hand. As he looked up to Eddie, everything in the world stopped.

Richie wasn’t wearing his old glasses, the ones that had broken. But he wasn’t wearing his new glasses either, the ones he was supposed to have gotten earlier today. Yet, even at the absence of glasses, Richie wasn't helplessly squinting. And maybe that’s why Eddie had never noticed how blue his best friend's eyes were. How Eddie swore he could see the most beautiful sky in Richie's eyes, and how all he wanted was to be laying down on the grass, looking at that exact sky. But that wasn’t all, Eddie swore he saw the clearest ocean as well. One where just hearing the waves crash made all of Eddie’s problems disappear, and all that mattered was Richie.

“You like ‘em?” Richie laughed.

“Huh?” Eddie answered, confused. He dropped his bag by the door and walked over to Richie’s bed, sitting beside him. The desire to just drown in Riche’s eyes only grew stronger as Eddie moved closer.

“My contacts! When I went to the eye doctor, he gave me new glasses, but also these things,” Richie pointed to his contacts, “They feel a little funny at first, but I can see without annoying ass glasses in the way.”

Eddie swallowed nervously, “Yeah.”

“So? You like ‘em?” Richie looked like a child waiting for candy, excited to hear Eddie’s reply. This was one of those moments where Eddie didn’t think through what he said. His brain just decided it was confident enough itself to let the next words he said spill out from his mouth.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

He must’ve not been expecting something like that, because Richie’s eyes widened and his face got red. Eddie was sure he had crossed some line. Richie called Eddie cute and pretty all the time, but maybe that was a thing only he could do because he was always kidding. Maybe Eddie couldn’t say that stuff… because they both must have known he wasn’t kidding. Eddie went to back up, make some joke to cover it all up, but Richie spoke first. His tone was bashful, full of flattery.

“Gee, Eds. I don’t even know what to say, that was so sweet.”

Thankful for nothing bad happening, Eddie didn’t risk anything further. He didn’t even say anything on the nickname.

“Yeah, well, I’m like that sometimes,” He told Richie with a shrug.

Richie’s flushed complexion wasn’t diminished though, as he had a dumb grin on while looking at Eddie. Desperate to get the attention off what he said, Eddie thought of the first topic change he could.

“I bought a new t-shirt today.”

“Ooo, where is it? In that bag?”

Eddie nodded, getting up and walking over to where he had dropped his shopping bag. He bent over to grab the t-shirt, and if he had turned around fast enough, he would have seen Richie getting red all over again at the sight of Eddie in that position.

As he walked back to the bed, Eddie unfolded the shirt and held it out, showing it off.

“It’s real cute, just like you.”

“Oh, shut it, Rich,” But Eddie knew he didn’t mean it. He considered what he was going to say next, then just blurted it out. “Want me to try it on? So you can see how it looks?”

Richie only stared at him, making Eddie nervous.

“Only… Only Beverly saw me with it on, and sometimes she doesn’t… she doesn’t really tell me when something doesn’t look good. And I wanna make sure it looks good?” Eddie tried to make sense of his words, but the way he trailed off and looked anywhere but Richie betrayed him.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Richie finally said, tone hushed and breathy.

Eddie nodded, putting the shirt down, and slowly grabbing the bottom hem of his shirt and pulling it up, over his head. He let his eyes fall on Richie, before he grabbed his new t-shirt, and Eddie would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t see how Richie was looking at him. With his eyes dark and his mouth slightly agape, staring at Eddie’s bare chest. Eddie felt his hands get sweaty, realizing the silence between them. Even if he had wanted to make a move, which a small part of him did long to do, Richie seemed too in trance to do so. The concept would have made Eddie laugh if he hadn’t been so nervous. So he finally pulled on the shirt that he had been clutching, and clutching hard, he realized.

“How does it look?” He finally managed to say, not looking at Richie but instead the floor.

There was a beat of stillness in the air.

“It looks good. But you, you look beautiful.”

Eddie looked back up, expecting this to be one of Richie’s countless jokes. But what he saw instead was nothing but honesty in those stunning blue eyes.

Eddie so, so, extremely fucked.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #why do i always include benverly #god i love them #i hope this is good lol #i wrote it so fast #it

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