#anyway it's the worst and i want it to stop i had to drunkenly scream at a guy last week because he would not take the hint

[darcyolsson]

my overexcited personality has truly come to bite me in the ass i keep having to explain to men that i am not in love with them. like it’s literally just that i have about 2 friends so if you become my 3rd friend well we’re bound to talk a lot and become quite close quite fast i just have a lot of free time i didn’t mean anything by it. sorry. put the wedding ring away please

[quietwingsinthesky]

your jo/dean/sam fic??👀👀👀

lmao yeah it took me a minute to find it in my wip folder because none of these fics have titles that make it easy on me (fun fact: it was sitting between one fic titled "oh my god" and another titled "choking your brother to death as an act of devotion" my wip folder is so normal)

ANYWAY. basic premise of this fic is that while I was watching s2 with my friend, I was thinking about her flirting with Dean, about how the original plan (Kripke's idea, i believe?) was for her to be their half-sister, and internally going "hey uh eric. hey eric. why was your idea directly after 'she's their sister' that 'she should want to fuck dean'" and then combine that with s2 having absolutely insane vibes around sam & dean, and i started putting together a little rewrite. nothing too fancy, just What If jo kept hunting with the boys, what if the three of them had insane sexual tension, what if she was secretly their half-sister. what if there is no escape from the winchester family curse no matter how much you try to hide from it.

it is also a fic i started for kinktober with the prompt of the day being "double penetration" asjdlaksjd. and then about 9000 words later i did not finish it in time.

i've tried to find a snippet that makes sense all on its own to share, but they're all very tied into each other, referencing lines from earlier parts and such. still! turns out i do have a little of the playthings part of the draft finished that mostly works standalone. just keep in mind this is very unfinished, try not to judge too harshly ^-^

He helps Sam into bed and watches him drunkenly snuggle into the mattress. Dean’s got the horrible urge to laugh because he knows just how shitty Sam will feel come morning and thinking about him whining over a hangover is better than lingering on Sam’s death wish. He won’t remember anything Dean said, that’s what he holds onto. He’ll be too busy vomiting his guts up to know what Dean just promised him.

Dean turns, and there’s Jo. He’s yanked violently out of his and Sam’s tiny world and into one where Jo’s brown eyes have witnessed every transgression this night. Dean wishes the worst of it was what he promised Sam, but he can still smell Sam’s breath as it beat against his face, his lips centimeters from Dean’s, dipping and swerving like he wanted as badly to kiss him as to run and never come back.

Jo is staring.

Dean goes on the offensive. It’s easiest.

“You let him get like this while we’re working?” he asks. Jo’s face ricochets through emotions, wide, confused eyes to her mouth twisting into a scowl to it falling open a little, head tipped into astonishment more than anything else.

“You think I could have stopped him?” There’s a slur to her words that Dean picks up on. She hears it, too, shakes her head. “I thought we were having fun. And then, I thought he was trying to prove he could drink me under the table. And then, he got...” She gestures at Sam. Sam snores, always so helpful. She looks between him and Dean. She meets Dean’s eyes, and then her gaze falls, in a way that should be familiar and instead leaves him nauseous, to his lips.

“Jo,” he says, “please.” He wants to say that he’s begging please don’t tell anyone else. But... cat’s out of the bag. There’s no way she can’t be putting the pieces together. He knows what he’s really asking. Please don’t look at this like it’s something ugly. Don’t look at Sam like he’s a monster. Don’t look at me like I ruined everything.

(And deep down, he’s crying out, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I know you will one day but don’t let it be now, not for this.)

Jo’s gaze darts over to Sam again. She’s got her arms crossed.

“Please,” Dean says again.

“He was drunk,” she says, slowly. It’s almost like a way out. Pretend this never happened. Go back to normal. Only Dean can’t take that option either, not if she knows and she hasn’t run away screaming yet. Just one more person to bear this secret, and maybe it won’t be so heavy. (Jo doesn’t deserve to have to carry it, to have to hide it, but Dean is so tired of him and Sam being the only ones.)

She waits for him to take the out. He doesn’t.

“But that’s not why he was trying to stick his tongue in your mouth,” she finishes.

“He’s messy when he’s had too many.” Dean’s voice is too strained.

“You’re real fucked up, you know that?” Jo says. Dean expects it to come with a slamming door or something thrown at him. It doesn’t.

“I know,” he says. “We know.”

“Who else?”

“What?”

“Who else knows?” Dean shrugs.

“I don’t know.” Gordon’s eyes, narrowed and disgusted and murderous. “We don’t exactly give that info out freely.”

“Just me, then?” Dean could point out that he didn’t tell her either, that she eavesdropped on him and Sam’s private world. It doesn’t change anything, and besides, he’s telling her now, isn’t he? Can't help himself.

“It’s just you,” he confirms. “You gonna stand on a street corner and start shouting ‘Extra! Extra! The Winchesters are brotherfuckers!’” Jo grimaces.

"Don’t put words in my mouth. I'm not going to tell anyone," she says. “I’m not- Let me think.” She puts her hand to her forehead, grimace deepening, and then he hears her mutter, “Fuck.” He knows that tone very well. He’s said that exact word that exact way dozens of times. Jo stumbles as fast as she can into the bathroom. She manages to make it to the toilet before she starts retching. Dean moves without thinking twice, bending down next to her and gathering up her hair in his hands. He holds it out of her face and listens to her curse around the burn of stomach acid and alcohol in her throat. When she’s done, she slumps. Dean flushes for her.

He should probably back off. Let her go.

He strokes her back instead. He can just barely feel her heartbeat against his palm, reaching through muscle and skin and the thin fabric of her tank top to reassure him she’s still here.

[deniigi]

Please have some Skywalker Babies + Uncle Rex.

----

Title: skittles

Summary: Padme dies, but Anakin doesn't turn and as a result ends up with two little ones who are, naturally, adopted by the 501st--well, Leia is. Luke keeps getting stolen by a filthy thief.

------

Rex has the twins for now. He has never felt terror like this before. He can’t stop checking over his shoulders for threats to their teeny tiny persons.

In his humble opinion, it should be illegal for humans to be born this small. He ran it past Ahsoka recently and she agreed, but she also provided intelligence that the twins’ size was not necessarily average for their species, either.

The other brothers helped him investigate this. They all gathered round and put the holonet searches on the projector so that they didn’t have to smash buckets over a datapad screen to be educated. Their search for ‘newborn natborn human baby’ was rewarded with images upon images of reddened tubies with big, round bellies and curled up limbs.

They did a new search for ‘2 weeks, natborn human baby’ and were rewarded with even more pictures, to which they held the twins up next to and found them wanting. The twins’ proportions were all wrong, their limbs were too skinny, their faces pinched. The babies on the holonet didn’t have hair, but their baby girl did.

The conclusion was that the research was inconclusive. Further, it was interrupted by the resident thief coming in to take his chances. Cody told them later, upon returning their baby boy, that they were better than this. Kenobi wasn’t slick. They needed to stop letting their guards now.

He said all this while ignoring the way the baby boy burrowed into the side of his throat and made smacking noises.

Such a strong man, that Cody. He is, unfortunately, not available now even though Rex has both twins and a heart attack waiting to happen.

The Thief is nearby. Rex can sense him. He heads back the way he came.

 --

The baby girl, who has a name, but Anakin is too heartbroken to speak it, fists her hands at Rex and shakes them as if to threaten him into compliance. He does not know how to help her understand that he has not taken the blanket off her face out of malice, but rather to keep her from suffocating. She is angry with him regardless. She is often angry with him and endlessly crying when he does not put her exactly where she wants to be exactly when she wants it.

The thief calls her a princess, and so everyone else has started doing the same in lieu of her name. The child is bound to grow up thinking her name itself is ‘Princess’ at this rate. Ahsoka has been trying out different titles for her, but she doesn’t respond to them in the same way.

For all that the princess is royalty through and through, the baby boy is thoroughly a commoner. Catching him awake is a miracle. Part of that is because his waking hours are spent with the Thief, since Kenobi has decided, for some mysterious reason, that this child is his favorite of all in existence. He will not be separated from this child and when he is, he gets crafty in his attempts to get him back.

The princess does not like Kenobi. At all, period. He touches her and she screams and reaches her stubby hands for Rex. If Rex is not available to be screamed for, she will wail until her father comes to stuff her in his tunic.

Anakin is fine to hold the princess, but he cannot look upon the baby boy, even to feed him. He looks so much like his mother. It is a struggle for everyone—except Kenobi. Rex wonders aloud to Ahsoka if Kenobi will raise the boy on his own and a moment of silence fills the canteen.

Ahsoka throws herself from the room and goes sprinting for the masters’ quarters.

 --

 The twins are tested for Force Sensitivity and it becomes abundantly clear why Kenobi continues hoard the baby boy against all sense and wisdom. He is described by the jedi as a ‘sun’ in the Force. The princess too, but her presence in the Force blends in with her father’s until she is gazed upon in Rex’s Force-empty grip.

Only then is she, too, declared a star.

Twin stars, they are called.

‘Kenobi, put that down,’ the boy is named. ‘Kenobi, give that back,’ is his middle one.

The first time Rex sees the baby boy awake, he is startled by how blue his eyes are. His sister’s are dark, but his are light like water at the base of a waterfall. He makes a little sound and turns his heavy head to the side to blink at Rex’s forearm.

He is the older of the two, but the Princess is already overtaking him in weight. Kenobi has been scolded for this. In return, he locks everyone out of his quarters.

 --

 The twins are two months old when they stop being blinky-maggots and turn into smiley ones. Anakin cannot put the princess down or she will scream until she is blue in the face. As such their dedicated General can be found with his arms full, slowly banging his head against the nearest hard object.

He calls her ‘Leia.’ Princess Leia.

The baby boy is ‘Luke.’ Just Luke.

Anakin spends his time these days bouncing Leia and on the hunt for his son. He walks like a zombie towards Kenobi’s door and plasters his back against it. He slides down and tries desperately not to fall asleep at the bottom.

He will not let Rex take the princess when he’s in this state. He wants only for Kenobi to open the door so that he can fall back onto his floor and demand his son. Kenobi never gives him his son back. There is no longer any question that baby Luke is Kenobi’s child. The fact that he’s been produced by Anakin and Padme is a footnote in the broader history being made here.

Kenobi will, however, take Princess Leia, too, if left unsupervised. She still hates him—more than ever, really, but he doesn’t mind. He likes to lay the twins out together so that Leia’s jerky fussing will ruin Luke’s sleep cycles.

Kenobi is a man with no respect for the law in these parts. More jedi masters have to step in to get him under control. Master Koon takes the most pity on Anakin and gives him both of his children. The masters and the clones watch him stagger up with both babies and drunkenly return to their quarters.

A note is made to check on all three of them in fifteen minutes.

 --

 The twins, at 6 months old, have developed even more distinct personalities and hair. So much hair. Ahsoka puts Leia’s hair in pigtails and Leia will scream if anyone tries to adjust them or if she feels that they are falling out of shape.

Rex’s hands were once clumsy around ring-sized rubber bands. He is now an expert. He is such an expert that he can even make the occasional one stay in Luke’s slippery hair, which, of course, invokes an expression of betrayal in Luke that is so comical, Rex can’t see it without being brought to tears.

Luke hates him for this. He whimpers for his father—no, not that one. The good one.

These days, Kenobi is a cat who has gotten the cream.

The boy called him ‘dada’ before he gave the name to Anakin, and Kenobi nearly lost his life for it. He regrets nothing. He is technically barred from being around Luke, both by the other jedi and by Anakin specifically, but rules are things for other people in Kenobi’s world.

Anakin threatens him with bodily harm at every opportunity that he is not holding his daughter upside down.

She enjoys this. This is not just a daddy-thing to her either; she expects everyone to carry her like this. If not feet-to-the-sky, then at least draped over an arm, face-down like a sack of flour. She hums the way a cat would purr.

 --

 At nine months the babes are mobile and it is the worst thing that has happened to Anakin besides Padme’s death. They are not effectively mobile, but they are professionals at grabbing things and hauling themselves up to their chubby feet. Leia holds onto the fingers of anyone she can get and makes every brother who passes her walk her on their feet to her chosen destination.

Luke is a little slower.

He can get to his feet, but what he wants is to bounce there. If anyone tries to hold his hands, he clams up and falls down and doesn’t get up.

Anakin has begun negotiating with Leia to be more like her brother. She laughs at his face in great peels when he does this. She finds his serious expressions hilarious and wants to cuddle him anytime they appear which is great for domestic time and not so great for council or state meetings. Anakin has taken to appearing before these people with Leia latched around his ankle. Only her, though. Luke can’t bear being in the presence of so many bodies at once. He becomes overwhelmed and handles the pressure by going to sleep. Or crying.

For Kenobi, of course.

And when Kenobi is not around, they all may as well go start digging their own graves before the guilt propels them to do it anyways.

Luke is not a big crier. Anakin can’t understand him. They’ve had many conversations about telling adults when he needs things, all of which Luke elects to ignore in favor of trying to eat bugs and dig in sand.

The latter is the greatest sin that Anakin can dream of.

--

I just think that, given the opportunity, Obi-Wan would be the best grandpa ever and by best, I mean he would see his chance to have a baby and Anakin would end up chasing him around going ‘he’s MY mistake and MY responsibility, you crusty old fucker, give him back’ while Obi-Wan talks to Ahsoka about how nice the weather is.

[papipopsicle]

AFTERTASTE PART SEVEN

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Reader

Summary: In which two best friends since childhood test whether sex and friendship can co-exist without causing conflict. Including OC's Flick and Cherry, a bisexual and lesbian in a sapphic relationship who are best friends of Y/N.

Song: Dream Boy by Waterparks

Warnings: swearing

Words: 2.1K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

Y/F and Y/M Robins were far from perfect parents. Y/F had the mental age of a toddler at times, and being an estate agent who always has to go the extra mile- he often wasn't home when his wife needed him the most. Y/M, on the other end of things, had been a stay at home mum until Y/N turned 16 last summer, and now she helped with all the administrative work for Mayor McCoy. She was a maternal creature which, coupled with her brilliant sarcasm, made for some explosive conversations. The two met on the first day of university and got married a week after the last.

When Y/M first found out she was pregnant with little Y/S Robins, the two realised they wanted a quiet bubble of a town to raise their children and grow up with them. But it wasn't until their second daughter was about to turn seven until they found their forever home in the quaint town of Riverdale. Ten years passing before their eyes, and the picturesque place didn't seen all that anymore.

Jason Blossom's death had nothing to do with the short gunshot sounding over the waves of Sweetwater River, the noise which woke Y/N from her sweet unmemorable dreams every few nights. The summer days rolled into early August without anyone caring, Y/N spending most of them at Cheryl's side listening intently to her past adventures with her brother. Betty threw herself into an internship at a publication house; Flick and Cherry had volunteered at a summer camp, and Archie was helping his dad out more and more with constructions job.

Although it hadn't been the start to the relationship Y/N had hoped for- the nervous giggles and hand holding, short and sweet kisses on late night walks followed by poetry worthy cuddling. There was a magnificent silver lining as Archie's muscles gained definition, and he suited the sweaty builder look far too well.

[INSTAGRAM]

♡ 602 likes

y/n Humph!

129 Comments | Tagged: cherylbombshell

view comments

♡ 584 likes

Cheryl busy being my own icon

98 Comments | Tagged: y/i/n

view comments

"Earth to my gorgeous queen? Y/N/N?" Cheryl quizzed her friend, who currently resided at the poolside of Thornehill Manor. Her mind was off on a glorious tangent about her rendezvous in the kitchen at two in the morning. Fixing herself a glass of water, when Archie slips his hand into her pyjama shorts, his other around her mouth muffling her needy moans.

The red headed beauty shoved her y/h/c friend playfully, warm skin sweaty under her pale touch. Y/N blinked innocently and sent her an apologetic smile, "What?"

"I asked if you've thought about dating anyone else since Clayton?" The fiery ginger girl enquired with her usual upbeat tone.

Cheryl knew she had a unique quality about her which made it almost impossible for Y/N to lie to her face. The y/h/c girl scrunched up her nose, hiding the smile the idea of Archie Andrews brought to her face. 'Yes. We started off as fuck buddies but never actually fucked. Then I drunkenly asked him to be my boyfriend, now a month later I think we may genuinely work out.'

"Maybe." Y/N bit her bottom lip, listening to her friend's squeal as she squeezed her sun tanned arm.

"I knew it! You have this euphoric glow you only get when someone else makes you climax." The redhead affirmed confidently, watching the Robins girl's eyes bug out before hitting her arm, "Y/N/N, you know your secret's safe with me."

"Fine." She sighed and took a sip of her fruity cocktail, "It started off as just fooling around, honestly I just needed to let off some steam after everything. I knew he was into the kinds of things I was, I mean he used to tease me about it non stop. And it was good, so good I stopped being a pussy and asked him to be my boyfriend."

"Holy freaking hell!" The Blossom girl grinned with excitement, "Dare I ask, who is it?"

Y/N deadpanned at her friend, "Guess."

"Please don't tell me it's that muscular oaf Reggie, he's pretty but there's not exactly much going on upstairs." Cheryl tapped her temples and rolled her eyes at the thought.

"Nope."

The ginger thought for a moment, consulting her liquid courage and splashing her feet around the waters edge, "It's Archie."

All it took was a side-eyed glance at the y/h/c girl's blooming rosy cheeks to know she definitely wasn't wrong. Y/N severely lacked the ability to lie, even if her tone held conviction, her features were far too expressive and told the truth all on their own. It's not like they were hiding it from anyone, but the past four weeks had gone far too quickly without any moments to spare for the world around them. They slept together each night, the majority of that time not actually spent sleeping, but they hadn't been given the chance yet to explore more romantic avenues.

"It's fucking Archie Andrews- you're fucking Archie Andrews and don't you dare deny it." Cheryl gawked in her gorgeous white and nude bikini, watching as her friend lay back against the hot marble slabs which encased the large pool with the largest grin adorning her plump lips.

"We haven't had sex yet, so technically you aren't completely correct." Y/N winked but carried on before the girl exploded with a hundred questions and could never be turned off, "Trust me, I want to, and I'm sure he does too. But you know, it's his first time, I want it to be perfect for him."

"Y/N/N, you really love him, don't you?" Cheryl gagged to begin with, but she found it sweet in truth. She wanted someone to hold, who would hold her right back just as tight for no other reason than needing to.

Y/N sat back up and paddled her feet, "You have no idea, Cher."

Arch 🧡

That new post should be illegal

Tiger 💛

Ooo

I like this reaction

Maybe I should post more

Like this one

Cheryl pushed me in the pool

And I may have had a drink

Or three

Arch 🧡

Well that's sexy

I swear nobody looks good like that how on earth

You're a goddess

But also

How's she holding up?

Tiger 💛

🥺😇

Broken

But she's strong yk

You coming over for dinner?

Arch 🧡

Yeah Y/D invited my dad too

Need me to pick you up from Cheryl's?

Tiger 💛

Awe cute we love a bromance, and it's all good my mommas coming now anyways :))

Hours had elapsed far too fast and soon the summer heat simmered into cool waves of wind brushing over sun kissed skin. Cheryl's arms were clasped around the blonde's shoulders in a tight embrace.

"Thank you so much, Y/N/N, I don't know what I'd do without you!" The Blossom girl professed with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile.

Y/N beamed up at her, fingers carding through her damp y/h/c hair as she looked over her shoulder to see her mum pulling into the driveway, "You don't need to thank me, Cher, friends look after each other. Message me if you need me, okay?"

Cheryl promised she would and the two teen girls hugged goodbye, with Y/N soon heading home- listening to her mother gossip about Hal and Alice's screaming match last night, Y/N loved her inability to keep her mouth shut sometimes.

"Mom," The y/h/c stopped her mid sentence and received a side eyed glance in response, "I need to tell you something and you're totally not allowed to freak out while you're driving."

Y/M's eyes widened and her grip tightened around the steering wheel, her daughters very rarely confided in her. While she knew her youngest was safe in her promiscuity, neither of Y/M Robins' girls ever shared their secrets so for the most part she took finding out into her own hands.

"Honey," The forty four year old's calm tone was hardly comforting to the teenager, "if this is about you and Archie fooling around, your father and I figured that out a long time ago, like so long ago. Who do you think does your laundry? When your underwear starting looking like dental floss, we caught on pretty quickly."

Y/N felt like a deer in headlights, "Mum, what the hell?" Her cheeks heated to an inhuman temperature.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, as long as you're being safe and he's-"

"For the second time today, and I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but I am not having sex with Archie Andrews!" Y/N's high pitched voice sounded through the car. It truly was a blessing and a curse to have such open minded parents in situations like this. She thought about telling her mother the truth, but Y/M was a blabber mouth as well as a gossip, so Y/N chose to withhold certain pieces of information.

The Robins matriarch dropped the subject but didn't forget about her daughter's tone, and continued to ramble on about how odd she found Penelope Blossom and the whole Blossom family in general. "Like why on Earth is Rose in a wooden wheelchair? They know it's the twenty first century, right?"

As expected, the Robins household was once again filled with warm laughter and copious amounts of food. The topic of Jason was skimmed over, and Y/S found herself away from the dinner table. The eldest Robins sibling was currently pleading with Alice as she began shoving all of Polly's belongings in the boot of Hal's car. She couldn't comprehend life without her best friend, not after losing Jason. They were meant to be going travelling together for a year- working the worst jobs and staying up all night to watch the sun rise in different countries. But instead, Y/S's eyes were blinded by tears as she screamed down the street at the speeding car, with Polly Cooper taken out of her life indefinitely.

Y/N was oblivious to the dark inner workings of the Cooper clan, Betty's knowledge about her and Archie unbeknownst to the loved up teens. She'd spent every second not occupied by her internship trying to justify the romantic act as a fleeting moment of loneliness fuelled by alcohol. She wrote in her diary ideas on how she could win Archie back over, not knowing it was in fact, too late. Betty found herself hopelessly in love with the boy next door, unfortunately for her, the girl across the road was the only one his mind found.

Archie and Y/N washed up while their parents resided to the living room with three glasses and a bottle of white wine. The short girl turned the tap off after placing the last utensil on the draining board, flicking her sudsy hands at the boy's face. "What the-"

She didn't give him a chance to finish that thought, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his torso- planting a kiss onto his lips, then cheeks, then forehead. The two fell entranced by each other, planting pecks across nape of her neck and top of his head.

"Son," Fred's voice called out from the next room and the two immediately pulled apart, hearts beating in their ears, "we're going in a minute."

"Alright." He replied, placing his girlfriend on the floor once more.

"I wish you'd stay." Y/N pouted childishly, she meant the words entirely but hated feeling overbearing. Her life had been turned upside down this summer, it started off with her unable to fall asleep with another person next to her- now Archie's chest was her most comfortable pillow and is arms were the warmest blanket.

"Tomorrow night instead, Princess? I promised my dad I'd spend more time with him before senior year." The boy reasoned, holding her close and unknowingly feeling the exact same way, he adored holding her by her waist and pulling her close under the duvet.

"Monopoly night at yours?" She grinned and he nodded back in reply, the two sharing a final kiss in the kitchen before walking into the hallway.

Y/N felt at ease as she wished the two a goodnight and headed up to bed. She took off her tea dress and replaced it with Archie's bulldog t-shirt, managing to reach the same length on her thighs as her dress did.

Arch 🧡

I can still smell your perfume on my sheets

Tiger 💛

Marking my territory obviously x

Arch 🧡

I love it

Hope you sleep well baby x

Tiger 💛

Call me that tomorrow and we won't be sleeping so you better rest up tonight x

Arch 🧡

Whatever you say, baby x

Tiger 💛

Goodnight x

Arch 🧡

Night princess x

part eight?

wanna be tagged? just send in an ask x

[peakascum]

Somebody’s Baby

Shelby Sister & Fluff.

Y/N opened the door and quietly stepped inside by walking on her toes. She basked in the warmth of the house as she locked the old, rusty door and set her purse on the hook, making sure to count the shoes at the entrance. It was a habit she picked out from a young age, to count her sibling’s shoes when she got home. She can't recall when exactly she picked out the habit but it was a way to make sure that each and everyone of them were safe in their home, even as adults. 

As she finished counting the shoes she finally let out a content breath. Her eyes closed as she leaned into the wall and a smile slapped itself across her face.

Thomas Shelby was still awake when he heard the front door shut. It was late but the tapping sound on his newly torn window couldn't let him sleep. The man slept through bullet showers in France but lost sleep over the sounds his windows made. Even so, his sister was out and he liked to remain alert just to be sure she got home safely. A sigh escaped him as he watched her count the shoes that littered the entrance, turning into an amused smirk. She turned right back around, leaned with her head against the wall and welcomed in a smile that soon turned into a childish giggle. She quickly placed her fingers on her lips, delicately brushing over them, something truly out of a scene from those romantic films.

“I take it you're smitten over him?” Tommy laughed, watching her jump slightly startled. “When have you ever said the word smitten?” You said, head remaining pressed against the wall. “Since Ada dragged me to see that bloody awful film.” You both laughed quietly at that. She had the worst taste in pictures. 

“Oh I see,” she said pushing herself off the wall, “and here I was wondering what had you tipping your cap at women on the streets.” He laughed at that, “No, no. I’ve always done that, Y/N-“ her laugh cut him off, “Yes, of course! Ever the gentleman, Mr. Shelby.” She bowed her head in mockery and his eyes twinkled at her.

She was the youngest Shelby and by far the most loved.

She sat down as he poured her some whisky, “Are you gonna tell me his name?” She shook her head and stared at the drink intently. “You'll just scare him away,” she looked up at his big eyes, so much like their mother’s. 

“You know I wouldn't do that to you.”

“I know, I just-” she sighed and rested her head on her free hand, “I just don’t want to get my hopes up.” Tommy stared at her hoping that his eyes communicated all the things he wanted her to know. “A name is not needed. A name’s a name.” She referred to her own, of course. Whenever anyone heard the Shelby name they immediately assumed the worst. Said her brothers were scum, her father a deadbeat, and all just tooth, rotting criminals. If they could only see through her eyes how unbelievably wrong they were. No matter the amount of dirt they dragged in the house, or the amount of times they trotted through the door soaked in blood, Y/N saw her brothers as good people trying to deal the cards they were given. Always turning a blind eye to every ilegal bidding, but never entirely naïve of their ways.

Tommy worried for his sister and often joked that she had to have been raised by another family. She loved to read and was practically self taught after befriending the book store owner. She got lost in the yellowing pages of books she found and then rambled on for days about the character’s antics. Unfortunately, this made her an easy target at school. They mocked and kicked her, leaving the young girl friendless and lonely, so she befriended the adults. An “old soul” Polly had called her. So when he heard of her date the evening he promised to not get in the way, just content in seeing his baby sister building a life for herself. 

“Is he at least a good man?” He asked.

“He treats me well.” She smiled.

He huffed, “Well is not good enough.” Her eyes crinkled at her brother and tilted her head to the side, “He respects me and buys me flowers. Those pretty ones I like from the market.” Her tired eyes twinkled for the first time in her life making her look younger, a look Tommy wished he could see more. 

Arthur came trodding down the stairs in a tired manner, arms swinging to his sides, only to stop at the bottom and stare at his two siblings. “Oi!” He raised both arms in disbelief, “nobody tells me fuckin’ anything, eh?” They chuckled at him. Y/N shushed him and extended her hand for him to take. “Oh hush Arthur, this was improvised.”

“Yeah I bet, improvised, yeah.” He kissed the top of her head and sat down beside her as Tommy poured him a glass. “You had a date tonight, didn’t ya’?” She nodded. 

“Apparently he treats her well and buys her flowers.” Tommy said in sarcastic tone making Arthur raise his brows. “Flowers, eh? He buys ya’ flowers.” 

“He does and he’s good and that’s all you need to know.” She said definitively making him chuckle.

“You know I bought flowers for this girl once,” he started, making his sister face him completely, “she was a pretty, little thing so I bought her flowers.” Tommy let out a laugh, “Oh fuck I remember this.”

“Anyway, I’m walking over to her house, really excited and all cause y’know how could she not like flowers? I tripped on the fuckin’ sidewalk, landed on horse shit, scraped my bloody, fuckin’ knees,” she let out a squeal at her brother’s misery, “The flowers were already battered and ruined, but I pushed through.” He took a long pause and she stared at him, gesturing with her hands for him to continue the story. “And well that’s that. Turns out she was allergic to them flowers. Head grew two sizes and I had to pay for the hospital bill. Her mum still flips me off every time she sees me.” Tommy and Y/N laughed. He had the worst fucking luck. 

He chuckled at her laughter, always said it was the most joyous thing he’d ever heard. Arthur also had immense respect for her and often thought that he was forever indebted to her.

He would never forget one specific incident, which he never brings up, but it still plagues him every time he sees her. One night after a couple of rounds at the Garrison, Arthur stumbled into the house knocking everything in his path. He entered the living room and quickly plopped down on the couch beside her sulking figure. He rambled on drunkenly about a woman he had met and how Tommy had managed to seduce her. He rambled as his little sister took him to the bath and helped him in his drunken state. She fed him, stroked his hair, and tucked him in as if he were a kid. But Arthur failed to see the look in her eyes, the tears that raised down her youthful cheeks, and the way her hands trembled as she laced her fingers through his hair. He failed to notice the red sheets and how she could barely walk while dragging him from room to room. He failed to notice the way she selflessly helped him after having been raped on the alley just beside their house. As quickly as the thought came into his mind it went, leaving a ghostly smile on his rugged face.

And in came Finn through the door with an excited smile seeing his siblings at the table. “Oh! And where have you been?” She asked as he kissed her cheek and taking the whisky from her hands. “Been around. Might have dropped by the pictures.” He had a tantalising smile on his face as his sister widened her eyes at him. “Might have eavesdropped on your date.”

“Okay, okay! Spill Finn-boy.” Arthur said excitedly as her gathered more glasses to fill with whisky. 

“Finn stop! You did not-“

“I did too. Interesting choice my dear sister.” She narrowed your eyes at him as the newly poured whisky touched her tongue. “Not as interesting as your choice in ladies Finn. Multiple, might I add.”

The room roared in every direction, a symphony of Shelbys asking questions and laughing. Something so rarely seen because, really, it was only reserved for late nights like these. And their smiles all reserved for you and you only. Finn was the only one who truly knew where his sister was and with whom. After all, he was good friends with he man who dared to ask her out.

Little did her eldest brothers know but just as little Y/N Shelby closed the door and leaned against the wall, Isiah Jesus had done just the same as he watched her enter the Shelby household. His head had rested against the door, cheeks flushed and eyes full of life. He had adored the girl ever since he could remember, becoming completely helpless at the sight of her youthful cheeks and kind eyes. 

As the teasing conversation continued, Polly peaked her head through the kitchen door. She had been awoken by laughter, which was a relief to the countless nights she had woken to the sounds of bullets and screams. Her tired eyes crinkled at the four siblings. Hand making its way towards her heart and sighing a little prayer up to John and their late mother. Oh, if they could only witness this precious moment. If they could only see how protected and loved the youngest one was. 

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: You, The Boy, and The Golden Shoes 1/1

Title: You, The Boy, and The Golden Shoes

Pairing: Henry Cavill X YOU (AU)

Word Count: 1890

Summary: Girl you are a fucking mess. How you managed to keep a top tier lad such as Henry, your sanity and a flagging perfume company is beyond me. 

Rating: Nothing you wouldn’t share with mum. Slice of life, fluff, reality, tiny bit of angst, but it has a happy ending. :)

Note: This is a bit different than my usual fare, and of course AU, so I hope you like it. 

You knew that if you stood there one moment longer, sodden in the cold drizzle, bare knees scraped and bleeding, face illuminated by the sickly pink neon Girls Girls Girls sign, and staring drunkenly at the plump old ladies eating ice cream inside the sweets shop, you’d likely start screaming.

What else was there to do on a wet Friday night, but scream into the void?

‘Show us yer tits!’

A man’s ugly voice jerked you out of your despair.

It took a moment to force focus from the ice cream ladies to the window’s watery reflection in time to see the raggedy white car crawling along the edge of the kerb, slow enough so that the equally as raggedy man in a splotchy tie dyed shirt could give you a right old shouting at. The driver behind him leaned on the car horn and with tires hydroplaning on the wet road the white car moved on.

I deserve it, you thought, and tried to push your wig upright on your head again.

The synthetic strands were waterlogged and the entire thing had begun to make its migration down one side of your head as if searching for dry refuge.

You are a fucking mess, girl, your mouthed to your reflection.

Making a sour face, you tried to use the edges of your dirty fingers to clean up the oozing mascara. But you only succeeded in smearing the sticky water proof khol down your cheeks and ended up looking as if you were preparing for some concrete jungle camouflage.

Maybe becoming one with the macadam was a good idea. It was the perfect time to just disappear and never come back, especially considering how you’d just ruined your life. The strap of your shiny gold dress slithered off of your shoulder and with a growl of frustration you hooked it with your thumb and dragged it up again.

You then glanced down at your dirty gold lamé pumps. The sudden shift of your booze heavy head caused your stomach to roil unpleasantly and wanting to prevent seeing those 5 whiskey sours and cherries make an encore appearance, you looked up at the ice cream ladies.

They seem to be enjoying themselves, you thought, miserably. I hope they rot. 

In the reflection you could see yet another car slowing and coming to a stop directly behind you.

‘Oh fuck me,’ you muttered, when you saw a tall dark haired man get out and pop open a clear plastic umbrella to shield himself from the drizzle.

A vague thought drifted like a fluffy cloud across your drink addled brain.

Looks like the same umbrella that I have. Really, similar… hmm I wonder where I left it.  I really liked that umbrella.

The man walked close and a painful tension clenched between your shoulder blades. You hoped he was either heading for the candy shop or the porno house and not about to harass you.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ he shouted.

The anger was clear and sharp in his voice and mingled with an overlay of concern. In the window’s reflection you watched him drag a hand through his curls.

Henry. 

‘Why did you run off like that?’ he asked, quieter this time and moved close to hold the umbrella over you.

You watched the old ladies abruptly burst into laughter over something. Then the one with her back to the window suddenly turned round to look you directly in the face. They had obviously been talking about the nutcase who was watching them through the window and embarrassed, you turned to face the man behind you.

‘How did you find me?’ you asked him and messily palmed the rain from your face.

Henry sighed and looked heavenward as if asking for deliverance from your special brand of crazy.

‘You’re not hard to miss,’ he said gesturing to your ruined and mud splattered evening gown.

You looked down at yourself and self consciously dragged the slipping strap back up onto your shoulder again.

‘Well, that’s what happens when you go crawling through the hedge.’

Henry gaped at you a moment then one-handed, shrugged out of his evening jacket and draped it about your shoulders. His hand drifted to your lower back and it was such a familiar gesture that it couldn’t be more of a Henry-move if he tried.

Mmm, he smells good though, you mused, catching his scent from the jacket and clutching the lapels of the jacket tighter.

Although you were grateful for his chivalry, you didn’t allow him to exert that soft, manly pressure against your back to hurry you along to the car. You wanted to wallow for a moment longer.

Henry stopped trying to guide you to safety and just stood there, observing you sympathetically and fortunately, silently. He had a tendency to talk every problem to death until he felt better about the situation, no matter how you felt about it. But, he was getting better about that and you put a hash mark on his side of your mental scoreboard.

Wanting to explain yourself and your outlandish behaviour, you spread your hands and tried to speak. But you couldn’t find a coherent explanation for why you did what you did.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said finally.

‘Why did you run away?’ he asked, jumping at the chance to get the conversation rolling.

Looking up at him, you scoffed with disbelief.

‘Why did I run away?’ you sneered in response.

The fundraiser had been a disaster. You had been a fucking disaster.

All you needed was for the earth to open you up and swallow you up to your neck, leaving your head free for birds to perch on. But no, you had to deal with the ramifications of the worst moments of your life. 

It all started at the beginning of the year when a recluse aunt dropped a strange and failing fragrance company into your lap. Did she give you actual ownership where you could reap the benefits of being a company woman? 

No.

 She’d made you the figurehead who did all of the work to keep the business afloat whilst she did whatever recluses did in the south of France.

So, who could blame you for taking a little credit here and there as your hard work began to increase market shares. Who could blame you for slipping into her vacated persona and eventually into her name? It helped the business, for Christ sakes!

It definitely helped to have a face with the name so that people could deal directly with you, rather than by carrier pigeon, of whatever archaic method of communication your aunt liked to use. You never understood what she wanted anyway, so you ran things the way you saw fit.

From that point everything had proceeded swimmingly. You had a flourishing career, a bright future and a handsome lad. Henry was amazing and the sex…oh Jesus.

That was, until your reclusive aunt decided that the reclusive lifestyle just wasn’t for her any more. She’d turned up at a fundraiser you’d organised, in order to steal your spotlight once again. Word had spread like a raging grease fire that you were a fraud and you had tried to swindle a poor little old lady out of her fortunes. When in truth, it was you who saved the drowning business with its foul scent combinations and turned it a healthy, popular and thriving company.

So what did you do? When all accusing eyes were pinned on you?

You ran. As usual.

It really didn’t help that the house where the fundraiser was being held, was on a steep hill surrounded by thick hedges. It also didn’t help that you’d tried to leave through a balcony door that dumped you right out at the apex of that hill. It was a long way down and your rump became acquainted with every rock and bump and mudslide this side of the Mississippi.

You ripped your dress, muddied your 5000 quid shoes and dislodged your fabulous wig. And it was only later that you found refuge and solace on a high street off shoot road that boasted curries, candy and naked girls.

And that’s also where Henry found you.

‘If this is about what your aunt said,’ he began and you stiffened, waiting for the blow of his disapproval and eventual breakup. ‘It… doesn’t make sense.’

You looked up to meet his unbearably fond gaze.

‘You did all of the work. If it weren’t for you, there would be no business. You are the rightful head of it. Not her.’

‘Henry,’ you sighed, relief choking off your words.

You cleared your throat.

See? Amazing lad, isn’t he.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest. I–��

‘You didn’t lie to me,’ he said, smiling a little to reassure you, his hand sliding about your waist to pull you close. ‘If you had to stretch the truth a little to succeed well…’

He shrugged lazily as if it all didn’t matter one whit to him.

Holding your wig so that it wouldn’t slide forward, you leaned in to kiss him, grateful that you still hadn’t ruined everything. At least in his eyes, for Henry always saw the best in you.

‘Thank you. But… I still trashed my reputation.’

And in business, reputation was Queen.

Henry was about to say something, but the soft ring tone of the beginning of the 80s song ‘Take on me’ interrupted him. 

It was your publicist.

‘Hello?’ you asked, defeated and hesitant, bracing for the fury.

Henry righted your wig and mashed it down on your head to prevent it from shifting like an awkward cake.

‘Why did you run off?’ she laughed. ‘I saw you! You took a swan dive out of the window! Are you coming back?’

‘Coming back?’ you asked, looking at Henry.

He pointed to himself with brows raised as if asking, /me/?

You shook your head.

‘Well, yes. This is your company and your fundraiser, right? We can’t make the final toast with you.’

You were flabbergasted. Surely you weren’t welcomed back after what had happened.

‘But, my aunt,’ you began. ‘She… I… I shouldn’t have said that I was–‘

The publicist cut you off.

‘Look, honey. It’s true, her name is on the deed, but we all know who’s the star. You can write it off as a publicity stunt and come out with a new perfume called… Escape or something. With notes of tobacco , mud and whiskey. They’ll love it.’

You stood in stunned silence and the knot in your chest slowly unravelled as the realisation that you hadn’t ruined your life began to dawn.

‘I can’t come back now. I’m a mess. I’ll leave you to do the toast for me. Just tell them something. You’re good at that.’

‘Ok, honey. I’m going with the Escape thing, ok? So you’d better come up with something amazing.’

You disconnected the call and stood there, leaning against Henry and contemplating this peculiar turn of events.

‘All right?’ he asked and you nodded.

‘Can I at least get you into the car?’ he continued gently. ‘You’re shivering. Let me take you home.’

‘I’d rather have some ice cream, if you don’t mind.’

You saw him look through the window behind you and smile.

‘I could go for some as well,’ he replied and together you walked into the shop.

Suddenly life wasn’t quite so bad.

-end

[ayasmess]

Demonic!Yugyeom x OC | Kinktober: all sins week | Smut (sensory deprivation), angst 

words: 3.4k+

Every year, you receive a letter. Every year, you just put it in the left compartment of your closet. But you’d never open them. After all, you swore to never touch it again. Witchcraft.

Your mother tried to make you believe in it, even on her deathbed, and still, you refused.

But what if one night, when you’re not thinking right, you invoked him. Would it be your worst mistake?

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Your friend asked through the phone.

While putting her on speaker, you went to your closet, putting back some clothes, always avoiding the left compartment. “I meant what I said. I don’t feel good about standing in the same room with my ex and his amazing fiancée who by the way is my childhood friend.”

You heard a sigh. “It’s been 2 years, I’m not saying you shouldn’t feel like that, all I’m saying is that you could meet other people.”

“Why would I meet other people? I have you guys.”

“Maybe because you can’t screw your friend and you need some.”

“Who said we can’t— okay no I’m good without screwing you.” You laughed and stop arguing. “I have to go, but as I told you, enjoy the party, I probably won’t be there.” You replied and hung up before she could even complain.

Maybe something was wrong with you, maybe you should have said yes. Maybe not being close to that box would have been the salvation to your pain. But that night, you decided that he was your salvation.

Do you regret it?

Are you scared of the night?

Do you fear him or you?

 For the whole week, you tried to organize your room, again and again. As if something was wrong, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. You moved all your furniture, even reorganize your closet. But you never touched that left compartment, as if it was cursed.

Those letters were cursed, after all, they bore his seal.

 The week passed, the night of Halloween, your friend insisted to come to your house at least before the party. She didn’t like the thought of you being alone that day. So here you were, both of you on the floor of your bedroom, alcohol in your blood, for god’s know how long. You were not the type to drink that much but tonight was different.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t want to go to the party... You know we still have time.” She looked at you, smirking.

You sighed. “I don’t know, it feels wrong. To be there and to see his happily ever after face, while I’m just a drunken ex who can’t get over him.”

“We all know it’s not him you have to get over. It’s hard sometimes to move on when you feel like you’re in a hole and everyone just keeps moving.”

“And that hole is so big. God, I can’t even see the outside.” You drunkenly admitted.

“Girl, we’re so drunk, we don’t make sense.” She laughed as she got up. “Come on.”

You looked at her puzzled. “What?”

“Remember what your mom used to say? To enjoy the day without thinking about tomorrow and if a dude can’t appreciate your boobs just go for another one.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what she used to say...” You snickered.

“Let’s go to that fucking party and have fun. Who cares about that trash and his trashoe. We’re going to have fun and... and I forgot what I wanted to say—“

You laughed loudly and you paused as you looked at her fondly. “Okay just for you.”

“Oh god, please don’t fall in love with me.”

“Shut up and help me find a good outfit.”

 She searched in your closet for the clothes, throwing some of them on the bed. While opening all the compartment, her fingers met a box nested at the bottom. Her curiosity got the best of her and she pulled it.

When she opened it, a hand closed it quickly. “Don’t.” You spoke a little harshly.

She looked at you surprised. “Letters? Why do you hide letters?”

You looked away and hesitantly you responded. “It’s about the invocation. You know that whole witchcraft stuff my mom used to believe?”

“Yeah! And I freakingly believed her! What is the content of those letters?!”

“It’s nothing, just superstition. Every year, we’re allowed to make a wish to our spiritual guardian. And we have to burn that letter as a part of the offering.”

“You never did that... because?”

“Because I don’t want to meet him or communicate with him. Not anymore.”

“Okay... y’all weirdos. Come on let’s go get that outfit.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” You walked down the street, fiddling the side of your skirt.

“No, but who cares. In the worst case, it was just a drunken night, we probably won’t remember the details. In the best case, you met an amazing guy, who had an amazing sense of humor and you both shared amazing sex—“ You put your hand on her mouth before she could continue.

“Okay, that’s enough! I got it I got it.” You chuckled nervously.

 If only you met that guy. Except, you obviously didn’t. But you did hear a conversation about your amazing ex and his amazingly pregnant fiancée. When you tried to move away from the group, you bumped into someone. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You heard as you felt the content of your drink on your shirt. Great. Amazing night.

You sighed and looked upwards. Okay maybe, your friend was right about meeting a cute guy. Meh, too late. “It’s okay, I wasn’t careful either.”

“Look, let me go get a shirt in my room.” Oh, and you bumped into the host.

“It’s okay I wanted to go home anyway.”

“At least, let me walk you to your house. I think we live in the same street?”

“Yep... You don’t have to—“

“Come on, I’ll grab my jacket.”

 Okay, maybe it wasn’t so late.

 And maybe you enjoyed his presence as you both talked on the way. Was it the way his eyes glowed when he smiled? Was it his cute smile? Was it the amount of alcohol in your blood? Or was it this sinking pain in your chest every time you thought how unfair your life was? What made you kiss him in front of your house?

 You felt his hand slide from your cheek to your waist, pressing you against him. You didn’t mind, as long as he could take away that oppressive feeling.

But he couldn’t.

At which point did you invite him inside? You don’t remember. Who cares, as long as he keeps pressing his lips on your neck.

When did you even start to grind against his thigh while he pressed you against the wall of your room? You couldn’t care less, you just wished his touch could be your salvation. Just for the night.

And then you felt his hand sliding below your waist. He sensed your sudden stiffness.

That oppressive feeling on your chest became heavier and heavier.

And stupidly you realized, his simple touch couldn’t salvage you.

He distanced himself before sighing. You couldn’t even meet his eyes. You felt his hand on your cheek as he gently kissed the side of your temple. “It’s okay, we don’t have to.”

You couldn’t help but whispered a pathetic sorry. He asked you if you needed him to stay.

All you could do was shake your head as you clenched your fists.

“Okay” That’s all he said, as he left.

 What a fucking awkward night.

You walked toward your bed and lie on it. You didn’t have any rational thought. Nothing.

And then your sight turned toward your closet. The compartment was still closed.

You didn’t think right.

Let’s blame the alcohol.

You shouldn’t touch that cursed letter.

But you did.

 You got up, you walked towards that closet and you opened it. You took one of the letters between your hand. A strange numbness on the extremities of your fingers begin. You couldn’t read it, Latin words spread the old paper.

You never understood how the letters came to your house. No one knew. Some say it’s just black magic, and we shall never touch it, in fear of corruption.

Others used them for their sins.

 A small whisper asked you.

 Are you a sinner?

 All your instincts screamed, don’t open it. Don’t call him.

And yet, you did.

 You wished to see him again, you wished he could take away that pain, you wished he made you forget about it, about this guy you met, about your ex, about his perfect life, about your mother, about this oppressive feeling, about this loneliness.

 “Take it away.”

You wished for him.

 And just like that, the letter burned.

The room became cooler. And the lights around you blinked. And you felt a shiver.

 “Missed me?”

 His voice was the same. Just like when he left you, or when you left him. Cold and cynical.

 You let a shaking breath. He slowly walked in your direction.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Did you miss me?” He whispered to your ear, and gently he pressed his lips on your neck. You sighed, as his arm encircled your waist and pressed you against his chest.

 Despite the shortness of breath, you whispered pathetically. “Yugyeom—“

 “I waited for you. 3 long years, in this darkness.” His fingers digging into your sweater, you could almost feel the extremities of his nails.

“At first I was worried that I scared you.” A small kiss was pressed against your temple.

“And then resentment came, along with his companion, un-forgiveness, when I realized you were never going to free me again.” He bit your ear.

“So tell me, love, why should I answer your prayer when you gave up on me?”

 Shaking, you tried to control yourself. And boldly, you answered. “You get to consume my sin, isn’t that worthwhile reason?”

 He chuckled. “I shall honor your prayer then.”

 Suddenly, your surroundings disappeared, you just blinked for a second, and the next you were caught in his illusion.

 You could feel the softness of the bed against your back. You could smell the scent of burning candles around you. You could hear the quiet sound of the rain outside, hitting the windows.

But all your attention was on him.

 His hands were on top of your head, his knees on each side of your body. You wouldn’t be able to get away from him. That is if you wanted to.

 He straightened himself, unbuttoned his leather shirt. You let a shaken breath at the sight of it. He chuckled at the sound of your squeal when he pulled you closer to him.

“I like this color. Looks good on you.” He hummed as his finger played with the front zipper of your red sweater. He kissed softly the side of your mouth. “But I prefer you without it.” He pulled it downward, revealing your naked chest. He smirked at the sight, caressing your waist. “Definitely better.”

 His other hand brushed the side of your jaw, his eyes finding yours, and softly his lips found yours.

 Maybe you missed this. His delicacy every time he kissed you as if you could disappear at any moment. As if, his tenderness would bring you back to him, like a magnet. As if, no one could give you this warmth.

 You couldn’t help but bringing him closer to you, gripping the sides of his shirt, while you responded passionately to his kiss.

A small whimper left your lips when you felt his hand leaving your waist, leading toward your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple, before pinching it.

 He straightened himself and moved his chest away from yours.

His hand traveled toward your thighs, before encircling them and bringing you closer. You could feel the shape of his crotch through the clothes.

But he didn’t move, he didn’t do anything. He just stared at you, a little smirk on his lips.

Looking at him, you couldn’t help but pout. You wrapped your legs around his hips and brought your crotch to his.

Licking his lower lip and biting it, he then asked smugly. “What are you going to do? Satisfy yourself?”

You whispered, ungraciously. “Shut up.” But again, you were not the gracious type, and he wasn’t either.

Hence why his hands fallen on either side of your head, he brought himself closer to you and whispered. “Come on, be a good girl, and do it.” His lips brushing yours, you closed your eyes, before lifting your pelvis.

You could feel his smirk against your lips, as you started to grind against his crotch. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and gripped the lower part of his hair. You couldn’t repress the small smirk on your lips when you heard him grunt. He pressed his crotch against yours before detaching himself from you roughly.

He snapped his fingers, and one second later, you were completely naked in front of him. He cockily raised an eyebrow at your blushing cheeks, as you were embarrassed by this sudden appearance.

“Let’s play a game sweetheart.”

You frowned at his words, you knew they were bad news but your curiosity took over.

His face moved closer to you as he cooed. “Let’s see how much you can take it.”

 He unbuckled his belt and took it between his fingers. You gasped as you felt invisible hands holding your wrists and bringing them on top of your head, to the bedhead. Before you could question his intention your wrists were encircled by the belt against it. “Yugyeom—“

“Ah-ah.” He stopped you. “You still have a punishment to take.” You shivered as you felt his finger brushing your neck, following its course toward your chest, and then stopping right before your pelvis.

He looked at you and thought. “Let’s add another thing.”

You nervously anticipated. And before you could even ask him, darkness surrounded you.

The silk scarf around your eyes, your hands tied against the bedhead, you felt deprived of his touch, until his finger skimmed your thigh.  

He chuckled at the sound of your whimpers. Before you could even say anything to rush him, his thumb was pressed against your mouth. “Who said you could talk, love?”

Slowly opening your mouth, you took his thumb against your lips, biting it lightly. Softly, you began to suck it when he pressed it against your tongue.

Suddenly, he pulled it away from your lips. Before you could whine about it, you felt his mouth on your lips, gently kissing you. You responded with more passion as if you didn’t know when he would give you this satisfaction. Biting your lower lip, when you moaned at the touch of his finger on your inner thigh, he deepened the kiss.

You shivered when his fingers brushed your skin, slowly moving toward your core.

He didn’t press his fingers on it, he just skimmed it, chuckling at the sight of your pelvis moving away from the ticklish touch.

He kissed the side of your jaw as his finger was pressed against your core, gathering moisture. You whimpered when you felt pressure on your clit. He pressed his thumb against it, making an encircling gesture. You wrapped his waist with your leg so he could continue.

You cried at the slow invasion of his finger inside, his kiss muffled your moans. He moved slowly, before adding another finger.

He moved his lips toward your neck, biting your skin and leaving purples marks in his path toward your chest. You moaned when he started to take your nipple between his lips and at the same time his fingers quickened their pace. You could feel your core tightening its grip on his fingers, as he kept stimulating it. You cried when you felt pressure on your clit. You squealed out of surprise when you realized it wasn’t his touch.

All you could hear was his snickers. “What you cannot fear what you cannot see, darling.” If it was another time, you’d argue but all you could think was how overwhelmed you were. You opened your mouth to shut his cocky attitude but a gasp left your lips. He quickened his pace and the pressure grew on your clit, you could hear the wet sounds of his fingers pushing and pulling out of your pussy.

Your wrist tried to pull themselves from the grip of his belt, as you cried when you felt your pleasure building up.

Before your orgasm finally hit you, your wrists were liberated, and you quickly encircled your arms against his neck, bringing him closer to you. Waves of pleasure hit your body, the silk depriving your vision disappeared and before you could think, his lips found yours. His fingers left your spastic core. He brought you closer to him, encircling his arms around your waist.

Your body called its shaking against him, as you buried your face in his shoulder, his musky smell engulfed you. He kissed the side of your temple, before looking at you in the eyes.

You took his face between your hands and gently you brushed his cheeks with your thumbs. You murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you here. For not being there when you needed someone.”

 There was no room, no windows, no candles, no walls, no illusion. Just this bed with him and you in this darkness.

Darkness surrounded you, but you weren’t scared. Not anymore.

 His hand moved toward your cheek, removing the falling tear, before kissing your closing eyes.

He took your thighs with his hands, bringing you closer to his crotch. You moved your hand and wrapped it around his girth. He kissed you gently as you felt him inside you.

He slowly moved, letting you get accustomed to his length. You sighed at the building pleasure, before pushing him on the back so you could ride him. And softly, you began to grind against him. He wrapped his hands on your hips, throwing his head backward, feeling your warmth surrounding his cock.

His pelvic pressed against your clit, stimulating you. You brought your chest closer to him, so you could kiss his neck. Taking his skin between your lips you left small purple marks on it.

You cried when he moved his pelvic, thrusting his hips. He held your waist so you wouldn’t move, and he started to pound from below. You could feel your legs shaking from the pleasure.

Before you could react, he removed himself from you. He pushed you so your back hit the mattress and he was on top of you. You whine at the sudden emptiness, as he tapped his cock against your clit, teasing you.

He kissed you as he pushed it inside you once again. He slowly thrust before moving faster. Moans were muffled by his kisses. He started to pound while his hand reached your clit, stimulating it.

You whimpered at the pressure of his fingers, you wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped him even tighter.

Your breathing got faster and difficult as this overwhelming pleasure hit your body. And before you could even think right, your vision lightened, your back arched. Your hand gripped the side of your pillow as he continued to thrust inside you, seeking his pleasure and overwhelming yours. His thrusting became erratic. You brought him closer to you, kissing the shell of his ear, engulfing him with your intoxicating scent. You could hear his soft moans when he started to come inside you.

You caressed his hair as you both tried to calm your breathing.

He pulled himself away from you.

His gaze meeting yours, you began to feel nervous and vulnerable in this state. You were scared of the possible rejection, but you couldn’t help but touch his cheek with your hand.

Slowly, as if you could disappear if he moved harshly, he kissed your palm. He laid at your side, before pressing you against his chest. Leaving a soft kiss on the side of your temple he whispered. “Don’t leave.”

You kissed his neck before answering him. “I won’t. Not anymore.”

You were not scared of your feelings. You were not afraid of being in love with a demon.

[galesh]

Wish fulfillment au of Severus who was born in Albus' Dumbledore's time. I just wanted to post it as a reply on a discord server but then it got out of hand. So

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

- Two clever swots duking it out... in academics!

- Debating each other of old spells and whether or not they're dark and the librarian jinxing them out of the library with hexes for being too loud

- Albus and Sev rubbing their stung bums and arguing about the hexes the librarian used

- Albus and Sev both discovering they're poor halfbloods and railing against the arswholes in charge who think they can sting their bums and get away with it

- Them stinging each other's bums because it's a fascinating body part and maybe rubbing them with a different set of hands because maybe it'll help, and they're experimental

-Albus viewing the fascinating kid with so much dark potential with new eyes.

-Sev keeping an eye out for the twinkly eyed twit because it's unnerving, really, and because he always found the goodness in others fascinating. He doesn't believe he can emulate it, but maybe some would seep through him in osmosis. That's what that muggle book said anyway

- His ma always said he had a thing for redheads. He's starting to suspect her of practicing black magic

- Albus and Sev working on potions and transfig together because none of them can tell the other they're bloody brilliant and that they're fascinated, and could we just get to stinging bums and rubbing out the soreness please

- Sev visiting the Dumbledore's on summer break because his father is dead and his mother as good as, meeting the creepy girl creature because he's nosy and of course he'd look at the one room Kendra told him not to

- Abe running to Ariana's room because she screams bloody murder. It's only when he gets there that he realises that that bloody snake they let into their house is being accosted by a happily shrieking Arianna who wants to meet this strange new black haired scarecrow her brother likes

- The older one

- Sometimes, Arianna suspects

- Sev being horrified by Ariana's sad tale, and not wanting her to waste away, working with Albus to make sure she can get out

- Abe (begging to) help them because he really wants to, and because he doesn't trust the snake

- Sev learns Abe can't bloody spell after the third time.he has to squint if the bottle has fluxweed or filchweed (Dyslexia is not recognised yet, but it will be, in the muggle world) amd tries to help. It's more insulting than helpful, but he tries!

- Albus feverishly searching for a way to fix what those muggle boys and their mother's imprisonment and his neglect have wrought. Searching in the darkest grimoires, because really, what is honor and goodness if it can't even help his sister?

- Ariana getting her father's silver signet, carved with the runes of protection, family, forgiveness and renewal. They can't fix her magic, but the magic she once loved has caused her loved ones only harm, and really, it's time to stop listening to the voice inside her, who wants to rip her mother to shreds and burn the whole world down

- In the end it's abe, who comforted her when her mum looked at her with hate and Albus ashamed who puts her ring on as she says the words the runes describe. It's hard to forgive her mother and those muggle boys, but Arianna thinks they've suffered enough (it'll be years later that she realises that she left one person, but as she watches her daughter's delightful coo as she Dan's her nose with a glowing goden finger, she is only thankful that her lack of forgiveness didn't take all her magic away).

- She kisses her brother-in-law to be on the cheek, as is only proper for a member of family.

(Ariana has a very feeble grasp on social niceties. She tries, okay! You try learning everything from books while trapped in a cottage like a demented princess, with a brother who even she knows has an unhealthy fascination with goats who'd talk to her normally)

(Arianna's husband and her daughter, who she names Severus --because every universe must have a second child with a severusly controversial name -- would really come to fear her social skills, or lack thereof. Severus blames her godfather and her uncle with a the raging hate of a 10 year old who's been denied Uncle Sev's sweets)

- Sev and Albus competing for the top spot in the classes with professors and the bottom in the classes without

- Albus meeting Gellert in the evening he's supposed to leave for France and noticing the same dark charm. Severus noticing, but wanting to taint it than emulate it

- A black owl pooping on Gellert's golden hair because he Does Not Share!

- Albus sharing his plans to Change The World which would kill a girl with beautiful, uncontrolled magic and put a vengeful father in a prison of his own despair

- Sev agreeing to them and adding some rather inventive and cruel revenges he'd have on the Wankers who disowned his mother for following her heart

- Albus crossing out those points with eyes that twinkle in gentle admonishment, because really Severus, where would you even get a fully grown basilisk, and ignoring the calculating glitter he gets in return

- Abe following the idiots because Ari orders him to help the idiots and he can deny her nothing

- Gellert becoming a Light wizard after being at the wand end of a particularly dark spell (they teach *that* at Hogwarts, the light school!?!?!?!?) By a vengeful gargoyle after he drunkenly kisses*Bruder* Dumbledore

(years later, Headmaster Dippet can't figure out why his newest Dada teacher is so militant about students knowing everything about Dark magic and why some magics should never be studied, or why flinches everytime he sees a mistletoe. He has enough experience at 300 Not To Ask)

- Albus learning the most beautiful healing spell at the hands of a scowling-dark-phoenix with moist, angry black eyes after the 12th use of a dragon's claw soon after he discovered the 12th use of their blood

(Fawkes could never forgive Severus Snape for stealing it's thunder. Also he smells owl. They're the worst!)

-Severus stealing the Flamels' thunder by creating a philosophers stone after being at their home for a month.

(Perenelle suspects it's because Nicholas, who can be really old fashioned about these things, forbade their apprentice and that brilliant boy with no thoughts from rooming together)

- Severus lacing Albus' lemon drops with the elixir of life because clearly, that imbecilic martyr thinks dragon claw wounds are amusing

- Albus lacing Severus' tea with it because it would be such a horrible thing to live alone

(or without the one person who matters, no offence to his family. Oh, alright Abe, you're definitely not it!)

(the elixir of life prepared yearly mysteriously dissappears into tea and lemon drops. Albus stops worrying over Severus getting killed by vampires while he gets their teeth in exchange of galleons like a demented tooth fairy, and Severus stops worrying about Albus getting nicked by antsy Dragons or Phoenixes or Nifflers, or whoever Albus scraps with in his spare time)

- Albus putting his demented convoluted plans in motion by destroying wizarding currency through inflation. It somehow leads to a goblin revolution, equal rights for magical creatures, and the adoption of muggle currency. Don't ask

(Rumour has it that Gellert, Wizarding Britain's champion one look at the the scowling face of a Severus Snape and proposes negotiations.

Muggle currency was great, really. Made mathematical sense, easier to handle, and twinkly eyed not quite evil overlords can't dependably reproduce all the identifiers. They hope

Quite coincidentally, as Severus will assure you, all the pureblood families --including the Princes, coincidentally-- lose all their accumulated money in the resulting changeover.)

- Albus rules everything from behind the iron curtain with gentle fists and an open smile. Everyone learns to agree with him because behind him stands the spectre of DEATHOMgWatdidyoudo that you want to always keep happy)

- An excited Tom Riddle learns about magic from a charming Professor who's really interested in how he speaks, and who agrees that muggles are awful but keep it down will you?

- Tom Riddle learns to confide in and trust the person who introduced him to the magical world; and tells him when he accidentally discovers the chamber of secrets while hissing open at one of the taps in the girls loo that just wouldn't dispense water (he was under a lot of pressure okay! No, he's not a creep!)

- Tom Riddle grows up to be a politician with a particularly hard view on those muggles. Being backed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts helps. The society has made great strides in the concept of equality and democracy however, and most creatures really don't like him for some insane reason. Albus Dumbledore wins the elections by a landslide again. Tom is tenacious, and plots for when he'd get the position after the old man dies

(On his deathbed, Professor Emeritus of Hogwarts, Professor Tom, curses todgy old men with unnaturally long lifespans)

-Harry Potter, who grew up loved and a headmaster who didn't want to train him in any way, shape, or form (Harry was glad. Headmaster Grindenwald was nice and all, but he really didn't want to know all about the Dark arts and why not to use them kplzthnx). He went on to work at the ministry because his mother instilled in him values of fairness, kindness, and Get Out The House And Go To Work You Bum!

(He named

- Ariana's first kid is named after Abe. Her second is called Severus. Severus being a girl, never forgives her, and years later, when her son is born, names him Ariana with a vindictive gleam in her eyes.

(Ariana never really learned a the social niceties. They're horribly ineffective, and Abe tells her she's always charming in any case)

(Severus Smith is comforted by the fact that her godfather is a immortal wizard who gives her the best sweets)

- Severus and Albus never really fall out of love, even though they fall out of bed many times. They are a different breed of men, really. Eternal devotion means eternal devotion, as they find out. The Flamels' are happy they finally get to go on what the muggles call double dates.

- They also never stop stinging each other on the bum, but that is a rather more mature tale.

[bqstqnbruin]

Protection

I just want to say that his roster pics do not do him justice. But this was requested like A WEEK ago but as mentioned I’m the worst. I also had a really weird week emotionally and I’m still not sure what happened other than a lot of crying but oh well ? Please let me know what you think! Hopefully I get into more a rhythm with writing requests!

_______________________

“Staring at your drink isn’t going to give you the answer,” Tyler teases you. 

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to find the answer any way!” you squeal, your voice high in frustration. 

“Babe, it’s fine, they’re being assholes.” Roope wraps his arm around your waist, pulling him closer to you, kissing your cheek.

“Yes, I know that. But what’s the answer?”

“42,” Tyler says, the guys laughing, Jamie smacking him in the chest for saying something so ridiculous. 

You just stare at him with your mouth open, “You’ve got be kidding. How is the answer a fucking number?” Everyone bursts out in a loud laugh, everyone around you starting to stare at the scene you’re causing as a group. “Can I smack him? Am I allowed to do that?” you look to Roope, him beaming at you.

“I’ll get him for you at practice.” 

“Ok, kid, you try,” Tyler smirks. 

Roope shrugs, pulling you closer, mirroring the smirk on Tyler’s face, “If it’s for my girl.” He was so protective over you, but not in an overbearing way. You loved it, actually, having someone watching over you. You were free to be your own person, but if you needed some Roope was there when you asked. 

“Y/N, let’s go get something else to drink,” Katie says, prying you away from Roope and the boys, leaving them to ask each other as many dumb questions as they want. She pulls you to the bar, your hand probably about to break hers from the grip you had on her so that you wouldn’t get separated. The bar was crowded and loud, you only knew the guys and their girlfriends, and you really didn’t want to get to know anyone else tonight. “So, it seems like things with Roope are going pretty well?” she asks once you both make it to an opening at the bar.

You can’t help but blush at the sound of his name. You had been together for about four months; the relationship was just new enough that you still seemed to be in that honeymoon phase, but you had been together long enough that it seemed like it was going to stick. At least for a while. You hoped. “Yeah, it’s amazing. He’s amazing.” 

“Jamie even said that he’s been playing better since he started dating you. The guys think you’re their good luck charm.” 

“I doubt that,” you laugh.

“No, I’m serious!” Katie insists, “When was the last time you saw them lose when you’re at a game? Jamie only wants me to go to games when he knows you’re going to be there because otherwise, he’s sure they’ll lose.”

“See, Roope only wants me to go to games when he knows you’re going to be there.” You both stop for a minute. “Hockey players are so weird.” 

You both start cracking up until the bartender gets your attention. “Vodka cran for me and Corona for her, we’re with that group over there,” Katie tells him, pointing back to the guys. One of the guys had drunkenly offered to pick up everyone’s tab last time you all went out, and Roope got him saying it on camera. The guys’ goal that night was to make him regret it. 

“Put the Corona on my tab.” You turn around to see this guy leaning up against the bar behind you. He was cute, sure, but he was no Roope. 

“Oh, no, I’m covered already, but thank you,” you say, telling the bartender, turning back to Katie. 

“You have to tell me though-” Katie starts.

“No, I insist. I can’t let you pay for that drink,” the guy interrupts.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the one paying for this.” You hold the drink up to him, before turning back to Katie. “What were you saying?”

“What weird stuff does Roope do before he leaves for a game?” she asks.

“Oh, c’mon,” the guy says behind you, again. Why isn’t he getting the message that you’re not interested? You give Katie a worried look, her just shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “I’m Tristan.” 

“That’s nice. I’m talking to my friend though, sorry,” you say, pulling Katie away from the bar. “Do we go back to the guys or just away from him?” you whisper to her, not really sure where to go.

“Let’s find the guys. If he sees you with Roope all over you, he might leave you alone.” You lead Katie back to the booth where you left the guys, only to find them gone. “Those idiots left?” she nearly screams, causing some people to turn and stare. “They had one job! They weren’t supposed to leave us!”

“Technically, we didn’t tell them not to leave the booth, and we left them, to begin with,” you point out. “But where the hell did they go? They left so much of their crap here.” You pick up Roope’s jacket that was on the seat, putting it on because you were cold anyway. “I guess we can just sit here and wait for them to come back.”

“The fact that you just put his jacket on!” Katie gushes, taking out her phone, hopefully to text Jamie.

“I’m cold, Roope would have put it on me anyway.” 

“Nice outfit change,” praying the familiar voice was that of one of the guys. You tear your eyes away from Katie to see Tristan standing at the table. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yes,” you and Katie say in unison, as he decides to sit anyway.

You whip out your phone, hoping to find a message from Roope telling you the guys went somewhere within the bar. With Katie still on her phone, and you not wanting Tristan to ask more questions, you send her ‘Anything from Jamie???’

‘No, I’m gonna go find them.’

‘NO! Please don’t leave me with him!’

You text Roope an SOS text, only to feel a vibration in the pocket of his jacket. ‘My dumbass left his phone here. Get Jamie or Tyler to tell him to get here ASAP please!’ you send to Katie, trying your hardest to ignore whatever it is Tristan is babbling about, him moving closer and closer to you as you try to inch away. 

“So are you from the area?” Tristan asks. You can feel his hand getting closer to your thigh as he tries to lean in, probably so he can ‘hear you better,’ as you can imagine he would try to claim.

“Yeah.” 

“Where do you live?”

“Around.” 

“With your friend here?” he motions to Katie, who is still on her phone trying to get a hold of the boys.

“No.” 

“So do you live by yourself?” His hand is inching closer and closer to your leg. No matter how much you squirm away from him, he still tries to get closer.

“No, I live with my boyfriend,” you lie. He doesn’t need to know you don’t actually live with Roope. But who cares?

“Boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend,” he says confidently, his hand finding his way onto your thigh.

You push him off, practically jumping into Katie as you can feel the anger inside you boiling up, “Excuse me? Who are you to tell me I don’t have a boyfriend?” Katie gets out of the booth, pulling you with her as Tristan does the same, following the two of you.

“If you had a boyfriend, he would be with you right now.” He follows you, trying to grab onto the hand that’s holding your drink.

Katie leads you through the bar, twisting through the people for what seems like forever, trying to lose Tristan but not succeeding in the meantime. You finally think you see one of the guys, towering over the rest of the people. 

“Is that Jamie over there?” you point to the back near the wall, looking for the blonde mess of hair that would be Roope.

“Oh, thank god,” you hear Katie let out, Tristan still following you and asking you about your boyfriend. All you can do is try to ignore him once you get up to Jamie. “Where’s Roope?” Katie asks him, not letting go of your hand, Tristan a few feet behind.

“He should be with Tyler,” Jamie says, scanning the area for the two. He takes Katie’s free hand, leading the two of you like toddlers through the bar over to Tyler and Roope. 

You let go of Katie’s hand, feeling tears start to form in your eyes once you see Roope, knowing Tristan is still behind you. You practically run into Roope, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, as he does the same. “Babe, are you ok?” 

“Please always have your phone with you when we’re out, especially if you and the other idiots decide to wander,” you tell him, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, which lights up with your text message from earlier. 

“What’s this?”

“No, it’s fine now that I’m with you.”

“There’s a guy bothering you?” You can see the anger in his eyes, Tyler and Jamie rushing over once they heard Roope’s voice.

“It’s fine, I promise.” 

It wasn’t fine. Because who else but Tristan would show up, “This guy bothering you, hun?”

“Uh, no. I think you’re bothering my girlfriend, actually.” Roope walks right up to him, Jamie and Tyler behind him. With all three of them being over six feet, Tristan seemed so small as they towered over him. 

“Roope, do not.” You sandwich your way between Roope and Tristan, trying to get Roope to look at you. You know he wants to hit him. It was the protective part of him that was taking over him, especially once he read the SOS text. The last thing you needed was for him to get into a fight and get all of you kicked out of the bar. “He’s not worth it.” 

“Excuse me?” you hear Tristan say, “I’m not worth it?” 

“No. You’re not. You have been nothing but a creep this entire night, even when I said I have a boyfriend,” you start to get mad yourself, Roope’s arm snaking around your waist to try to calm you down. “So unless you want to get into a fight with three of the Dallas Stars, I would suggest you leave.” 

Tristan does as you demand, his eyes wide open as he runs away from you and the guys. “I can’t believe I just did that,” you spit out, turning to Roope and practically crumbling in his arms. 

“I want to go after him.”

“No. Stay here with me. Take it out on Tyler next practice,” you joke, referring to earlier.

“I don’t think I want him to anymore,” Tyler says, backing away from the two of you, the guys laughing around you.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

We’re All Changing

Billy Hicks x Reader

Words: 4065

Summary: One big mistake sends your life completely over the edge and your friends try to help you put the pieces back together. Your best friend Billy is by your side every step and the barriers that you put around your friendship start to crumble. 

Notes: I really really love this movie, but this is going to be another imagine that isn’t for everyone. I love the bond between these fucked up people, and I will be writing the characters, including the reader, as such. There’s something about Alec and Billy and Jules and everybody in this movie that I love. (this is kind of a mess, but I hope you like it)

Warnings: Cheating, lots of alcohol, overall angst, and lots and lots of drama.

Find Other 80s imagines HERE

- 

You opened the door before he even had a chance to knock. 

“I didn’t know who else to call.” Your face was red from crying and your hair was a mess. It definitely wasn’t the best condition he’d ever seen you in… but it definitely wasn’t the worst, either. Billy sat on the sofa and you curled up beside him. The strong smell of cheap wine and cigarette smoke hung around you as you laid your head on his chest and let him wrap his arms around you. That was the thing with Billy. It didn’t matter what was wrong. He didn’t need to know why, he would drop whatever he was doing if he knew you were upset about something. And this wasn’t just something, he could tell. This was big. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” He asked gently. Sure, half the time Billy was a total douche. But he was your best friend so you were the one who got to see his soft side the most. 

“I fucked up… everything.” You sat up and his arms fell to his sides. “I really really screwed up, Billy.” 

“No way, Little Miss Perfect doesn’t screw up.” He smirked. It was supposed to be funny, but you started to cry. Billy sighed and pulled you back to him. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.” 

“I-I can’t tell anyone else.” You barely managed to get the words out between sobs. Now he was scared. 

“Y/N, are you in some kind of trouble? Did somebody hurt you?” It usually took a lot to freak him out, but if you were in trouble, all bets were off. You shook your head. 

“Billy, I…” You buried your face in your hands, too ashamed to have him look at you. “I fucked someone I met at the bar last night.” He leaned back on the couch, feeling guilty for being so relieved. 

“Oh.” It took a moment for him to get rid of all the horrible scenarios he had in his head. “Who, uh, who was it?” You let out a sob. 

“That’s the thing Billy. I don’t even know who it was.” You were crying pretty hard now, still hiding your face. “I don’t even know his name.” 

“Hey.” Billy brought your hands away and lifted your chin with his finger. “You know that I am the last person to judge you for anything. Let alone something like this.” You gave him a look. He laughed. “Come on, I’m not exactly the posterboy for monogamy here, Y/N.” 

“I just…” You took a deep breath, trying to get the words out as clearly as you could. “I was drunk and I was angry and this guy started flirting with me. We ended up doing it in the back of his car like a couple of highschoolers.” You picked up the wine bottle on the coffee table and took a swig. “I just feel so dirty, you know?” 

“You’re not-” He stopped at the sound of the front door opening. Your stomach twisted up in knots. Your fiance. 

“You should probably go.” Saying Rodney didn’t like Billy was the understatement of the year. He hated him. You couldn’t deal with one of their fights again. As much as Billy would have loved to get under Hot Rod’s skin, he didn’t want to make things worse for you. 

“We’ll talk more later, okay?” He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before he scrambled out the and down the fire escape. He just wasn’t fast enough. 

Billy Hicks had been your best friend since you were sixteen. When you weren’t bailing him out of trouble, you were right there with him. He was even your date to senior prom when your boyfriend got caught smoking weed in the locker room. When you found out you were going to college together, you threw yourselves a party that lasted two days. 

You’d met Rodney junior year of college at a party that Billy dragged you to. He proposed the day you graduated and you had been so excited to be the first of the group to get married. Well, besides Billy. You were the first person he’d told when Felicia got pregnant. Hell, you were one of the witnesses when they got married. You were there for him the day Melody was born. Now that you needed him to be there for you, you knew you couldn’t let him. Everything was different now.

Rodney’s smile had something off about it as he pulled you in for a kiss. And his eyes had that look he got before he was about to blow. 

“You think I don’t know, don’t you?” He spat. “You fucking whore.”

“W-what?” 

“When Bill told me he saw you leave the bar with some guy, you know, I had to keep myself from thinking it was him.” He threw his briefcase across the room. “But you brought him here! Billy Hicks was fucking my fiance in my apartment!” His face was turning bright red and his voice was so loud it actually hurt your ears. There was a reason everybody called him Hot Rod...

“Rodney, I just let me explain-”

“Explain what? That you’ve been fucking Billy this whole time?” 

“It wasn’t Billy!” You screamed. You were getting angry now. “What about all those girls you’ve been screwing at your office? Huh, Rodney? I have forgiven you for all of them, but the minute I slip up, you come down on me!” 

“We are not talking about me here.” This is what you’d fought about that night. You finally asked him about the girls at work and he pretended like it meant nothing. Maybe that’s why you slept with that guy. For it to mean something.  Rodney took a deep breath. “I want you out of the apartment by the time I get back from work tomorrow. And you can find somewhere else to stay tonight.” 

“What?” You gasped, feeling like the breath was knocked out of you. 

“Pack up your stuff and go.” He turned on his heel and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

You had to get out of there. You needed to run. This couldn’t be happening. You grabbed your Georgetown sweatshirt off the couch and got out of there before Rodney went off again, because you knew he would. It was getting late, but you didn’t care. You needed to run. 

When your mind stopped spinning, you took in your surroundings. It was cold and it was starting to rain. Shit. It didn’t help that every alley way you looked down had some dark shape that you could have sworn was a person. To keep yourself calm, you tried to imagine yourself in the safest place you could think of. You quickly shook the thought out of your head when all you could picture was being tucked away in Billy’s arms. When a group of the dark shapes started to move toward you, you ran a little faster until you found a payphone. 

“Alec Newbury.” The voice answered groggily. 

“Alec? C-could you come and pick me up? I went for a run and I wasn’t paying attention and now I don’t know where I am and now I feel like someone is following me-” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could think. 

“Okay, slow down. Do you see any signs? Any businesses or anything?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and put on his shoes. Leslie turned over, watching him grab his keys with the phone still pressed against his ear. 

“Is everything okay?” She whispered. He shrugged. 

“I think I’m not too far from St. Elmo’s.” You stated, the rain starting to make you shiver. “Could you just meet me there?” You sounded more frustrated than scared, which made him panic a little less. 

“I’ll be right there.” 

You took cover under the bar’s awning. You couldn’t tell if the shiver running down your spine was from the cold or from the feeling of somebody watching you. A chorus of voices and footsteps was getting closer and you shrunk back into the shadows, clutching your keys in your hand. You braced yourself as a group approached. The voices changed to laughter as the group of college aged boys stumbled drunkenly passed you. You let out a sigh of relief. Were you this paranoid in college? 

Alec pulled up next to the curb and you scrambled inside. 

“You okay?” He asked, taking off his jacket to give to you as you stripped out of your soaking sweatshirt. “What the hell are you doing running this time of night anyway?” He noticed that it wasn’t just rain on your cheeks. You had been crying. 

Alec was your best friend in a different way than Billy. Alec was like the group’s big brother. He bailed you out of trouble almost as much as he bailed out Billy. He was the responsible one. The one everybody called when they got too drunk at a party, or when they were stuck in the rain. Or when they couldn’t go home anymore. 

“I just wanted to clear my head.” You shrugged. You couldn’t tell him. Billy supported you no matter what, but you couldn’t bear disappointing Alec. He raised a brow. “I had a weird day, alright?” 

“Did Hot Rod do something?”

“Come on, Alec, you know he hates being called that.” 

“Did he do something or not?”

“No, he didn’t do anything.” You lied, running your fingers through your dripping hair, getting more frustrated by the second. If you told Alec, you knew what he would think. What a shame. I thought things were going so well. I didn’t know she was a slut. “I just… I don’t want to go home right now.” Of course, only one place came to mind. Billy’s. But you couldn’t. There were lines of your friendship that you couldn’t cross. Barging in on him and Felicia was one of them. 

“I’ll set up a place for you to sleep at my apartment.” Alec sighed. He just wanted to know what was going on. There was a reason they all called him ‘Hot Rod’. His temper was short and he could get mean when he was angry. In all honesty, everybody in the group only put up with him because you were together. 

“Thank you, Alec.” You said quietly as he opened the door to his apartment after spending the rest of the car ride in silence. He looked over to see you staring at the floor. A tear slipped down your face and fell to the carpet. 

“Hey,” He put a hand on your shoulder. “Everything is gonna sort itself out, okay?” You raised your head and gave him a small smile, wishing you were as sure as he was. 

-

The next morning, Alec drove you back to your apartment without asking any more questions. The more he asked you, he knew the more you’d just cover up what was really going on. He’d have to find out a different way. 

“You know you can call me and Leslie if anything happens, right?” He said suddenly before you got out of the car. You nodded and quickly kissed his cheek to say thank you. He watched you walk in before he drove off, reminding himself to call Billy and see what he knew. The two of you were inseparable and if something was going on, Billy would know every detail. You stood outside the building with a building sense of dread. 

You should have seen this coming. Everybody else did. Your tears had let up by the time you got the last box in the back of your car. Your mind was so occupied, that you didn’t even see the person approaching you. 

“He didn’t.” Billy sighed as you slammed the trunk closed. You gave him a weak shrug. 

“He said I have until he gets back from work to get all of my things.” At least you had stopped crying. You felt stupid enough as it was. “I called Wendy and she said I could move in with her until I can find my own place, so that’s where I’m headed.” 

“I’ll help you.” He said, more of a statement than an offer. 

“Billy you don’t have to-”

“Y/N.” He gave you a determined stare, those blue eyes melting your heart as he put a hand on your cheek. “I’m not leaving you alone for this.” You looked into his eyes for a little too long. You quickly got into the car without saying anything you would regret. Like how Rodney thought the guy was Billy. 

It was a pact you made your senior year of high school. You said that the only way to never screw up your friendship was to never screw around with each other. While there’s been brief kisses and fleeting touches, it never went further than that. Ever. You both accepted that. Rodney knew that, but he’d always said he didn’t believe it. He would tease you about what you’d told him about high school. About that prom that Billy rented a suit at the last minute to be your date. About the time Billy beat up a handful of guys on the football team when they were harassing you at a party. About how Billy was your first kiss after that fight, sophomore year under a street lamp in the rain. Rodney said there was no way nothing ever happened. You never told him how much you had wanted something to. 

You got to Wendy’s apartment and Billy started grabbing boxes before you could stop him. At least you had an extra pair of hands. It took less than an hour to get all of your things up the stairs, but you didn’t have that much to begin with. Wendy was at work, so she had given you a spare key to let yourself in. You set all the boxes down before you could feel yourself breaking down again. You had failed. How could a person fuck up this much by the age of 22? 

“This is a pretty nice place.” Billy noted, turning around to see the tears on your face. He just held out his arms and you ran to him. “Everything is going to turn out okay. You know that everybody is here for you. Hell, I’m surprised Jules hasn’t stormed his office yet.” He chuckled and you felt his chest rise and fall. He pulled back slightly. “And you’ve got me. Always.” 

You don’t know if it was your emotional state or years of holding back that made you kiss him. But once you started, you just couldn’t stop. And neither could he. One of you found a bottle of wine in the fridge and everything just became a mess of drinking, kissing, taking off each other’s clothes. 

“God, I can’t believe it has taken us this long.” Billy sighed, falling back onto the sofa. 

“Don’t even get me started.”

- 

You’re pretty sure you were still drunk when you woke up with Billy’s body pressed against yours, his breath lightly blowing against the back of your neck as he slept. Shit. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit.” You whispered to yourself, trying to move, but he was holding onto you pretty tightly. This couldn’t happen. The gates you had kept closed for so many years came flooding open and you were forced to face a truth you’d been denying since high school. You loved him. And not in a best-friend kind of way. You wanted him. More than anything you could ever remember wanting. Maybe that’s the real reason you cheated on Rodney. How fucked up is that? 

“Hey.” You could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice as his arms shifted around you. “You want another drink?” At least he was enjoying this. He’d probably forget it in the morning. You forced yourself out of his embrace and he gave you a confused look. 

“We promised we would never do this.” You muttered, gathering up your clothes. 

“What?”

“There’s a reason that we never went past kissing, Billy!” You hadn’t meant to yell, but your brain was too hazy to care. “We made a pact that we would never fuck and now everything is different.” 

“Why does it have to be different?” Of course this didn’t mean anything to him. Why should have you expected something else?

“It’s different because I-” You couldn’t say it. If sleeping together didn’t ruin your friendship, saying it would. You threw on your pants and Billy started to get up from the couch as you pulled your shirt over your head. 

“Can you just wait a second?” He huffed, but your hand was on the door handle already. You were going to Kevin’s. If anybody could talk you out of being in love with your best friend, it was Kevin. Billy grabbed your hand. “Y/N.”

“This was a mistake.” You snapped and slammed the door behind you, passing a very confused Wendy on the way down the stairs. 

Wendy didn’t have to unlock her apartment door. Billy emerged, pulling his shirt over his head. She froze. 

“You too…”

“Not now, Wendy.” He huffed, storming down the hall.

He went to Jules’ to talk. Jules was honest. He knew she wouldn’t bullshit him. He didn’t anticipate the slap, though.

“You did what?” She shrieked. 

“We slept together.” He repeated, rubbing his cheek. She looked like she was going to hit him again so he ducked. “Look, I thought you guys were all waiting for this to happen, why are you so surprised?”

“Because I figured if you guys slept together you would be together, Billy.” She yanked him into her apartment. 

“Could you keep your voice down, my head is killing me.” He whined. Man, how much did the two of you drink?

“Billy, do you know what this is going to do to her?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think you guys have never done it before?” She gave him an accusing stare. He did come over here for her honesty, which was his own fault. He thought for a moment.

“We made this promise in school that we wouldn’t.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know-”

“Because you didn’t want to screw up your friendship by screwing!”

“Again, Jules, with the yelling.”

“Billy, she’s in love with you.” Jules finally blurted. “She has been since high school.” Before Billy could respond, Jules’ phone started ringing. She glared at him and motioned for him to sit on the couch before answering. “Alec?”

There was a long pause and Jules’ face changed. Her eyes got wide and stared at Billy with an expression that was unusual for her. Worry. 

“Okay, Alec, slow down. Billy is with me right now and we’ll be right there. I’m sure everything is going to be fine. I’ll see you there.” Jules immediately grabbed the keys to her jeep and pulled Billy off of the couch. “We have to go.”

“What’s going on?”

“Everybody is heading to the hospital. We have to go now.” 

“Jules, what the hell are you-”

“Y/N crashed her car.” She stated bluntly, though the panic in her voice was real. “Alec is freaking out. He says they don’t know if she’s okay or not because the doctors won’t tell him anything because he isn’t family.” Billy hardly processed a word. All he understood was that Y/N was in the hospital. And it was his fault. 

-

Alec was pacing like a madman. He knew something was wrong. He knew it. He should have said something. When he saw Jules rushing down the hall with Billy in tow, he had to restrain himself from screaming at him right there. He grabbed him by the color and pulled him into the men’s room. 

“What happened?” He questioned, his tone actually kind of frightening. Billy shoved him off. 

“How should I know?”

“Because she tells you everything!” Alec was scared. Really scared. Y/N was like his sister. Billy just never realised how much she meant to him. “Billy, I picked Y/N up walking in the rain in the middle of the night last night. She was a mess. And now, she crashes her car? I overheard the cops saying something about alcohol in her system. What the hell happened?”

Billy started to walk away. He couldn’t deal with the accusing glares anymore. Alec just scoffed and crossed his arms. 

“Do you even care?” Billy froze. 

“What did you say?”

“I said do you even care?” Alec’s stare was cold and Billy just snapped. He walked back towards Alec with clenched fists.

“Because I couldn’t possibly care about anything right? Billy’s the group fuck up who only cares about himself. Is that it?” He pushed Alce backwards. “Is that it!” 

“Billy-”

“Billy couldn’t love anybody. He just isn’t capable. He doesn’t love his kid, he doesn’t love his friends, he can’t love the girl he’s wanted to be with since high school!” He had Alec backed into the corner now. He was breathing heavily from yelling and Alec’s expression had softened. 

“I didn’t know.” Alec said sympathetically. 

“Yeah, well, none of you know.” Billy huffed, shoving his fists in his pockets and walking out. 

Kevin and Kirby were back with coffee for everyone and Wendy had stopped crying. Leslie had finally found someone who could give some information as to what was going on. Billy kept his distance from everyone, leaning against the waiting room wall. When Alec joined everyone, he gave him an apologetic look which Billy ignored. Everybody was tense. Even Jules’ easy-going demeanor had dimmed with worry. Leslie came away from the nurse and everyone gathered around her. 

“They said we can go back and see her. She’s got a couple of scraps and bruises and a mild concussion, but she’s going to be fine.” A collective sigh of relief filled the air. Everyone was eager to go back, but Alec put up a hand to stop them. 

“I think Billy should have a moment alone.” He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Billy nodded and wandered the halls until he found the room. You were sitting up on the bed, head in your hands. 

“Knock knock.” 

You looked up as Billy entered with an awkward smile on his face. You were off the bed and in his arms in the blink of an eye. He laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I guess you should have let me drive.” You punched his arm, but it made you laugh through your tears nonetheless. He pushed back and forced you to look at him. “What were you thinking?” You just shrugged. 

“I wasn’t.” You sat down on the side of the hospital bed and he sat beside you. “When I woke up and you were the one holding me, I realized that I didn’t want anyone else to ever hold me like that. I just wanted you. So I figured Kevin could talk me out of it.” 

“Ah, good old Kevin.” Billy noted humorously, but his expression was serious. 

“I’m sorry about this morning. I screwed up everything else in my life. I just didn’t want to lose you.” 

“You’re not getting rid of me, Y/N.” He smiled. “Besides, you're not the only one to screw up.”

“What do you mean?”

“We got the annulment. Felisha’s getting remarried in a couple of weeks to a guy who can actually take care of her and Melody.” He knew it was the right thing. He was never going to be the father she needed. You blew out a breath. 

“I just want everything to go back to the way it was. Not with Rodney, but just the way we all were in college. Fearless. Stupid. Young.” You sighed. Billy put a comforting hand on your knee and you laid your head on his shoulder. 

“We’re all changing. And maybe it’s for the better, maybe it’s not, but it’s happening.” 

You sat for a moment, taking in his words. He was right. You couldn’t stop life from happening. And while you didn’t know what the two of you were anymore, you knew that you would always have him.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[alkae]

They were Roommates

Chapter Seven

As he always did, he panicked.

He ran straight for the communal bathroom, locked himself in the last stall and then called Nuru. She answered with a sleep, “Hello?”

“Nuru!” Varian practically shouted. He could hear her flinching. “I’ve got it bad. I’ve got it really bad.”

There was a pause. “Are you sick?” Nuru finally asked hesitantly.

Varian shook his head before reminding himself that she couldn’t see him. “No! I got it bad for a certain blonde haired asshole.”

Another pause. “Draco Malfoy?”

She was fucking with him. “Nuru,” he snapped impatiently. “This is serious. I am having a crisis. I like a guy who doesn’t even like me back and he’s my roommate so if he finds out and rejects me, it’s gonna be awkward as hell.”

Nuru was silent again but this time she was contemplative. “Varian,” she said finally, “I don’t think Hugo will reject you.”

Varian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Hugo likes you too.”

“Nuru, he doesn’t.”

“And how do you know that?” she shoots back.

Varian checks to see if anyone else has come in before saying, “At the party Hugo dragged me to. He was making out with a girl. So yeah, not into me.” He felt a lump in his throat and promptly swallowed it.

He expected sympathy but all Nuru did was sigh in annoyance. “Hugo is either a fucking idiot or a huge fucking idiot,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“He was probably trying to make you jealous,” Nuru said reasonably. “It was stupid of him but he did it anyway.”

“Nuru come on, he was making out with her long before I came in.”

“Hmm.” Varian could see her tapping her chin in thought. “What color hair did she have?”

“What?”

“Answer the question, V.”

“Uh.” Varian closed his eyes and forced himself to picture the scene and the girl. “It was kinda hard to see but her hair was definitely dark.”

“Black dark?”

“Maybe.”

“And how long was her hair?”

“How is this relevant-”

“V!”

“Okay!” He tried to picture it. Now that he considered it, she didn’t have that long of hair. It was a pixie cut in fact. He told Nuru this.

Nuru was silent and then she burst into laughter. “What? What’s wrong?” Varian demanded.

She wouldn’t stop laughing. Finally, between breaths, she said, “Oh my god, you chose the stupidest fucking guy in the world.” She calmed down and added, “There’s no way in hell he’ll reject you, Varian.”

“But-”

“Hey. I’m your best friend. Would you ever doubt your best friend?”

“Well…”

“Don’t answer that,” Nuru said quickly. “Anyway, trust me. You’re both stupid and he likes you and you need to ask him out.”

“And if I get rejected?” Varian asks, voice quieting.

Nuru’s quiets too. “Then I’m sorry. You can blame me and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

Varian felt himself smiling. He loved Nuru, he really did. “Thanks, N.”

“Anything for you, V.”

Varian was still smiling as he hung up. His heart was beating rapidly but he chose to ignore it.

Even if Hugo rejected him, he still had Nuru by his side, guarding his back. And honestly, that was enough for him.

~~

Hugo was going out again, Varian noted, annoyed.

And he had the nerve to turn to Varian, grinning, and say, “Why don’t you come with me again?”

And Varian laughed and said, “Fuck no, you are on your own, McCoy.”

Hugo pouted. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you have fun last time?”

“No, I didn’t,” Varian said, temper rising for some reason. The image of Hugo and the girl was fresh in his mind. “What part of me leaving don’t you get? I didn’t enjoy myself because it just isn’t my thing.”

“So what, you're just gonna be a pathetic wallflower for the rest of your life?” Hugo snapped. His eyes instantly widened. “Wait, I didn’t-”

Varian stopped him. “Yes, I will be. And if you don’t like that, if that isn’t enough for your high McCoy standards, then you can get the fuck out.” He didn’t know what came over him but he was unnaturally mean. Maybe it was the fact that Hugo, his crush, was going to yet another party to be with someone else. And Varian couldn’t stop him. He’d be cruel to.

Hugo sputtered. “That’s not-you’re-Ruddiger-” He sighed and took a deep breath. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go without you.” And he promptly turned and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Varian stuck his tongue out at it, heart falling in his chest.

Fine, he thought. I’ll just do my homework without him.

And he did just that until around 1am when Hugo came bursting through the door. Instantly, Varian knew something was wrong when he noticed that Hugo was drunk out of his mind. He stood from his desk chair and went over to Hugo so fast he might as well have teleported. “Hugo! Jesus Christ, you’re wasted.”

Hugo leaned on Varian, muttering something under his breath, tripping over his own feet. Varian put an arm around his waist and his shoulder and held him up. “Dammit, Hugo, what did you do?”

“I drunk,” Hugo slurred. “I drunk and drunk and drunk until I couldn’t.” He tripped again and Varian caught him.

“Dammit,” Varian said again. Hugo giggled. “What’s so funny?”

“You.” He giggled again. “You and your freckly face and your stupid blue streak.”

“Thanks. You’re going to bed.”

“What noooo. Varian, don’t make me go to bed.”

Varian promptly ignored the fact that Hugo called him by his given name instead dragging him to his bed as Hugo chanted, “Freckle face. Freckle face.”

He was going to punch him in the morning for this.

He sat Hugo onto his bed and took off his shoes, socks and glasses. Then he laid him down on his bed, bringing the covers up to his chin. He got a water bottle and aspirin and set it on Hugo’s nightstand.

“You’re so good to me, Varian,” Hugo muttered.

Varian tried to ignore him but he froze when Hugo said, “You’re so cute when you’re mad. That’s why I tease you all the time. Cause your face gets all red and your freckles pop and I love all those cute little freckles.”

Slowly, Varian faced Hugo, jaw dropped. He picked it up and said, “Hugo. You are extremely drunk. You’re going to regret saying this in the morning.”

“You don’t know that,” Hugo said grumpily. Varian sighed and turned back around. Ignore him, ignore him. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

“Oh? And what don’t I know?” Varian asked, mostly just to humor him. Hugo didn’t reply so Varian started to get himself ready for bed. As he walked to the door, he heard Hugo’s voice behind him.

“I love you.”

Varian froze and then turned in place. “I’m sorry what?”

“I love you. A lot. I have for a while. It’s made me sad.” Hugo yawned. “Goodnight, Varian.” And the asshole promptly fell asleep.

Varian’s back slammed against the door and he sank to the ground. He put his head in his hands and tried not to scream.

Hugo confessed. But was he just drunk or was he telling the truth?

Feelings were messy. Varian hated them so much.

Eventually, he got to his feet and wandered to Nuru’s dorm. He knocked on her door, head elsewhere.

She answered looking annoyed. “What do you want, V? It’s 1 fucking am.”

“Hugo said he loved me,” Varian blurted. Nuru blinked at him.

“That’s...good?”

“No it isn’t! Because he’s drunk and I have no clue if he’s being serious or not.”

“Varian you know what I think.”

“I do know. But I also know that people say stupid shit when they’re drunk.” Varian hung his head. “Nuru,” he said quietly, “I have no clue what I’m going to do if he tells me he was just drunk.”

Her face softened. “Varian.” She opened her arms and held Varian as he crumpled.

After all the shit he’s been through, this shouldn’t be what broke him. He had just been to confessed to and here he was crying in his best friend’s arms. Hugo McCoy was the best and worst thing to happen to him.

He loved him though. And he didn’t regret it.

Nuru let him sleep in her room. “I’ll sleep in Yvonne’s bed,” she said, barely hiding her glee when Yvonne didn’t mind at all. Varian was happy for his friend but right now, all he wanted to do was collapse onto his bed and sleep.

He woke up to Nuru knocking him on the head. “Wake up V,” she said. “You have a boy to talk to.”

As Varian got ready to leave, Nuru and Yvonne sat on Yvonne’s bed giving him pointers. “And remember, eye contact is very important,” Yvonne said.

“Yeah yeah I know,” Varian muttered. He was nervous about meeting Hugo again after last night. He was tempted to just walk in and ignore it but he knew Nuru would never forgive him for that. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Nuru said, voice gentle.

“How do you know that?”

“Well, he did confess his love to you, right?” Varian nodded. “Most people don’t drunkenly confess their love to their friends.”

Varian chuckled. “I guess. Thanks Nuru.” He nodded to Yvonne. “Nice to meet you.”

She waved from the bed and Varian headed out back to his dorm.

When he got there, Hugo was sitting on his bed, staring at his feet. He startled when Varian came in. “Hairstripe,” he said in greeting.

“Undercut,” Varian replied. He sat down at his desk, mind racing. Should he just ask now? Nuru’s voice came to him. Why wait? “You came in drunk last night,” he said, voice feigning casual.

Hugo stiffened. “Sorry about that,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” Varian said quickly. He bit his lip. Here was the big question. “Do you… remember anything you said last night?”

Hugo said nothing. Varian stood and approached him as if he were approaching a scared dog. “You said you were in love with me,” Varian continued. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, so loud he was afraid that Hugo could hear it.

Said boy glanced away nervously, rubbing a hand on his neck. “Look, Varian,” he said, “I was drunk and didn’t know what I was saying.”

This is what he was afraid of. But Varian saw in Hugo’s eyes that he was nervous. And probably lying. So he said, “Hugo. People don’t normally drunkenly confess their love to someone. Or compliment their freckles. So don’t try to pull that bullshit with me.”

Hugo startled. “Are you… okay with that?” he said. “Me loving you?”

Varian wanted to scream in frustration. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know!” Hugo stood quickly. “Because you have never shown interest in anyone before. Because you yelled at me like I killed your family last night. Because you clearly see me as nothing but a friend.”

“Stop assuming shit about me,” Varian snapped. “You don’t know what I see you as.”

“So what do you see me as?” Hugo asked impatiently. “What am I to you Varian?”

Varian paused. Hugo was a lot to him. His roommate. His lab partner. His friend. Maybe even his best friend. “You’re my first,” he settled with. He wanted to hit himself.

“Your first what?”

“My first crush. My first love. First roommate, first partner.” Varian chuckled. “First person to spill coffee on me and then immediately try to flirt after.”

That got Hugo to chuckle too. “It worked didn’t it?”

Varian’s face softened into a gentle smile. “Yeah it did. After a lot of attempts.”

Hugo looked at him, face still uncertain. “I didn’t know you liked guys,” he admitted.

“Neither did I. But I loved you anyway.”

Hugo breathed out a laugh. “So you’re serious? You’re not fucking with me?”

Varian shrugged, trying to be smooth. “Kiss me and find out.”

He didn’t have time to think before Hugo was on him, kissing him hard. He didn’t even hesitate to kiss back, hands finding their way around Hugo’s neck, Hugo’s hands on his waist. After many blissful moments, Hugo pulled away. “I love you, Varian.”

Varian rested his head on Hugo’s shoulder. “And I love you, Hugo.”

They stayed like that, enjoying each other’s warmth before Varian startled. “Oh right!”

“What?” Hugo asked, confused.

Varian grinned. “You haven’t met Nuru yet!”

Previous Next

[hughiecampbelle]

Skin Crawler (Geralt of Rivia Oneshot)

Character/s: Geralt

Word Count: 1,342

Inspired By: going bonkers in quarantine :)

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @biscottibitch @randomfandomimagine @fangirlsarah16

A/N: Writers block hit ya gurl like train recently. I've had so many ideas, but everything I write and continue to write feels wrong. Tonight though, I made it my mission to finish this fic! It turned out better than I expected, but I'm still really unsure.... Been stressed with family and about getting my results back from a school I wanna transfer to and it's gotten in the way of all writing and creativity, not just for fics. Gotta work through it and try my best, even if I'm unsure about the end result, right? Anyways, I hope you like it my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

A myth. A legend. A story sewn through the years, from the mouths of babes, their toothless tales warping, drooling over the past, becoming mutilated with every new generation. The image of this creature, this beast, torn to shreds. Pulled apart limb by limb, tendon by tendon, strings of veins delicately plucked and knotted back together. It all depended on the family, the area, the one who told it's history. The creative freedom genetic, hereditary. The personal fears of the speaker embedded in the body of the beast. Big eyes. Six limbs. Sharp teeth. Claws. Eventually, it became truth. Fights, wars even, broke out when some dare utter it's name in public, drunkenly letting it slip past their lips. There was only one thing the masses could agteen on: it always came with a bloodlust. A hunger for bone, a want for flesh, something that could never be hushed. Across lands, even the most isolated places, feared this thing chewing them up and spitting them out.

A cursed thing. Hundreds of years pass by, and yet they still cower at the name. Children brought up to fear these things, warned that a death wish rest in the woods if they ever went alone when the sun went down. Deep within, that's where they lay. They used to be countless. Infinite. In packs all over the world. There was strength in numbers. Was. People of the past, they grew tired of being scared. Exhausted of fear, of terror, wanting something better for their children, for the future. They wanted the light to shine again. Sending their best, their biggest, to fight, to kill, to put an end to the terror. Some came back. Some didn't. Those that did carried skins of their backs of scales, of fur, whatever it was those things looked like. Massive. Night after night, a kiss on the cheek, a promise to come back safe, sending them off into the uninown. It wasn't immediate. It wasn't easy. It was a long, hard war, but they never stopped. Not until there was only one left. Going into hiding. Receeding, shying away for as long as it could, for as long as they were willing to hunt.

This time it was the one that was afraid. Unsure if it would live another night.

It would, though. Lived in hiding. Watching, one by one, the hunters grow grey, their kin grow up, grow old. Waiting long enough for them to trade their weapons for words. Creeping out of its prison, spotted in the night. Screams for help, for safety, looking for someone to put an end to the nightmares permanently. That's where he came in. Something of a beast himself. Split between the two worlds. They hoped he could think like it, see what makes it tick. Track it down and kill it. A poor people, putting whatever they had together as payment. Do whatever it takes to get rid of it. For too long they'd been haunted by ghosts, too long they went without a happy ending. He was that. He would be the golden eyed knight in shining armor risking his life to save them, his image stitched along the rest of the story, bringing it to an end.

He'd always had a fascination for it. A life as long as ten mens, an image created by weary eyes and infinite imagination. He'd seen more creatures than he could count, than he could name, but this was something special. Finally, something worth fighting for. It could have had the face of a million things created by man, compared to every living beast that ever wept under the sun. Beautiful and delicate, or broad, strong. As soft as a cub or razor sharp as a blade. This unfamiliar feeling settling in his gut, putting him off ale for the first time he could remember. It woke him from his sleep, filling his dreams with terror. Unlike the very thing he would slay in a few short hours, this had a name. This was familiar. This was doubt. This was uncertainty.

Geralt dressed at dusk. Nocturnal, they said. He begged to differ. He'd lived as both man and monstrosity. Sometimes it was safer to use the night as a cloak of protection, of invisibility. Whatever it was, it was smart. It wasn't new to survival. Part of him pitied it. The last of its name, like him. What a lonely world it must be. He made his way through the trails, going where no man dared, the grass that had been kicked up and trudged through growing thicker the further he went. Left his horse behind with a final goodbye. This was his own battle. One, he realized, he might not come back from. Everything too often ended in death. He could only hope it would not be his own.

You watched him, caught sight of his moonlit hair through the thick of the woods. Angry, determined, but there was something else in his footsteps, something greater: panic. His racing heartbeat like a drum, faster and faster, frantic with every step closer. Lived in the caves, beyond what the eye of man could see. He believed them, he trusted them, and now he had to trust you. Sword in hand, shiny, glittering, aching to tear the world in two. You huddled against the walls, crouching in the dark. He wasn't like them, you realized. Those men, those brutes, slaughtering mindlessly, praying on the weak, celebrating death. You'd watched them carry the skins of your friends on their backs, mourning their own and cheering on bloodshed all in the same breath. He came alone, taking the weight of it all on his own broken shoulders.

Reaching the mouth of the cave, the den that cradled you all these years, he sighed. The light ending, sending him into the abyss. You couldn't let him hurt you. You couldn't let him believe these ancient lies any longer. He had to know the truth. You had to show him the truth. Letting out a whimper, leaving him something to follow. Cautious, he stepped, his knees weak. What would he find? What would he finally come face to face with after all? His hand free hand outstretched, his other raised with the sword. You stuck your face out, eye to with him, bracing for the sharp edge of something sweet to slice through your neck in seconds, readying for your fate. Geralt dropped his weapon, his breath catching in his throat. Realization sinking in, flooding his body with relief, with guilt, with an overwhelming urge to cry. He'd been prepared to see anything. A dozen legs. None rows of teeth. The howl of a thousand screeching sirens. His worst nightmare, even. But not this.

Not your eyes. Not the very thing he fell in love with centuries ago.

They were right, after all. A curse. An unlucky bunch. One after the other, stumbling in the woods alone when the moon was full and the stars were alive. You never saw her coming. Blinded, dragged, no use in fighting. Thrown in the middle of their den. Screeching, crying, these creatures wailing. Not out of anger, but terror. Escaping the light of the lantern, avoiding the eyes of a woman. Beneath her cloak she became hysterical, throwing it in their faces, watching them wail. She found comedy within their pain. Each backing away, pawing at the rocky walls. You hadn't realized it until it was too late. They were just like you. And now, you would be like them. A kiss, soft, sad, an apology before she got to work, did what she'd intended to do. A witch, as close to one as you'd ever come. Your body torn apart, bones broken, blood vessels bursting, reborn into something new. Something bigger. Less human, more monster. She threw what you used to be in the trails, warning folks away. They didn't understand, though. Reading the messages all wrong.

Those beasts, they weren't feeding off those people. They were those people.

[dani-camp]

“   if   i   don’t   leave   now ,   i   will   never   get   away  .   ”

prescott, arizona, 1885

he’d found her in a saloon. he’d all but dragged himself from parker’s deathbed at the inn to the bar, covered in dust and dirt and flecks of blood. everyone ignored him except the bartender, on account of his appearance and the shotgun strapped to his back. he drank whiskey after whiskey for an unknown amount of time, ignoring the tinny piano music and the girls with their breasts pushed up to their ears and the clunk of boots of the men as they sat nearby and stared, wondering who he was or what he was doing there. it was possible that someone recognized him, or at least recognized what kind of person he was. it was also possible that the saloon was a “whites only” establishment and he hadn’t taken the time to notice or care. 

his entire crew was dead. they’d robbed a general store somewhere south of prescott nearly a month earlier, one that had gone horribly wrong and left innocent people dead. the lawmen had ambushed them a few days before, riddling their hideout with bullets while jackson was out gathering supplies and he’d come back to two of his fellow outlaws dead and his partner on his way there. the bullet was lodged just so to ensure a lengthy and painful death and the people had lynched the leader and now jackson was really truly alone. and he couldn’t survive alone, that much he’d learned in the west. jackson had just begun to think so when laney grabbed his attention, her bold makeup and ribboned corset doing nothing to hide the signs of her youth or easy upbringing--unblemished skin, stark white teeth, unmarked hands.

this was made all the more surprising by the fact that she had easily plucked the wallet and revolver from the pockets of one of the men at the poker table, and held it only a foot away from his heart as she pulled bills from the wallet, enough to cover what he owed her and then a little more for her trouble. all eyes were trained on her and no one moved to stop her even as she expertly removed the bullets from the revolver and placed the disemboweled gun back on the poker table. everything about her shouted that she could’ve done worse and the john was lucky that she had simply chosen not to. laney handed the bullets to the bartender demurely, like a child handing over a slingshot they’d been forbidden to play with, and another saloon girl sidled up to the bar between them so jackson’s left ear could hear “don’t worry, we won’t let him show his face here again, dee,” before she disappeared. laney and jackson’s eyes met on either side of the now-empty space and held them for a very long time, long enough that only jackson’s drunkenly watering eyes could force them to break. 

the next night, he came prepared. he’d stolen a horse from a farmer a little ways off and plucked the farmer’s daughter’s dusty clothes from the clothesline. parker’s guns were cleaned and ready for gifting. it was only a matter of convincing the girl, who looked soft and small as a peach but could be tough-as-nails. it actually took very little convincing once he’d gotten her alone in a room with him, already beginning to undo the garter on her thigh before he quickly explained that he only wanted partnership from her. she was the perfect conman with her sweet young face and high voice, unafraid of men or guns or going to sleep with an empty belly. laney had traveled to the west for exactly this; adventure and travel and something that was not being a rich man’s daughter and then becoming a rich man’s wife and then becoming a rich man’s mother. it was just that adventure and travel was hard to find when women could only make their own money inside the walls of a bedroom. it wasn’t as bad for laney as it was for others. but she’d seen enough--girls bleeding out, girls drinking laudanum, girls getting pregnant--to know she wanted out.

they would not kill anyone if they could help it, that was the agreement. it was easy for jackson to agree--though rumored differently, he had not in fact ever killed anyone. the goal was always to make enough money to one day live honestly but running was expensive. he said he was known as jumpin’ jj, on account of how high he could make a horse jump. she said she was dee deadwood. they both knew it was not their real names. 

they traveled through the desert slowly at first. the nights were frigid and their food was canned and the horses needed half of it if they were going to get anywhere. then they ambushed their way into ownership of a wagon that covered them from the sun and jackson shot down an antelope that cooked nicely over a campfire and laney was quick enough to grab the money out of the tailor’s register when he turned away to box her hat, and they were well on their way to land that was green and near the ocean. the concept of an angel-faced girl lying her way into crime was crazy on it own, absolutely sensational when partnered with the lone survivor of one of the most notorious gangs in arizona, and within a matter of a few newspaper publications, they were known as jumpin’ jj and danger dee, outlaws of the wild west. 

sometimes ‘partner’ was just another name for ‘lover’ and both grew steadily more aware of this fact. jackson stopped only watching the tree line when laney bathed in rivers and laney did not always pull her body away from his when she woke up before him in the mornings. after a stolen night of dancing and drinking and smoking cigars in calico, he admitted his name was jackson collins, only he didn’t like his last name because it had also been the last name of the man who’d owned his parents. much drunker than him, laney said, nonsensically on several counts, “we can get married and you can have mine.” the following day, with their wagon pulled of the road to allow their horses to graze, they shared a can of apricots. they poked their fingers in the can to pinch a piece of apricot out one-at-a-time at first, careful not to cut themselves on the edge. then they were chuckling because theirs hands had bumped one another’s above the can, forgetting whose turn it was, and then jackson playfully fed laney his apricot, brushing her tongue with the pad of his finger and then laney was doing the same to him, and then they were kissing and kissing and kissing. “delaney o’neil,” laney said just as they parted, like she’d been trying to tell him all along and only a kiss would set her secret free. 

they ransacked empty houses on their way to the coast and had sex on the beach. laney wrote half-true letters to her family back east about jackson, about how happy she was and how well she was doing. they took a room at a boarding house while jackson tried his hand at mining for silver and laney helped the landlady clean for rent (and to keep her from gossiping about their presence there). nothing was wrong but it was not what laney wanted out of life, and after jackson came back to the room dirty and empty-handed several days in a row, he agreed that they should move on elsewhere. after a particularly joyous session of lovemaking, laney convinced him of her plan. they would rob the local bank before heading north. she’d watched it for days and all of the bankers headed to the nearby saloon across the street at the same time to take advantage of the free lunch, locking the door behind them. laney would start a fight at said saloon, providing a distraction while jackson shot the lock open and grabbed everything he could and laney would join him and grab everything she could. then they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted, to build a horse ranch or their own saloon or their own city along the railroad. it would work, it would work.

it did not work. bounty hunters were already on their way to them, asking after them at the saloon as jackson approached the bank. laney realized what was happening and greedily, desperately, shot at the lock anyways, drawing them even nearer. she was so tired of having to hide and run just because she wanted things young women were not supposed to want. jackson only had time to fill one sack with money before he lost his nerve and raced back to the wagon, finding a suddenly-screaming laney being bound by a bounty hunter with a nasty gleam in his eye. jackson could’ve held him at gunpoint to make him get away from her, or punched him, or pistol-whipped him, and bound him, too. but jackson loved laney too much to let anyone touch her like that and so he shot him instead, spattering laney’s front with blood. jackson cut her free, reassuring her she was okay, and laney kicked the corpse in the stomach. gunfire rained down on them as they lurched away in their wagon. 

the way north was blocked; the bounty hunters had the lawmen on their side now. they went back towards the desert, where at least familiarity would be on their side. they used their wanted posters as kindling for fire at night. the wagon fell apart as they rumbled their way too quickly over canyons. no one kept guard when they bathed in the river because they were too busy looking at each other like it’d be the last time. jackson tried to use some of the stolen money to buy her clothes that weren’t blood-stained, which led to lawmen shooting one of the horses down and he almost couldn’t convince laney to leave its side. fires and robberies in cities they’d never been to were blamed on them in the papers. jackson had nightmares that were so bad laney could not wake him from them. laney admitted it aloud one night, watching him attempt to cook a desert lizard over a fire. “we can’t stay together if we want to live, can we?” jackson only kissed and kissed and kissed her. later, unheard over the hiss of the wind blowing through the mountains, a rattlesnake struck her on the thigh as they gazed at the stars. 

returning to prescott was possibly the worst thing jackson could’ve done for himself, but it was the only thing he’d known to do. the madam of the saloon laney used to work in had become an abortionist in the past year and might know how to save her. he rode with her limp against him for hours and hours, ignoring those that gave chase, until the horse died of exhaustion on the outskirts of prescott and then carried her into the saloon and up the stairs. she was awake and breathing, but barely. she was so pale and sweaty and small-looking that it was as if she hadn’t been in the sun for the past year, falling in love and becoming famous and going on adventures. the madam worked away at her leg even as shouts were heard below, saying jumpin jj, saying danger dee. “jackson,” laney breathed, her fingers twisting for him. he kissed her on her forehead and told her clearly so she’d understand in her delusion, “if i don’t leave now, i will never get away.” 

he was right, the madam later told laney, whose panic immediately followed her first real bout of consciousness, not knowing how to cope with waking up without her partner. he’d run out of the room just as boots came clunking up the stairs, she’d been told, just as empty-handed as he was when he came the first time. everyone who asked after danger dee had been told she’d died, which laney supposed was true. her brother appeared at the saloon a few days afterward, having seen her wanted poster and come to collect her body only to find her alive. laney didn’t have it in her to fight anymore when he said he was taking her home back east. jumpin’ jj was never heard from again either. and though it was probably better that jackson was never jumpin’ jj ever again, that was how laney thought of him until her dying day; flying by on a horse, sneaking looks at her naked body over his shoulder, feeding her apricots by the side of a road, staring at her from a foot away as they both leaned on the saloon bar like she was the best thing he’d ever laid eyes on. 

[bow-woahh]

Christmas wouldn't be so bad (with you)

Summary:

Catra wants to reject her responsibilities and problems for one night. Though, she can't avoid the one right in front of her for much longer.

Relationship: Adora/Catra

Words: 1953

Notes:

I KNOW I literally posted chapter 3 of heal me after hurting but I wanted to write something Christmas-y (although idk how much this counts) and it's literally 2am so enjoy!

(read below the cut or here on Ao3)

—––

With the limited supply of alcohol they had, Catra was determined to get drunk. A couple of days before another insufferable Christmas, and a couple of weeks before the workload of school kicked her in the ass and she’d never be able to enjoy herself again– she would get drunk. She had to.

The opportunity was handed to her on a silver platter with her name on it. A friend's birthday party, (a small get together really) parents out, and willingly leaving them with alcohol. That was an opportunity she could not turn down. Even better, she was going to enjoy the night surrounded by her friends, and Adora.

Her best friend. Who, she may have a tiny crush on.

She wanted to cast that thought aside however, cast aside her worries about school, about the future, about her stupid crush and the fact she was still dancing around her mother after coming out, and get as shit-faced as possible.

Thankfully, so far the night looked promising, the atmosphere relaxing and her feeling comfortable around some of her closest friends. Typical of her, she arrived last, surprising Scorpia with a Himalayan salt lamp for her room, saying, “thought it’d look cool with the rest of you stuff,” nonchalant as always, but deep down scared she’d hate it. When she opened it, she screamed and gave Catra a big hug.

Shortly after, she greeted Adora, who seemed surprisingly happy to see her, like she’d missed her, even though it had only been a few days. Huh. She guessed it was normal for friends to behave like that, that it was no big deal, and pushed all the other thoughts of what it could mean to the back of her mind.

Soon enough, the celebration began, and bottles of beer began being passed out. Before the drink even made contact with her mouth, the smell hit her nose and she almost wanted to gag. Almost, but, she got over it and tried some anyway.

“How is it possible that it smells as bad as it tastes?” Adora asked Scorpia, who sat on the stool next to her at the kitchen countertop. Scorpia, who was on the other side, laying out the rest of the drinks and snacks shrugged.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Adora looked and Catra then, and saw how she didn’t say much at all about the bad taste, how she was taking the largest gulps she possibly could (which wasn’t much, but Catra preferred if she didn’t throw up) and took another sip of the beer. It seemed she had a goal tonight too.

Around one and a half in, she was a little buzzed, which was to be expected when prior the most she’s had of any drink was a sip. She though of how her mom would disapprove of this vehemently, and brought her lips up to the cup she’d mixed beer and lemonade in to swallow some more. They had pizza and Adora and her share a whole one. Her half was decorated with peppers and sweet corn, while Adora’s was decorated with pineapple and extra cheese. She happily ate all of it, content sitting around the table with all her friends, laughing at Bow’s dad jokes and Entrapta’s witty quips back. It didn’t quell her desire to be more than just tipsy however. After finishing, she downed the remains of her lemonade and beer, and wandered up to the counter to see what was left. Even with a few skipping out on the drinks completely, and some having very little, their supply was running thin and once it was finished, it was gone— it wasn’t like any of them could go to the shops to get some more.

Still, she took another bottle (one of the last ones) and then Adora was next to her taking another too, as if she was trying to match her pace.

“Tryna compete with me princess?” she said in a teasing tone, leaning in close. She was sure her breath smelt like beer and pizza, not the best combination, but she was getting to the point where she didn’t necessarily care, especially because Adora’s did too.

“If I were, I’m sure I’d win Catra,” she fired back and Catra couldn’t help but raise a brow.

“Someone’s feisty,” she said, which she definitely wouldn’t have if she were sober and sane, and Adora ducked her head down for a second, only to look up and mutter a ‘shut up’ before pushing past her to go sit back at the table with everyone else.

Catra smirked, then went to join her.

After another full bottle and a couple gulps of cider which was passed around, the supply was finished, and Catra definitely wasn’t buzzed anymore. Though, she couldn’t say she was blackout drunk either. It was enough that her problems easily washed away, the most important thing in her mind being what song was to be played. She was having a good time, singing badly and dancing even worse, alongside Adora without a care in the world.

When All I want for Christmas is you, came on, her and Adora obnoxiously belted it to each other, everyone else watching in hysterics or mock disgust, as they danced in between lyrics, laughing at the others clumsiness.

Another song came on after, more slow and sensual, if Catra had to describe it, and they danced to that just like the previous songs, this time a couple others swaying drunkenly along, paying less attention to the two. They were closer, moving to the beat, in time with each other, surroundings growing thinner and vision only focusing on one thing. The moment was quickly shattered however, and whatever happened was put to the side as the attention fell on the two again.

To make a show of it, (and because clearly her decisions were alcohol influenced) she pulled Adora close – to her surprise – by the waist, making everyone cheer, and her flip them off. They part quickly after that, and Adora’s cheeks seem redder than they were before, but Catra figured it was all the beer and the dancing. Adora didn’t like her like that.

A couple songs later and the party had wound down. The high Catra had felt while dancing, the energy she had before was replaced by a more lethargic feeling, slower movements and heavy eyelids as they sat down to watch a movie. They had done face masks and were waiting for them to dry while watching – per Bow’s request – Mean Girls. And Catra couldn’t complain – she’d watched the movie many times before with Adora and secretly loved it. Catra did Adora’s face mask and Adora did Catra’s, which was only slightly a mess. Not to mention having Adora’s fingers on her face, having her so close was—frankly, she was itching to get it off.

Once they peel them off a half hour into the movie, things started to calm down and Catra, who was sharing the sofa with Adora, couldn’t help but try to get closer to her. Still drunk, judgement impaired, room dim, and everyone focused on the film – it was the perfect time. She was waiting for the perfect moment to scoot that slither closer and put her arm around her, but suddenly Adora had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Great. Then, she had a better idea.

When Adora got back, Catra was taking up most of the room, legs sprawled out on the sofa. Displeased, Adora rolled her eyes, trying to communicate her annoyance without disturbing everyone else, and went to sit down on the ground when Catra grabbed her wrist.

“Come here,” Catra practically mouthed, words so faint she was unsure Adora even heard. The unsure, near panicked look told her otherwise, however.

There was a pregnant pause, where Catra was unsure whether Adora would accept the offer or not, where she thought that maybe Adora would find it weird even, but, this was Adora, and she knew Adora. Thankfully, to Catra’s relief, Adora silently accepted the invitation.

Hesitantly, Adora climbed over her body, squeezing between the sofa and Catra, legs entangling and head on chest. Catra sighed, near silent of course, feeling at ease in her drunken state as she watched Mean Girls and cuddled Adora.

No one seemed to take note of it.

Another film (a trashy Christmas romcom) autoplayed after it, and that was when Catra started dozing off, the lack of sleep and alcohol in her body catching up with her. Throughout the film, she went in and out of sleep, catching glimpses of it here and there. Although the image on screen never remained the same, Adora’s body atop of hers did.

By the end of the movie, everyone decided that it was time to call it a night (or morning, since it was past midnight) and Scorpia, realising Catra and Adora were both barely awake a decidedly pretty comfortable, let them stay on the sofa.

However, the ruckus of everyone clambering upstairs and elsewhere to get to their sleeping destinations had completely woken Catra up, and she groaned, continuing to do so until everyone was pretty much gone. Apart from Adora, of course. Alas, even Adora had to get up, the warmth once at Catra’s side was gone as she went to get some water and find her phone charger.

Adora came back after a couple of minutes, sounding agitated as she rummaged through her bag. “Where did I put it?” She said to herself.

Catra, still grumpy from being woken up just groaned again, then said, “Adora, calm down, it’s too late for this shit.”

“Not helpful Catra, and my phone is on 2 percent, I need it!” Adora replied back quickly, crossing the room to look for it. Slightly unbothered, Catra hugged a pillow to her chest, burying her face in it as she tried to block out all the noise Adora was making.  Once Adora was close enough though, she grabbed her wrist once more, stopping her in her tracks, and voice soft, said, “come on, we’ll look for it tomorrow Adora.”

And she listened. Catra pulled her close once more, and Adora let her. Looking up at her, Adora bit her lip before saying with a sigh, “what are we doing Catra?”

“What d’you mean?” Catra asked, afraid she did know what she meant.

“Please don’t say it’s just me who thinks that this isn’t how...friends act.”

Catra froze. “Well, I mean–”

“Is it because you’re drunk? Is that it?” Adora sounded annoyed almost, hurt. It couldn’t be because —

“No, that’s not it!” Catra shut her eyes for a second. “I mean...I s’pose it helps. The alcohol. It makes me more...courageous, y’know, able to do things I wouldn’t do otherwise.”

“Why couldn’t you do them otherwise?” Adora asked, voice in a whisper.

“Because…” Catra took a gulp, anticipating the worst, “because, well, you don’t like me like that. Not like I do.” She waited for Adora to gasp, or move away from her or hell, even say ‘I knew it!’ but none of those ever came.

Instead, Adora let out a small, ‘oh’, and then leant back, properly looking at a Catra before saying, “I think you’re wrong.” Her eyes travelled down to look at her mouth, and stayed there for a few seconds before looking back up into mismatched eyes. Catra subconsciously licked her lips, only adding fuel to the fire, and then distance between their faces seemed to be shrinking, Catra’s lips ghost Adora’s.

Hand cradling cheek, Adora whispered against her lips, “Merry Christmas Catra,” before closing the gap between them.

Maybe, despite everything, Christmas wouldn’t be so bad this year.

***

[kreekey]

He Turns Me On, But Doesn’t Touch Me

Chapter 1/?: “I must have been frightened of the fag in me to get so angry.”

Pairing: John Lennon/Paul McCartney

Genre: Angst, Hurt

Words:  2131

Summary:  

“If John were a homosexual, I would’ve thought he would have made a pass at me in 20 years, wouldn’t you?” - Paul McCartney disputing the claims that Lennon had homosexual affairs, 1988

~

Scenes and slices of life in which John desperately tried to hide himself when confronted with these ideas. The ideas that must never be known to his best friend, his life support, his rival, his brother, his partner. Because if John ever let Paul understand the sort of power he had over him, he’d lose everything that ever really mattered. That’s his worst fear, and he goes to terrible lengths attempting to ensure it’s never realized…. But maybe, in the end, John can learn to let it go. Even if that means a life without the person who used to mean everything.

(See the AO3 Post for author’s notes) 

“The truth is that John was really a great guy. Really, a nice fella. But, you get the sort of stress that the Beatles got… if you’re not that stable … It’s tough.”

~

John Lennon was standing in the middle of a room crowded with everyone he knew and then some. It was Paul’s aunt’s house, a pleasant place in the middle of suburban Liverpool (which almost sounds like a misnomer). Paul’s family was there, too. It was McCartney’s twenty-first birthday, after all. It was a strange intermingling of Paul’s polite, traditional family and his mates who were like, well, John. He felt as out of place as a drunkard in a convent, which was almost what he was at the moment. John had a great deal to drink at the party and very little to eat.

He was on his umpteenth ale ever since Paul had left him to fend for himself. It’s better to avoid the inevitable embarrassment of a drunk Lennon, especially when surrounded by conservative family. John felt sick, surrounded by gits who kept trying to make polite conversation. George had gone off somewhere with his bird and Ringo left soon afterward. He thought he saw Paul go into the back garden with the redhead and some other pathetic band and a rocker. John told himself that the fresh air was freezing and would only make him be sick and make a mess in front of everyone. He’d better stay here, staring at the wall alone and drinking the home dry. Cynthia was still around there somewhere, but that didn’t do anything for him anymore.

He spotted Brian off in another room, mingling effortlessly with the gits. John couldn’t help but like him anyway. Brian was the one who reassured the band of their talent and John of his worth. Eppy made things comfortable, even if John knew he was desperate to do something like toss him off. It was almost a love affair, but not quite. 

Their time together in Barcelona was telling - that was the sort of thing that worried him. It was his first experience with a homosexual that John was conscious was homosexual. John would never bother finding out how lonely and overworked Cyn was when he left only weeks after their son was born. Neither did he realize his mates whispering about them when he and Brian left. Paul once joked that John sucked Eppy off to get his name first in the song credits. That’s one of the stories one of John’s mates in the pub told him, anyway. But he’s been told much worse rumours about himself. The type that left John staring at the ceiling late at night. He left his family weeks after marriage to go on a trip with a queer because he was a bastard and he knew it.

John was staring at the house’s pale, flowery wallpaper when Bob Wooler walked up to him with a smug smile on his face. He had helped John’s little band to do something worthwhile, a rare sight so far in their careers. The Cavern made half the memories that pushed the band to keep on going. John offered a nod at the familiar face.

“How are you, Johnny?” Bob offered his hand and John immediately shook it. “I haven’t seen you since before you went on that trip with Brian. How was Spain?” 

“’s good to see you, Bob,” John said.

“Already drunk as a poet, Lennon? Ay, I’d be too, if I had to show my face after going off with a queer.” Bob gestured to Brian standing in a separate crowd, leaning back to get a good look at him. “How was he, John? Did you enjoy it, then?”

John furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t - ” he muttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bob.” He fiddled with the collar on his wrist and let out a scoff disguised as a chuckle.

Now Bob smirked. He tilted his head downwards and raised his eyebrows, trying to meet John’s nervous eyes. “It’s all over the papers now. Go ‘ed, tell me. Did you like it?”   John sputtered and his mouth went dry.

Bob added, “I understand, mate. Brian’s a good-looking fella. Go on, look at him.” John turned to where Bob had pointed, and he was right. Brian was making someone smile, comforting them. He glowing underneath the light, so much so that John stared. That was a memory from Barcelona. Bob suddenly grabbed John’s package and groped it roughly, laughing in his ear, “Does he really get you that fucking randy, John?” 

Quickly, John’s eyes panicked, not wanting to face Bob or Brian or, really, anybody. As his eyes darted around the room, he and Cynthia made accidental eye contact. Bob was pushed off, cruelly chuckling along the way. John’s face grew hotter and he spat, “Don’t touch me, you fuckin’ divvy.” 

As Cyn walked towards them, John turned away. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. Not here. He tried to find another bottle of drink, or someone to talk to, or a bird to fool around with. Mainly a bottle of drink, to be honest. Anything to escape this. Cyn started saying something to John about Julian and getting home. She was always trying to help him. It was obvious John needed it in his life. But John didn’t hear her. He was busy desperately stealing someone’s half-drank pint and washing out everybody around him.

“Come on John, tell me.” Bob stroked the back of John’s back. His warmth radiated on the back of John’s neck. Cyn watched on.

“Fuck off, Bob. I mean it.” 

“Tell me about you and Brian, we all know.”

“I’m not a queer.”

“John, please. Don’t listen to him,” Cynthia urged.

Bob snorted. “Come on, do you need your ‘wife’ to come in your defense, John?”

“Mr. Wooler, no - ”

And that was his wife speaking now, trying to politely bicker with Bob to leave John alone, he’s so drunk, please. Everything slipped out of John’s grasp as Bob was trying to charm his wife away, soothing her and reassuring her with lies and jokes. John could swear she was almost in tears, and John wondered if Bob could tell or if Cyn could tell or if -

Then John looked up from his drink and somehow met eyes with Paul, who had made it inside now. He was watching them from across the room, against the purple petunias of the wallpaper. How long? How much could he hear from there? Could Paul see John’s flushed face? Or white knuckles due to the tight hold on his drink as he was trying to ground himself wherever he could? Could Paul see John’s shaky eyes, trying to forget the memories of Barcelona, at least in front of his mate? John felt he was wearing his shame and Paul was about to kick him out for disgusting everyone around him.

Paul’s expression was unreadable, whether from the beer or the glasses John left at home. But he could tell Paul’s eyes were wide, his lips parted, and his eyebrows were slightly raised. He reminded him of a boy who had caught mommy kissing Santa Claus - or a boy who’d caught a glimpse of Mummy living in sin with Bobby Dykins while Father was away. This was a glimpse of something he wasn’t supposed to see. That he didn’t want to see or even realize. Something that disgusted him.

Paul was staring at John now - really looking at him, reminded of all those Hamburg nights - and he didn’t turn his gaze because John could swear Paul could tell what was happening. After all, Paul could always tell. Paul looked at him just like this after John said he was getting married. This happened after John drunkenly proposed to toss themselves off together in a dark room. Paul looked at John like this when he came back from Barcelona. 

And now Paul was making his way towards him, his stare broken. Paul wasn’t supposed to know this way. Paul was never supposed to know. So John turned around, knocked Bob Wooler to the ground, and jumped on him so that John could murder him and his shame. 

Bob was screaming bloody murder as John grabbed a metal stick from the fireplace to shut him up. His nose turned to mush and his breathing made horrible sounds but John couldn’t hear or feel or even notice it. He couldn’t feel Cyn’s hand on his shoulders or everyone evacuating the party or Bob’s chest seeming to crush under his weight. He didn’t let himself realize Paul screaming at him and trying to throw him off. John ignored the fact that he was doing this in front of his best mate at his birthday party because he was a proper, vile bastard. He’s a fucking bastard who’s ruining everybody’s life because he’s a dirty -

John cut himself off by slamming his fist across Bob’s face. Got to shut him up. Got to stop it all. He couldn’t tell that a bit of blood had stained the flowery wall of the McCartney’s perfect house, or that a glass had smashed. He didn’t realize that his vision was so skewed that he barely recognized that what he was hitting was human. He didn’t listen to Bob crying, or the blonde crying, or even his own head telling himself that I can kill this guy. John kept on hitting, pushing through the gurgled moans of Bob and the fact John read on his face that if I hit him once more, that was going to be it. The heat of his face and his chest and the air burned up any thought that told him to stop. John did what he wanted to do for so long: to hit and stop them from speaking about these things ever fucking again. 

And when it ended, John was barely aware that it was over. 

Cyn was driving him home, scared out of her mind. John lashed out again. John was still the same man. But they had a baby now and she left him for months after he hit her and John cried and apologized and promised to be a good man after every incident. Cynthia would always believe him. Now John was stirring in the back seat, his bobbing weakly, not looking at her or even acknowledging her. He only muttered lowly, “He called me a bloody queer, so I knocked his ribs in.” 

He was only faintly aware of Bob’s state. Something bad had happened to Bob’s ribs and his eye, and John knew that oh God, I did that to him. He remembered that Bob staggered out, blood down his face, and said, “Get Brian Epstein.“ Everyone ushered to him and glared at the drunken attacker, the freak, the queer. John was pulled by some of the men there to Cynthia’s car. And Paul rushed out of the scene, holding hands with the nice redhead. John saw Paul’s figure pushing through the crowd, and for some reason he to find Paul’s eyes for something - sympathy or hate or even a fucking nod - but Paul didn’t look at John. 

And John was pushed into Cynthia’s car so he could get out of everybody’s life and let them forget the awful night. The night that was his fault. He was probably going to lose the record deal now, John thought half-consciously. At least, he should. Brian would drop the band and he’d be locked up like the fuck up he was. Oh, the band - they’d hate John for stringing them this far along only to leave them with such a mess. Paul would forget about him, or want to forget about him. Everything they had, everything they worked for would be destroyed. John would be remembered as the fairy who ruined Paul’s twenty-first and Paul would hate him. John’s chest suddenly ached and his face contorted. Everything that was wrong with him was crashing down on his life because that’s exactly what he deserves. The last time Paul looked him in the eyes would be when Paul realized his best mate was a fucking queer. 

~

“… It’s tough. Now, if you look at John for his stability, you’ve got to look at him.

“You gotta look at the guy whose father left home when he was three. He was brought up by his auntie and his uncle - his auntie was living but the uncle died.

“And then, his mother - who used to live nearby - was visiting one night. She left, she got run over by a drunken policeman and got killed stone dead when he was sixteen.

“So, y’know, on top of all of that it’s remarkable he was as straight as he was, really.”

[sorrythatwasmean]

About Bruce Banner

Mixed MCU/Comics Earth 616 canon/Own Headcanons

Name: Robert Bruce Banner Parents: Brian and Rebecca Banner

Birthplace: Dayton, Ohio

Early Days

His physically and emotionally abusive, alcoholic father Brian was convinced he’d passed a monster gene to Bruce and that Brian’s own experiments with radiation before Bruce was conceived had mutated his own son.It’s unclear if Brian thought the gene had skipped himself or if he, too, had it. Regardless, Brian had never wanted children.

For Bruce’s 4th Christmas, Rebecca gifted him a complex construction toy kit. He built it without the instructions. Brian perceived Bruce’s intelligence as unnatural and further proof his son was a monster.

Rebecca never understood Brian’s actions towards their son.Rebecca set into motion plans to leave Brian for good.Bruce would later say his mother saved him more times he could count and one of his deepest regrets is he wasn’t able to save her when it mattered the most.

Brian Banner killed his wife Rebecca when she and Bruce acted on their plan to leave him. He killed her in front of their son.

Brian made Bruce lie at his trial. He threatened him by saying he might go to jail, but that Bruce would burn in hell for betraying his own father. Later, he drunkenly boasted about threatening Bruce and was locked in a psychiatric institution for the crime anyway.

Bruce was raised by his paternal Aunt Susan. She noticed he had an imaginary friend when he was younger, but chalked it up to childish imagination. Bruce was normally a reserved and seemingly calm child. Too reserved sometimes.Brian’s venom and toxic words still burned, but Bruce rarely expressed his anger.

His Aunt Susan described it as white-hot and brief—Bruce would be transformed screaming unintelligible things, scribbling hard enough to rip pages in his notebook,but once it flashed, it faded. He’d apologize. And he never hurt anyone. She kept her distance in those moments. She understood them all too well.

She felt it too when she remembered her own father, her brother, and even herself. But she’d tell Bruce, “You’re you, not them. You’re my nephew. And Rebecca’s son, too. We are more than these moments.”

Bruce would find some comfort in this. And he tried to immerse himself in better things: science, creation, what the world was made of and it’s miracles.

The combination of rarely effusive with his emotions, studious, and genius-level intellect didn’t make it easy for him to make many friends, but he valued the ones he had.

It wasn’t until he was older that he realized something was...off. Once in high school, he entered a room and his friends greeted him with congratulatory praise for defending Carl and decking a bully. He thought they were joking. That didn’t sound like him. There had been plenty of witnesses, but Bruce didn’t remember a single thing about it.

The bully stopped bothering them when Bruce was around. And another time, Bruce found himself washing blood from his knuckles in the bathroom. He didn’t protest when he was called to the principal’s office. His friends still defended him saying Charles Rolfe had been out of line and Carl didn’t stand a chance and they asked why Bruce didn’t tell his Aunt or their teachers he’d stopped the fight and hadn’t started it.

But, how would he know if he’d done the right thing if he hadn’t done it? He didn’t remember doing it. How was he suppose to explain that?

And it was worrying his Aunt. That’s what he hated the most. She’d never asked for this. He’d tried to be good. They’d had a plan. Suspension for fighting wasn’t part of it. What about scholarships? What about college? The kind he wanted to attend weren’t cheap.

But Rolfe was a menace and Carl wound up in a hospital bed with a broken arm and black eye. And Bruce tried to promise his Aunt he wouldn’t do anything. But one morning he woke up in the high school basement, wire strippers in his pocket and he’s running to Rolfe’s homeroom desk and he can’t explain WHY he’s defusing a freaking bomb. He knows why he knows how to defuse it but he doesn’t remember freaking building it. But no one believes him.

No one but his Aunt.

Thaddeus Ross takes an interest in his education because of the bomb and convinces the police to drop the charges if Susan and Bruce agree to leave town. It’s the only silver lining.

Because his Aunt agrees they need to figure out what’s going on. There’s a name for what he has and back then it was called Multiple Personality Disorder. Nowadays, it’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder or DID. Not that it matters what it’s called.

“One of dad’s many gifts,”Bruce would sigh much, much later.

He learns to manage it. And it’s not something he leads with in conversations with new people.

He excels at academics, but his personal life falls to the wayside. Science is safer than socializing. One of his girlfriends, Angela, was concerned about how he wasn’t physically affectionate and didn’t touch her. It was hard to explain so it didn’t last long.

He can explain gamma radiation and it’s uses to help heal, but no one is interested in funding that. He has medical knowledge, but the military pays so Bruce feels he has to sell his soul.

Brian is “reformed” 15 years after Rebecca’s death and good man that he is Bruce still tried to let him stay with him.

Brian isn’t and attacks Bruce while he’s visiting his mother’s grave. And honestly, I think Rebecca Banner rose out of her grave for revenge and to protect Bruce because in the fight HOW does Brian die? His head hits her headstone. Bruce represses the memory.

He knows Brian is out of his life. And part of him knows what happened. He’ll find out later.

He unexpectedly manages something real with—of all people—Thaddeus Ross’ daughter, Elizabeth. She’s brilliant and beautiful and brave.

And Bruce successfully patents a number of devices and ideas, publishes and researches enough to wrack up a few Ph.Ds.

But The Other Guy takes all that away from him. It’s hard enough to love someone from a far, it’s harder still to love someone when a future together is impossible.

Origin of The Other Guy

I diverge from MCU here: Ross in The Incredible Hulk says Bruce didn’t know the real reason he was interested in Bruce’s work. I don’t buy that. Of course, Bruce would know Ross and the US military was interested in weaponizing his work. In the comics, Bruce works on the project reluctantly because he couldn’t get funding for the use of gamma rays for medical purposes.

Bruce saves Rick Jones from a gamma explosion. Igor Starsky was the Russian spy who pretended to be merely Bruce’s collegue and failed to stop the experiment when Bruce asked.

Experimenting on himself fits in better with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde parallel, but I don’t think hubris is as key to Bruce’s story. Is it part of it? Is Bruce capable of arrogance and bitterness and getting in over his head? Absolutely. I follow closer to comic book origins for Bruce’s earlier days so that element of Bruce and internal conflicts is already there.Bruce has enough instances of accidentally hurting people before and after Hulk.

And would Elizabeth go along with just watching Bruce experiment on himself? General Ross would, but he already has sketchy ethics.

If you say Bruce experimented on himself and that’s how he became the Hulk, he’ll assume the story got out of hand. But Bruce definitely experiments on himself later.

He uses the money he earns from his patents and inventions to sets up a fund for victims of Hulk’s rampages.

Avengers Assemble

Bruce is able to direct the Hulk for a while. Acknowledging his own anger and having an outlet placates Hulk for a while. But The Other Guy also has a chance to learn and feel and grow more.

And after Bruce crashes the quinjet, Sakaar is Hulk’s paradise. He isn’t feared. He can be loud and channel his violence and win praise and everyone seems to love him. Bruce? He’s tired and a break wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but then he couldn’t come back. The Other Guy wouldn’t let him.

And most of the time Bruce wishes The Other Guy wasn’t necessary, but he also knows that isn’t fair to Hulk. He can’t bring himself to hate him. He hates that he, Bruce Banner, is the one who has to regret and fear and loathe and...can’t be invincible. Hates that Hulk can be free and child-like and unburdened.

Bruce had wanted to be remembered for discoveries and creation and a meaningful life. Not destruction and turning into someone else.